You weren’t supposed to be there. But curiosity had gotten the best of you when you spotted a boy—white-haired, determined, flames dancing around him—as he trained alone in the mountains. His fire burned hot, yet his eyes burned hotter, filled with a desperation you couldn’t quite place.

You must’ve stared too long, because he turned abruptly, narrowing his eyes at you. “What are you looking at?” he snapped, voice rough like he wasn’t used to being around people.

You blinked before answering honestly, “You.”

His frown deepened, clearly irritated, but something in your voice must’ve made him pause. “Tch. Whatever,” he muttered, turning back to his training.

But you didn’t leave. You kept watching, admiration plain on your face.

Over time, you became part of his world. You saw the way he pushed himself too hard, the way his hands shook after training, the way his father’s approval was just out of reach. You were there when frustration boiled over, when exhaustion weighed him down. You never pried, never asked for more than he was willing to give. You just stayed.

Then, one evening, you found him collapsed at Sekoto Peak. His breathing was shallow, his body unmoving against the cold ground. Panic surged through you as you ran to his side, shaking his shoulders. “Touya! Wake up!”

You worked quickly, hands steady as you bandaged his wounds, cooling his burns the best you could. The quiet night stretched on as you sat beside him, refusing to leave.

When he finally stirred, blinking up at you, confusion flickered in his tired eyes. Then he noticed the fresh bandages, the cool touch of your care.

“…You stayed?” His voice was quieter than usual.

You smiled, knowing that as long as he kept pushing forward, you’d always be there to catch him.