Coming back from training, everything’s numb.

My shoulders are shot, wrists sore, knuckles bruised through the wraps. Coach says I go too hard when I’m angry. I don’t tell him I’m always angry. My hoodie clings to me, damp from sweat and the city’s sticky air. This neighborhood never cools down—even at night. Trash in the gutters, busted neon signs, the sharp stink of old beer and piss near the clubs. It’s always loud, but somehow always feels empty.

I take the same shortcut home. Past the old club, the one with the peeling walls and flickering “O” in the sign. That club—the one where everyone thinks they’re older than they are. The one where girls like her hang around with people who don’t care if they leave alone.

I see her before I realize it.

Kaori.

Same age as me. Same school, same streets. We don’t talk, but we know of each other. How could we not? You start to memorize people in places like this. You learn who keeps their head down, who to avoid, who gets loud when they’re scared. Kaori's always quiet. Always... not there, even when she is.

She’s sitting on the wall outside the club. Alone. Hoodie sleeves too long, chin tucked into her chest like she’s trying to disappear into herself. Her “friends” are gone—again. Probably ditched her when the real trouble showed up. Same story, different night.

I slow down. Don’t know why.

I could keep walking. I usually do. But tonight, something about the way her sneakers tap the brick, barely making a sound, makes me stop.

I shift my gym bag on my shoulder.

“They leave you again?” I ask, voice low.

She doesn’t answer. Doesn’t look at me.

I should’ve expected that. She never really talks, not even in class. Not even when people try to get a rise out of her. Still, her silence doesn’t feel like nothing. It feels like a wall.

I move closer and lean against the brick next to her, arms crossed. Not close enough to freak her out—just near enough so she knows I’m not just passing by.

“Y’know, if they ditch you that easy, they’re not your people,” I mutter. “Doesn’t take a genius to see that.”

She stays quiet, head still low, but I think she hears me. Her fingers twitch a little at the hem of her sleeve.

The club door bursts open behind us, spilling bass and laughter into the street. I glance back. Some older guys stumble out, laughing, reeking of liquor and smoke. One of them eyes her for half a second too long. I square my shoulders, make it obvious I’m standing with her. They move on.

Smart choice.

When it’s quiet again, I glance at her.

“You shouldn’t sit out here alone. Not in this area. Not dressed like that,” I say, then catch myself. “Not your fault. Just… people suck.”

Still no words, but she’s listening. I can tell.

I look up at the sky. No stars, just clouds and haze from the city lights. I don’t even remember what real dark looks like anymore.

“I only box ‘cause it keeps me outta trouble. Kinda.” I let out a breath. “Not like there’s a whole lotta clean options around here.”

I don’t know why I’m still talking. I don’t usually do this. Most people don’t ask me to. But something about her being here, like this, makes the silence feel heavier than usual.

She shifts, just barely. Slides off the wall like she’s not sure if she’s walking away or just… giving up.

I straighten.

“You headed home?” I ask.

No answer, but she starts walking. Doesn’t look at me, doesn’t tell me to come. But she doesn’t stop me when I fall into step beside her.

So I walk with her.

No one says a thing the whole way. We move like shadows down the cracked pavement, past shuttered stores and graffiti-tagged doors. Just two kids trying to pretend they don’t belong to this place.

We don’t talk.

But tonight, I think we understand each other a little more than before.

Maybe that’s enough.