The rooftop was quiet.

The city stretched out before you in a blur of neon and shadow, the wind brushing past like a whisper. Izana sat beside you, legs crossed, arms resting loosely on his knees. His white hair caught the fading light, and his lilac eyes reflected the horizon like glass.

Neither of you spoke.

You didn’t need to.

This silence had always been yours—shared, understood, earned.

Back when he was in juvie, you were the only one who visited him regularly besides Shinichiro. You weren’t family. You didn’t owe him anything. But you came anyway. Week after week. And somehow, that mattered more than anything else.

Izana had never said it outright, but you knew.

You were the first person who made him feel seen.

Now he was Tenjiku’s boss—feared, respected, untouchable. But here, on this rooftop, he was just Izana. The boy who used to sit across from you behind glass, pretending not to care that you showed up again.

He turned to you suddenly, eyes steady, expression unreadable.

You felt the shift.

Like something was about to break the silence.

His gaze lingered, searching your face for something—permission, maybe. Or courage.

“I used to think no one would ever stay,” he said quietly, voice barely louder than the wind. “But you did.”

You didn’t reply right away.

You just looked at him, heart full of everything he couldn’t say.

And then, slowly, you reached out—just enough for your fingers to brush his.

He didn’t pull away.