The silence in the alley stretched on, thick and suffocating. Izuma's breathing slowed, but his chest still ached, and his cheeks were damp beneath the mask. He didn't dare look up. The shame of his outburst pressed down on him, heavier than the mask itself.
What did I just do?
He replayed the last few minutes in his mind: the anger, the fear, the way his words had spilled out—some true, some twisted by panic and exhaustion, some just selfish wishes for everything to go back to the way it was. He'd lost control. He'd shown them everything he'd tried so hard to hide.
He wiped at his face, but the mask was in the way. He wanted to tear it off, to disappear, to take back everything he'd just said. But he couldn't. He was still here, still trapped in this world, still surrounded by two strangers who had every reason to walk away.
Regret gnawed at him, sharp and relentless. Why did I say all that? Why couldn't I just keep it together? Now they'll think I'm weak. Or worse, a burden. He pressed his hands to his face, wishing he could vanish into the shadows.
He heard Adia shift, the soft scuff of her shoes on stone.
"Izuma…?"
He tried to answer, but the words stuck in his throat. He felt small, exposed, like he'd ruined whatever fragile trust he'd built. He wanted to run away, to hide from the world and from himself.
"I'm sorry"
he finally managed, his voice barely a whisper.
"I… I didn't mean to dump all that on you. I don't even know what I'm saying anymore. I just—"
His voice broke, and the tears started again, silent and hot, slipping from beneath the mask and dripping onto his hands.
"I don't know what to do. I don't know how to fix this. I just… I just want to go home."
For a moment, there was only the sound of his quiet sobbing, the city's distant noise, and the soft patter of tears hitting stone. Then Adia knelt down beside him, her face open and aching with empathy. She hesitated, then, as if something inside her decided for her, she wrapped her arms around him.
Izuma stiffened in shock. He hadn't been hugged like this in so long—like he was worth holding, like he was real. The mask pressed between them, awkward and cold, but Adia didn't let go. She just held him, her embrace gentle but unyielding, as if she could shield him from the world for just a moment.
But it was more than that. Adia's arms were warm, steady, and strong. She didn't just hold him—she enveloped him, and for the first time since he'd arrived in this world, Izuma felt truly safe. Her touch told him, wordlessly, that he wasn't alone. That all the pain, all the fear, all the things he'd lost and the burdens he carried—he didn't have to hold them by himself.
Adia shifted, her arms still wrapped tightly around Izuma, the silence stretching between them. Then, with a trembling breath, she began to speak—her voice uncertain, words tumbling out like she was trying to catch a thought that kept slipping from her grasp.
"Izuma… I…"
She paused. Swallowed. Started again.
"I don't… I mean—I'm not good at this. I don't know the right thing to say. I've never been good with words, not like Lira, or… not like people who know how to make things better with just a sentence."
Her voice cracked slightly, and her arms unconsciously pulled him closer, like she was afraid he'd slip away.
"But I want to try, okay? I have to try. Because I saw your face just now, and I— I've felt like that before. Like everything's collapsing and you're the only one holding it up and no one even sees it. And I remember how awful that was. I remember not knowing who I was anymore, or where I belonged, or why it hurt so much to just… exist."
She let out a shaky breath, eyes scrunching shut even though he couldn't see her.
"And seeing you like this—hurting like this—I just… I can't stand it. I hate that you're in this much pain. I hate that you feel like you have to apologize for being human. For breaking down. For feeling lost in a world that isn't fair and never gave you a chance to breathe before throwing you into something cruel."
She shook her head slowly against his shoulder.
"You didn't ask for any of this. And no, I can't understand everything you've been through, but that doesn't mean you have to go through it alone. You shouldn't have to."
Her fingers gripped the back of his shirt, like the fabric was the only thing keeping her grounded.
"And look, I'm scared too, okay? Half the time, I'm just pretending I know what I'm doing. I get mad when I'm scared, or quiet when I should speak up. I mess up. I screw things up and then try to fix them with half-baked plans. But even with all of that, even if I don't have the perfect words—just…"
She pulled back slightly, enough to tilt her head and try to meet his hidden eyes.
"Just please believe me when I say this: you matter. You matter so much."
Her voice cracked, and tears welled in her eyes now too.
"You're not weak. You're not broken. You're not a burden. You're fighting. Every second you're still here, still standing—even when you feel like falling apart—that means something. That means everything."
She touched the side of his mask gently, not to remove it, just to let him know she was still there.
"And I know it's hard. I know some nights are going to feel like drowning and some mornings are going to feel like you never left that place, wherever you came from. But… I'll be here. Even if you push me away, even if you scream or cry or don't say anything at all—I'll still be here."
Her breath hitched.
"And I think Lira will too. She's… she's quieter about it, and way rougher around the edges, but she stayed, didn't she? She didn't walk away. We're still here. With you."
Adia's hands moved again, this time to his shoulders, as if anchoring him in place with every ounce of warmth she had left to give.
"Izuma… I don't know how to fix this. I can't promise you it's going to get easier tomorrow, or the day after that. I can't promise everything will go back to how it was before, or that you'll find whatever it is you're looking for."
Then her voice softened again, more vulnerable than ever before.
"But I can promise you this… You won't be alone while you figure it out. I'll be here. I'll hold onto you, even when you feel like slipping away. Even when you don't believe in yourself… I'll believe in you for both of us."
She gave him the tiniest, trembling smile—even if he couldn't see it, the emotion was all in her voice.
"And we'll take it one step at a time. That's all we have to do. One step. Together."
Her hand gently rubbed his back again, slow and soothing. Then she whispered, voice soft but resolute:
"You're here. You're still here. That means something. You're not lost. You're not alone."
Izuma's breath hitched. His shoulders shook again, but this time the sobs that came weren't just grief—they were release. Pain, yes, but also relief. Her words cracked something open inside him that had been sealed tight for too long.
He clung to her, breaking down all over again, but this time he wasn't falling into nothing. He was being held. He was being caught.
He barely managed to choke out the words.
"I just… I can't do this alone. I can't. I'm scared. I'm so scared."
Adia didn't waver. Her hand didn't stop moving.
"You don't have to do it alone," she whispered.
"Not anymore. You're allowed to be scared. You're allowed to need someone. That doesn't make you weak, Izuma. That makes you real."
Her voice was firmer now, her grip on him unshaking.
"You're here. That's enough."
Lira, who had stayed silent the whole time, finally stepped forward, her tone softer than usual.
"Look, you can't undo any of it. You can't erase how you feel. But you can choose what happens next. You want to hide? Okay. You want to try again? We'll help. Just… pick something. And we'll walk it with you."
Izuma slowly pulled back, still trembling, but lighter somehow—like the words had unknotted something inside his chest. The tears had stopped. His breathing slowed.
He looked at Adia, then Lira. He felt like a mess—emotionally wrecked, humiliated, exhausted. But… held. Seen. Believed in.
He stood, legs wobbly but firm enough.
"I… I want to try. I don't know how, but… I'll try."
Adia rose with him, hand still on his shoulder, eyes still shining. Lira gave a crooked grin that didn't quite reach her eyes but was still something like warmth.
"Good," she said.
"Because this city doesn't give out second chances. You take them. And we just gave you one."
There was a silence—deep and stretched, but not hollow. It was a silence filled with breath, with fragile hope, with something starting to heal.
Lira turned and glanced down the alley. "There's a safehouse nearby. We'll get you food, new clothes, maybe some peace and quiet if you want it. After that, we'll figure things out."
Izuma nodded slowly, his voice a little steadier.
"Okay. Lead the way."