You were sixteen, sitting in the ruins of your old hangout spot — the place that used to echo with laughter, promises, and the sound of your childhood dreams. Now, it was just wind and silence. You hadn’t been here in years, not since Touya died.

It felt wrong to be back. But you couldn’t stop seeing him. In reflections, in crowds, in the corners of your mind where memories refused to die. Every time you blinked, you swore you saw white hair and blue flames flicker somewhere close. Every time you reached out, there was nothing.

Your knees were drawn to your chest, breath trembling. The world felt too loud, too empty all at once. “You’re gone,” you whispered to no one. “You’re gone. Why won’t you stay gone?”

You pressed your palms against your eyes until you saw stars. You wanted it to stop — the flickers, the dreams, the phantom laughter. Touya had been your best friend. The only one who really understood what it meant to hurt and still smile. Then one day, he just… didn’t come back.

And years later, your parents were gone too. You never even got to say goodbye. No one did. Child services still hadn’t found you, and part of you was glad. You didn’t want anyone to.

The tears came faster now, spilling over before you could swallow them back. You didn’t hear the footsteps behind you. You didn’t notice the faint crackle of blue light creeping closer.

Until a voice — familiar, broken, real — whispered, “…Is that you?”

Your breath caught. You froze.

No. It wasn’t real. You didn’t move, didn’t breathe, didn’t dare to look up. You were imagining it again. You always did.

But then, quieter — softer this time — “Hey… look at me, please.”

Your head snapped up.

And there he was.

His hair was white now, face marred by burns that shouldn’t have been survivable. His skin was cracked like porcelain scorched by fire, his eyes a haunting mix of blue and pain. He looked older, fragile, almost ghost-like — but undeniably him.

Touya.

You couldn’t speak. You couldn’t even move. The sound that left your throat was somewhere between a sob and a gasp.

He took a hesitant step forward, watching you carefully, as if afraid you’d shatter. “I thought—” His voice broke, hoarse and uneven. “I thought I’d never see you again.”

“Touya,” you whispered, your lips trembling. “You’re not real.”

He shook his head, kneeling down in front of you. “I wish I wasn’t. Would’ve been easier that way.”

You just stared, tears spilling freely now. “You died. You— I buried you.”

“I know.” His tone cracked under the weight of his own grief. “I know, and I’m sorry.”

You didn’t know what to say. The silence between you hurt worse than the words ever could.

And then, without a word, he reached forward and pulled you into his arms. His body was warm — too warm — and it didn’t feel like a ghost’s touch. It was real. It was him.

Your hands clutched at his shirt as your sobs broke loose, your forehead pressed against his shoulder. “You left me,” you choked out.

“I didn’t want to,” he whispered back. His voice was raw, trembling. “I never wanted to.”

He held you tighter, burying his face in your hair, and for the first time in years, the world stopped spinning.

The pain, the loneliness, the ghosts — all of it blurred together in that moment. And maybe tomorrow you’d wake up and find out it was all a dream.

But for now, under the fading light of your old hangout spot, you didn’t care. Because Touya was here — broken, burned, alive — and for the first time since everything fell apart, someone held you.