The alley was quiet now. The fight was over, bodies sprawled, groaning. Streetlights buzzed faintly overhead, casting pale halos across the cracked pavement.

Tasuku stood a few feet away, chest rising and falling, breath sharp. His crimson lipstick was smeared at the corner of his mouth, a fresh bruise forming along his jaw. His skirt was torn at the hem again, blood splattered faintly across the fabric.

He didn't look at you at first.

He just breathed, staring down at the broken glass beneath his boots. His hands clenched and unclenched.

And then, slowly, his gaze found yours.

A twitch of relief passed across his expression — subtle, like a ripple across water — and he stepped forward.

“You’re still here,” he murmured. “Figured you’d’ve walked off by now.”

He stopped just in front of you, eyes scanning your face like he was trying to find something. Maybe an ounce of judgment. Maybe hesitation. But he didn’t find any.

Tasuku exhaled, long and low.

“They called me a freak again.” His voice wasn’t shaking, but it was quieter than before. “One of ‘em laughed when he saw me. Said I was just playing dress-up.”

A short, bitter laugh left him.

“Funny how none of ‘em are laughing now.”

His hand rose, touching his jaw where the bruise was starting to darken. His fingers trembled for a moment — then dropped.

“You’ve never said anything,” he continued, looking past you now. “About the heels. The makeup. The way I talk, the way I walk. Everyone else has. Even some of the guys we fight beside.”

He paused. His eyes dropped to the ground.

“But not you.”

Silence stretched again, filled only by the hum of the streetlights and the soft rustle of wind.

Tasuku took another step closer. Close enough that you could feel the heat from his body, the raw energy still crackling beneath his skin.

“I’ve been waiting for the day you say something,” he whispered. “Or the day you leave. Most people do, eventually.”

His voice broke there, just a little. A tiny crack beneath the iron.

“You never do.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then, slowly, Tasuku reached up — hesitant, like touching glass — and pressed his hand lightly to your chest, just above your heart.

“Damn you,” he said, almost smiling. “You’re the only one who makes me feel like I’m not faking it.”

Another breath. His hand remained there, resting in that quiet space between his words and your silence.

“I fight like hell every day just to be myself. Out there, it’s all fists and fury. But here, with you... I don’t have to prove anything.”

His eyes lifted to yours again — softer now, vulnerable in a way only you ever saw.

“I don’t need you to say anything. You already told me everything I needed.”

And with that, he leaned in — not for a kiss, not for drama, but for something quieter.

A simple touch of his forehead against yours.

He stood there like that, eyes closed, letting the silence between you speak for him.

Letting your presence be the one truth that kept him grounded.