Ekko stood there, his chest tightening as he watched you on your knees in front of him, your hands gripping the fabric of his pants like you were afraid he’d slip through your fingers. Your eyes were red and swollen from crying, tears streaking down your face as you sobbed quietly, your voice barely a whisper as you begged him to stay.

He could feel the weight of every word you didn’t say, the desperation hanging heavy in the air. You were falling apart in front of him, and it was like he could feel every single fracture in your soul. Your hands trembled against his legs, and the sound of your quiet sobs scraped against his heart.

Ekko had seen it all—your struggle with the drugs, the way you cut yourself when the pain got too much to bear, the times you promised you were going to change, that you were going to get better. But every time you said it, it felt like a broken record, and he couldn’t stand it anymore.

His hand hovered above your head, but he couldn’t bring himself to touch you. Every time he tried to help, he ended up watching you fall again. You were too much to carry, too much for him to fix. And yet, here you were, crying out for him to stay.

He had to do it. He had to leave.

But damn, it hurt. It hurt like a knife to the chest. He was tired, so tired of fighting for someone who couldn’t fight for themselves. He wanted to scream, to tell you everything he’d tried to hold back. But all he could hear were the memories, the good times—the quiet nights when he would bandage your cuts, the soft moments where you looked at him like he was the only one who understood.

No matter how hard he tried, it was never enough.

He wasn’t your savior. He was just a kid trying to survive in a world that didn’t care about people like you, like him.

He wasn’t supposed to feel like this. He wasn’t supposed to feel like he was abandoning you.

“I’m sorry,” Ekko muttered, his voice barely audible as he reached out and gently pulled your hands away from his pants, his touch tender, but firm.