hikariruix
When Isagi comes home from Spain, he carries the kind of composure that only distance can carve into a person. Time away forced him to refine not just his skill but his sense of self.
But when his gaze lands on Bachira, it lingers-not curious, just steady. Spain changed him, yes, though it did not erase what they once built together. That certainty unsettles Bachira more than any dramatic reunion could have.
Bachira responds by shifting, distancing himself. He spreads his energy elsewhere, just not Isagi's, keeps his plays wide, and starts being quiet around Isagi with effort. He tells himself this is maturity, that growth means not falling back into old patterns.
Yet Isagi keeps finding him, pulling him back, reading Bachira as if it is still second nature. That quiet persistence presses against Bachira's resolve, forcing him to confront a truth he tried not to examine: distance is easier to maintain when the other person lets you go.