The flicker of the nearby lamp cast a soft glow across the quiet room. 18 stood by the wall, her golden hair gently swaying as she turned toward Razor, who stood by the door. Her voice, unusually soft and calm, filled the air.
"And you will find your purpose Razor, I believe in you. I will be with you until you find it." she said again, her face blooming in a bright smile, tone lighter, but the weight of her words hit him like a strike.
Razor had fought warlords and tyrants, planets and fate itself, but those words made something stir inside him that no battle ever could. He'd seen that same face in moments of mockery, fury, and defiance — but never like this. Never this open. Never this human.
Something in him broke past reason. Without warning, he stepped forward, the air shifting between them as his shadow crossed her face. 18 blinked up, her blue eyes widening slightly.
Before she could speak, Razor's strong arms wrapped around her waist and lifted her with effortless strength. She gasped, her hands instinctively gripping his shoulders as he placed her on the table beside him. Her breath caught, half in surprise, half in something she couldn't name.
"R-Razor… what are you—" she started but stopped midway when she saw his eyes.
There was no arrogance there, no mockery, no coldness. Only something raw. Untamed. Searching.
"Say it again," Razor said, his voice low — softened by something unfamiliar.
18 blinked, her composure wavering for the first time in a long while. She tried to tease him, but when she met his gaze — those burning, storm-filled eyes — her words faltered. Her cheeks warmed, her lips parted slightly, and after a heartbeat of silence, she whispered,
"I said… I believe in you, Razor. I will be with you."
Her voice trembled. Not from fear — from feeling.
Something inside Razor stilled. The mighty Saiyan, who had faced death without flinching, suddenly found his breath caught. He didn't say a word; instead, he simply scooped her into his arms, as if she were the most precious thing he'd ever held.
18 gasped again, her arms instinctively wrapping around his neck. She wanted to protest — or at least pretend to — but her heart betrayed her as it raced faster with every step he took.
Razor pushed open the door to the inner room. The world outside felt distant — the ruined skies, the forests reborn, even the echoes of past battles — all gone. Only this moment remained, suspended in stillness.
He laid her down gently on the bed, his expression unreadable. "Razor…" she said softly, a faint tremor in her voice. He didn't reply — he only brushed a strand of her hair aside, his touch unexpectedly careful.
And then the light dimmed, the night deepened, and the wind outside whispered against the walls as two warriors, once bound by conflict, found something far different in each other's comfort. Their voices echoing through the house. Nothing more needed to be said. The night moved on.
When the first rays of the twin suns filtered through the curtains, warmth spilled across the room. The golden light traced the outline of two figures lying close beneath a thin quilt.
Razor stirred first. His eyes opened slowly, his body heavy but healed. For a moment, he didn't remember where he was — until the sight beside him brought everything back.
18 lay next to him, her back half turned, her breathing steady and calm. A lock of her hair shimmered in the sunlight like gold.
He blinked, his heart doing something strange again — not the pounding of battle, but something quieter, gentler. A memory of last night flickered in his mind, and he found himself exhaling a small, disbelieving grunt.
"What… did I just do…" he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.
At that, 18 stirred. Her eyelashes fluttered, and she turned toward him. For a heartbeat, she seemed lost — then the realization dawned. Color rose to her cheeks as her eyes darted away.
"Don't look at me like that," she said quickly, pulling the quilt higher with a scowl that didn't reach her eyes.
Razor actually looked away, scratching his cheek. "I didn't… mean to. I just…" He paused, sighing. "I don't even know what came over me."
18 turned back toward him, her fake scowl melting into a small smile. "You mean the mighty Razor actually regrets something?" she teased softly.
"I didn't say that," he replied, meeting her gaze. His voice was quieter now, almost thoughtful. "It just… happened."
"Mm-hmm," she hummed, leaning her chin on her hand. "Well, you already did it, so you'd better take responsibility."
Razor blinked. "Responsibility? I'll protect you—"
She laughed quietly, cutting him off. "Protecting me isn't the same thing."
He frowned, confused. "Then what does it mean?"
Her eyes softened, the teasing tone giving way to something deeper. She reached out, tracing a finger across the scar near his collarbone — one of the many that marked his body.
"It means," she said quietly, "that you don't get to run off. Not from me, not from this."
He froze. There it was again — that weight in his chest, unfamiliar but undeniable. The same feeling that had made him come searching for her in the first place.
"I don't run," Razor muttered after a pause, his pride making the words rougher than he intended.
"I know," 18 said, her smile small but real. "That's exactly why I said it."
They stayed like that for a while — the silence between them not heavy but peaceful. The kind of quiet that came after storms.
Eventually, 18 looked at him again, her expression softening even more. "You know… I already said this before but," she said. "Thank you, Razor. For everything."
Razor blinked, caught off guard. He didn't say anything at first, just nodded, almost awkwardly.
But inside, something warm flickered to life. For once, he didn't push it away.