【Interstellar Contract Magician】Ruyuanke

I sat on the sofa, and Nightingale put his arm around my shoulders from behind. His movements were gentle and carried a rare warmth, as if he was no longer the cold, ruthless mercenary, but a more real person. He rarely used this tone of voice, and it even left me a little overwhelmed. "Girl... I know you're leaving."

When he spoke from behind me, his voice was low, a hint of silence. It felt different, like a genuine concern welling up from the bottom of his heart, rather than the usual teasing and joking. I couldn't help but pause for a moment, looking up at him, a sudden surge of mixed emotions.

He always called me that—"kid," "little devil." I remember when we first met, he even doubted my gender when he said those words to me. Later, when he learned my true identity, he still didn't change the way he addressed me, never noticing any difference. That attitude always made me feel both close and distant—close because he always carried no burden, distant because he never took the initiative to break that distance, even after all we'd been through.

I didn't respond immediately. I simply lowered my head, holding the cup and taking a sip of the still-warm coffee. Nightingale gently patted my shoulder, and then he stood quietly behind me, as if waiting for me to continue his words.

"I know what you're thinking," he continued, his voice heavy, as if weighing every word. "After you leave, I don't know what kind of difficulties you'll encounter. After all, the situation here is not simple. You have your goals, and I—" He paused, as if speaking to himself, "also have my responsibilities. We both know that there are no easy paths in this industry. Neither you nor I."

I turned my head slightly, trying to see the emotion in his eyes, but he had already lowered his head, as if he didn't want me to see his gaze. At that moment, I realized that Nightingale's persistent indifference actually held many unspoken secrets. Perhaps countless concerns and unspoken thoughts were hidden beneath his usual calm and casual demeanor.

"You're such a silly boy." I finally smiled and broke the silence. "From the beginning, you knew I wasn't someone who would settle down, and you also knew I would eventually leave. All of this must have been destined long ago."

He didn't answer immediately, but simply stood there, his arm around my shoulders, still holding my hand in that unwavering way. He was silent for a moment. Then, he suddenly smiled, a smile so rare yet so genuine. "I know. It's just that sometimes, no matter what, I still feel a little... reluctant."

I didn't say anything, just sat quietly, feeling his rare tenderness.

After a moment, he let go of my shoulders and sat down next to me, his tone returning to its usual relaxed tone: "But don't worry, I'll take care of things on my side and we'll talk when you get back. Then, we can drink together again and play some naughty things together again."

I forced a smile. "I know you'll handle it fine. Don't worry too much about me."

He said nothing more, just patted my back, stood up and walked towards the kitchen. At that moment, even though nothing was said clearly, I knew that we both understood each other's feelings.

Even though I know that I am about to leave, Nightingale is always the shadow that silently supports me behind me. No matter how unpredictable the future is, the bond between us seems to have never been broken.

Dinner was eaten in silence, an unspoken sense of oppression hanging in the air. We sat on opposite sides of the table, and the aroma of the food seemed to fade, as if this meal didn't entirely belong to us. Nightingale lowered her head, chopping at the food on her plate. Each stroke seemed to carry a heavy rhythm, and the gentle scraping of the blade only served to make the silence more palpable.

I unconsciously put down my chopsticks and looked up at him. He didn't seem to notice, simply continuing to focus on his plate, his eyes deep, but not really looking anywhere. Even though his familiar face remained as calm and composed, I knew that his mind wasn't on the food in front of him tonight.

I wanted to say something to break the silence, but I didn't know where to begin. We both knew that the days ahead might be long, difficult, but there was no escape.

Nightingale suddenly put down his chopsticks and looked up at me. In that instant, I saw the anxiety and emotion in his eyes. I was stunned by the unprecedented sense of vulnerability. It seemed that Nightingale, who was always so high and mighty, also had unspeakable helplessness.

"You know, I've never been good at this," he whispered, a hint of bitterness in his tone. "After you leave, things will continue here. Some people don't need feelings, they just need missions and goals. But I..." He paused, as if considering how to continue. "Sometimes, after being a mercenary for so long, even this ordinary life starts to seem important."

I said nothing, simply lowering my head and continuing to eat. I actually understood what he meant. Nightingales never reveal their feelings easily, but the emotions they occasionally reveal are often more moving than words. He doesn't need my comfort, nor does he seek my understanding. He just wants to be heard occasionally, and I, in return, am willing to listen quietly to him.

At the end of the dinner, we didn't say much. Nightingale, as always, prepared a glass of wine and handed it to me, the smile in her eyes still shining: "Before you go, let's have one more drink together."

I took the wine glass and gently touched his: "Thank you, Nightingale. Thank you for taking care of me these days." Although the words were plain, they were full of my gratitude.

He didn't say anything else, just sat down quietly. The crisp clink of their glasses broke the silence. The atmosphere of the night finally eased slightly during this simple toast.

I continued to sip my wine, its contents gleaming faintly in the dim light. I took a bite of the food on my plate, and the flavors seemed to become more distinct, as if each bite carried an unspoken weight. I chewed the food and swallowed, but I found I had no appetite. For some reason, my heart felt empty.

Nightingale remained seated across from me, his gaze never leaving his wine glass. His sharp eyes seemed to see through something, yet he said nothing. The atmosphere remained shrouded in a strange silence, neither anxious nor impatient, even a little oppressive. I wanted to ask him something, perhaps out of concern, or perhaps to break the silence, but the words were on the tip of my tongue, but I swallowed them back.

The wine in the glass gradually dwindled, and the air grew thicker. Nightingale suddenly spoke, a hint of an inexplicable sigh in his tone: "After you left, the temporary void might be a little difficult for me to adjust to." He stared at the glass, his fingertips gently stroking the wall, as if caressing some unknown emotion. "But time will always fill these gaps."

I didn't answer, but a subtle throbbing fluttered within me. Nightingale was always unpredictable. Every word and glance seemed to conceal a deeper meaning. In past missions and days, he had rarely shown any genuine dependence on me, but tonight's words surprised me.

"Blank?" I repeated his words softly, my voice a little low. "Aren't you used to being alone?"

Nightingale looked up at me, a complex emotion flashing across her eyes, but she didn't say anything more. She just shook her head gently: "I'm used to it, so I'm used to it. But some people, after they leave, I realize that I wasn't completely prepared."

I raised an eyebrow, a strange feeling welling up inside me, a premonition of "parting" that made me a little uneasy. I knew Nightingale was a man who didn't easily express his emotions, used to hiding everything about himself, even his vulnerabilities. But tonight, he seemed less stubborn.

In silence, I raised my glass, looked at him, and clinked our glasses gently, with the wine ripples in the glass.

"Maybe, it will be fine once you get used to it." I said softly, but with some determination.

Nightingale raised the corner of his mouth and smiled gently: "Well, you'll get used to it." He took a sip of wine and his eyes became far-reaching.

As we drank more, the atmosphere grew more complex. At this moment, we all tacitly agreed not to mention goodbye, nor did we rush to break the silence. Instead, we used wine and words to weave together an indescribable emotion.

I couldn't help but laugh secretly. The suppressed emotions in my heart finally found an outlet, like bubbles being released, gently bubbling up. Looking at Nightingale's profile, he still had that familiar cold face, and there was no relaxation in his eyes. He seemed completely unaware of the subtle emotions in my heart.

I lowered my head slightly to hide the smile that suddenly welled up on my face. The wine in the glass swayed gently as I asked softly, "You know, sometimes this 'habit' of yours is really a little scary."

Nightingale didn't respond immediately. Instead, he raised an eyebrow, as if considering the implication of my words. His eyes seemed to see through my every move, yet he wasn't in a rush to expose it. "Oh? What do you mean?" His tone remained calm, yet there was a hint of provocation.

I looked up at him with a smile on my face. "People like you, who are so used to being alone, always make people feel as if you never really let go of anything."

Nightingale didn't immediately retort. He simply raised his glass slightly, as if considering my words, or perhaps savoring the flavor. After a moment, he suddenly smiled, "How dare you say that about me." His smile still held a hint of distance and amusement, but it was no longer as cold and sarcastic as before. Instead, it held a rare gentleness.

I turned my head away slightly, feeling a mix of emotions stirred within me. This time I actually laughed—a laugh that felt a bit helpless, yet also a bit relieved.

"You are such a contradiction sometimes." I murmured, feeling as if I were in another world.

Nightingale's smile softened: "You too." He lowered his head, as if responding to what I said. There was no sarcasm or provocation in his tone, but rather a certain calmness.

Nightingale and I exchanged a glance, and in that instant, I felt as if nothing more needed to be said. We both understood this tacit understanding, the complexity and reluctance in each other's hearts, yet we both concealed our truest feelings in an unspoken way.

"Now that we're gone, we probably won't see each other again, right?" I asked in a low voice. There was no urgency in my voice, only a calm acceptance.

Nightingale smiled softly and shook her head slightly: "Who knows? The world is so big, and things like fate may not be easy to explain clearly." He raised his glass again, but his eyes became profound: "But no matter what, let's stop drinking here today."

I pursed my lips and nodded: "Well, that's all for today's drinks."

Nightingale raised her glass again, as if to mark her own decision, but also as a farewell gesture for me. We clinked our glasses again, the wine making a crisp clink, as if, at this moment, all the emotion and reluctance to leave were sealed in these few drops of wine.

This time, I didn't laugh secretly.