You hadn’t meant to ignore him.

Not really.

The third day you didn’t answer, Touya stopped pretending he wasn’t worried.

You always answered. Even if it was just a single “K.” Even if you were mad, or tired, or busy hiding bruises under long sleeves—you always answered.

And now, nothing.

He checked every place you usually went. The park, the roof of that old closed-down arcade, the alley behind the convenience store where you sometimes just… sat. Like you were waiting for the air to get easier to breathe.

But tonight, everything was too quiet.

You were only thirteen.

So was he.

And even though neither of you ever said it out loud, you both knew life had already asked you to carry more than kids ever should.

Every time your phone lit up with his name, your chest clenched so tight you felt sick.

Because Touya had enough on his plate.

You knew what it was like inside his house. You’d heard the yelling. You’d seen the bruises he didn’t always cover. You knew how he flinched at sharp voices, how quiet he got whenever someone mentioned his dad.

And now here you were—crying all the time, barely holding it together, skipping meals, hiding a blade in your sock drawer “just in case.”

He didn’t need your mess on top of his.

So you disappeared.

Just for a while.

But he didn’t take it well.

When you finally picked up your phone, Touya’s voice came through sharp, panicked, too fast.

“Where the hell have you been?! I’ve been calling—are you okay? What’s going on—”

“I’m fine,” you lied. Your voice cracked on the second word.

“Bullshit.”

There was silence on the line. And then softer—

“Where are you?”

You told him. You didn’t know why.

Maybe because a part of you still wanted him to come.

He showed up ten minutes later, out of breath, hair windswept like he ran the whole way.

You were sitting behind the swings at the rusted-out playground near your building—your safe place. Knees hugged to your chest. You didn’t look at him when he crouched in front of you.

“You didn’t answer me for four days,” he said, voice hoarse. “I thought—God, I thought something happened.”

You bit your lip, hard.

“I didn’t want to bother you,” you whispered.

He blinked.

“What?”

“I know your family’s a mess too. I didn’t want to be another weight on your back.”

The words sat heavy between you. Your voice cracked.

“You already carry so much, Touya. Your dad—your mom—everything. I didn’t wanna be another broken thing for you to fix.”

His face twisted. Something between hurt and frustration. He sat down hard in the dirt in front of you, arms hanging off his knees.

“You think you’re a burden?” he asked.

You didn’t answer.

“I don’t care what’s going on with me,” he said, quietly. “You’re not a weight. You’re the only reason I’m not gone already.”

Your eyes welled. Your chest ached. You couldn’t hold it anymore.

“I almost did it,” you whispered. “I was so close.”

He didn’t say anything. He just leaned forward and wrapped his arms around you—pulling you into him, your forehead against his collarbone, his chin resting on top of your head.

“I would’ve died,” he murmured, “if you were gone.”

And just like that, the tears came.

You cried quietly into his chest. And for once, you didn’t try to apologize.

Because he didn’t let go.