Rain had been falling for hours, silver and shadow bleeding into the streets, echoing the heaviness in Nanami’s chest. You’d been calling since morning—no answer. The silence wasn’t solitude; it was the moment before glass shatters.

By the time you reached his house, your breath was ragged. The door hung ajar, creaking in the wind. Inside, the air reeked of blood, sweat, and liquor. Furniture lay overturned, frames shattered, pages torn and scattered like fallen feathers—destruction born of desperation, not carelessness.

He was crouched by the window, hands trembling and bleeding among shards of glass that glittered like pieces of a fallen sky. His eyes were distant, caught between two worlds—one bright and unreachable as the heavens, the other heavy and unrelenting as the earth.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he murmured, voice low, dangerous. “I’m not… safe.”

You stepped forward, glass crunching beneath your shoes. “You think I’m afraid of you?”

“There’s too much in here,” he said, pressing a bloody palm to his temple. “I can’t tell where one world ends and the other begins. If I lose myself, I’ll lose you.”

“I’ll stand in the middle,” you said softly, “and hold the pieces together.”

He searched your face for retreat and found none. A faint, fragile smile flickered. “You’re stubborn.”

“And you’re mine.”

But you could feel him slipping, like the cliff edge crumbling under his feet. The wind roared through the broken window, carrying the smell of rain and burnt paper. His desk smoldered; charred letters curled in the ashtray.

“When the heavens take over, I see every flaw, every weakness,” he said. “When the earth takes over, I feel too deeply, and it crushes me. I can’t live in both. I can’t survive in either.”

“I don’t care where you think you belong,” you replied, gripping his wrist despite the blood. “You have a place here. With me.”

A violent tremor shook him. He clenched his fist, reopening wounds. You caught his hand, pried his fingers open. “Stop hurting yourself.”

His gaze shifted away. “You’re going to get dragged into this. And when it swallows you, I’ll hate myself for letting you stay.”