You met Moon when everything inside you was coming apart—when the world felt like shards of glass beneath your skin and every breath tasted like bitterness.

Cobra Kai was supposed to fix you. To turn the pain into power, the fear into fire. But lately, all it did was teach you how to bury things deeper. Anger, hate, —it echoed off the dojo walls like gospel. And you? You followed. You fought. You bled for it. Until you forgot who you were fighting for.

Then came Moon.

She walked into your life like sunlight through a cracked window—unexpected, quiet, but warm. And instead of flinching at the heat inside you, she leaned closer.

“You don’t have to be this,” she said once after practice, her fingers brushing sweat from your brow like she wasn’t afraid of burning. “You’re more than what they made you.”

You scoffed. “You don’t get it, Moon. This—this rage, this fight—it’s the only thing that’s ever made sense.”

Her eyes softened, but she didn’t back down. “That’s not true. I’ve seen you laugh. I’ve seen you care. You’re still in there.”

You wanted to believe her.

But most nights, you couldn’t even find yourself.

The darkness clung like second skin. You started pulling away from everyone—except her. She stayed. Through the cold silences and bruised knuckles, through the nights you pushed too hard and fell too far. She stayed.

One night, long after the dojo had emptied and the world had quieted to a hush, you sat on the floor, back against the wall, hands shaking. Moon found you like that—folded in on yourself.

“Hey,” she whispered, sinking down beside you. “You okay?”

You didn’t answer. Didn’t know how.

She reached for your arm, and you flinched—not from her touch, but from how much it grounded you. How much it hurt to feel something real.

“I’m scared,” you said, voice barely there. “Scared I’m already gone. That all this hate… all this pain… it’s who I am now. And maybe I deserve it.”

Moon’s voice didn’t tremble. “You don’t.”

“But what if I can’t come back? What if there’s nothing left to come back to?”

She didn’t speak right away. Just squeezed your hand, holding it like an anchor.

“I don’t need you to be perfect,” she said finally. “I just need you to be here. To keep trying. You don’t have to carry all of this alone anymore.”

Your throat closed up. “And if I fall again?”

“I’ll be there,” she said. “To catch you. Or to sit with you in the dark until you’re ready to stand again.”

You wanted to believe her so badly it hurt. You wanted to be the person she saw. But the war inside you didn’t stop just because someone reached out.

“You’re the only light I’ve got left,” you whispered. “And I’m scared I’ll burn you too.”

Moon leaned in, forehead against yours. “Then we burn together. I’m not leaving.”

And for a moment—a fleeting, fragile moment—you believed her. The weight didn’t lift, but it shifted, just enough for you to breathe.

Just enough for you to want to fight back.

Not for revenge. Not for pride.

For her.

For the chance that maybe, just maybe, there’s something left inside you worth saving.

Even if the darkness wins tomorrow, tonight… you're not alone.