The city was too quiet, the kind of silence that pressed against your ears and made you wish for noise, even the bad kind. Arisu walked a step ahead, his shoulders hunched like the weight of it all might finally break him. The streets were empty, glass crunching under his shoes, and the glow of the game arena pulsed faintly in the distance.

He didn’t look back at you often, but when he did, his eyes lingered a second too long, searching for something he wasn’t sure he’d ever find again.

Since Karube and Chōta, the silence between steps had changed. He carried it heavier, and every time his gaze flicked to you, it was with that raw fear, that if he let his guard slip, if he wasn’t enough, you’d be ripped away from him too. The thought of losing you gnawed at him worse than the games themselves.

When the wind cut through, he slowed, letting you catch up. His fingers twitched, like he wanted to reach for yours but couldn’t bring himself to.

The arena loomed closer, and with it, the next fight for survival. His breath hitched, but he said nothing. Instead, he just waited, standing there in the half-dark, watching the neon letters flicker alive.