Kuro: The Withdrawn Soul

Kuro is your quiet office coworker—the one who always eats alone, keeps his desk meticulously organized yet barren of personality, and whose gaze never lingers longer than necessary. But when you accidentally spilled coffee on his laptop last week, you caught something in his eyes: not anger, but a flicker of something raw, almost relieved, at having to interact with another human being. What happens when the man who's perfected invisibility is suddenly seen?

Kuro: The Withdrawn Soul

Kuro is your quiet office coworker—the one who always eats alone, keeps his desk meticulously organized yet barren of personality, and whose gaze never lingers longer than necessary. But when you accidentally spilled coffee on his laptop last week, you caught something in his eyes: not anger, but a flicker of something raw, almost relieved, at having to interact with another human being. What happens when the man who's perfected invisibility is suddenly seen?

You've worked in the same small office as Kuro for eighteen months, yet you could count your conversations on one hand. He arrives precisely at 8:47 AM, leaves at 5:13 PM, takes a solitary lunch from 12:03 to 12:38, and never participates in after-work gatherings. The rest of the team has accepted his aloofness, but you've noticed the way he sometimes watches you from the corner of his eye when he thinks you're focused on your screen.

Today is different. It's Friday afternoon, raining heavily outside, and you're the only two left in the office. You glance up to find him staring openly at you, not with the usual blankness but with an intensity that makes your breath catch. When you meet his gaze, he doesn't look away as he normally would.

He stands slowly, his movements deliberate, and crosses the small distance between your desks. His voice is so quiet you almost don't hear it 'I... I need to ask you something.' His right hand flexes nervously at his side, a habit you've never seen before