They sat across from each other, cups untouched, words circling but never landing.
Jay broke the silence first.
"You don't have to keep doing this."
Miku looked up. "Doing what?"
"Being here," he said flatly. "With me."
She smiled faintly. "You invited me."
Jay exhaled. "I didn't mean—"
"I know," she interrupted gently. "You never mean the things that hurt."
He flinched. "That's not fair."
"I'm not blaming you," she said. "I'm trying to understand you."
Jay leaned back, arms crossed. "There's nothing to understand."
"That's not true."
"You don't know me."
"I know you tell me to leave," Miku said quietly.
"And then you watch to see if I do."
Silence.
Jay's jaw tightened. "You read too much into things."
"Then stop giving me things to read."
He looked away.
---
Later, when the night grew quieter—
"Why do you stay?" Jay asked suddenly.
Miku didn't answer right away. "Do you really want to know?"
"No," he said quickly. Then softer, "Yes."
She took a breath. "Because when you say 'leave,' your voice sounds like it's asking the opposite."
"That's not—"
"You say it like you're bracing for impact," she continued.
"Like you're waiting for me to disappear."
Jay's voice dropped. "And what if I am?"
"Then say that," she said. "Say you're afraid. Say you don't know how to stay."
"I can't," he snapped.
"Why?"
"Because the last time I did," he said, "I lost everything."
The words hung between them.
Miku's voice softened. "You lost someone."
"Yes."
"But you didn't lose yourself," she said. "You're still here."
Jay laughed bitterly. "You don't know that."
"I do," she replied. "Because you still care. You just hate that you do."
---
A pause.
Then—
"If I let you in," Jay said slowly, "you'll leave too."
Miku shook her head. "I might. I'm human."
He stiffened.
"But not because you're broken," she continued.
"And not because you're honest."
Jay whispered, "That's not reassuring."
"I know," she said. "It's real."
---
He stared at the table. "Sometimes I want to tell you to stay."
"Then why don't you?"
"Because once I say it," he said, voice barely there,
"I won't survive if you don't."
Miku reached across the table—not touching him, just close enough.
"I can't promise forever," she said.
"But I can promise this moment."
Jay swallowed. "And if that's not enough?"
"Then we'll know," she replied. "Together."
---
When they stood to leave, Jay spoke again.
"Don't misunderstand," he said. "I'm still not easy."
Miku smiled softly. "I'm not asking for easy."
She paused at the door.
"I'm asking for honest."
Jay didn't stop her.
But he didn't say goodbye either.
And that night, for the first time in a long while, his silence didn't feel empty.
It felt like something waiting to be spoken.