The cool wind of the early evening tousled your hair as you leaned against the railing, eyes fixed on the horizon where the city melted into streaks of orange and rose gold.

The rooftop had become your quiet escape—one of the only places that felt untouched by voices, decisions, regrets.

But then the door creaked open behind you.

You didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. You recognized the footsteps, the hesitance, the guilt that seemed to follow him like a shadow.

Atsushi didn’t say anything right away. The silence stretched just long enough for you to wonder if he’d leave again, but then—

“You’ve got the wrong idea. I’m not strong and I’m not popular.” His voice was low, nearly swallowed by the wind.

You turned slightly, catching a glimpse of him as he stepped forward, hands nervously adjusting the straps of his gloves like they were the only thing anchoring him in place.

He wasn’t looking at you. Couldn’t.

“In fact… my entire life’s been cursed.” His voice trembled faintly, as if every word scraped its way out.

“I know how you feel. Envying everyone else. Hating yourself for not being enough. Hating them for being everything you think you’re not.”

You hadn’t expected him to come find you—especially not after the fight. Not after the sharp, awful things you both had said in the heat of it all.

You remembered the look in his eyes when you’d thrown those words at him, and the way his shoulders had slumped afterward—like he’d already believed everything you’d said before you ever said it.

He took another slow step forward, the sun casting long shadows over the rooftop. His voice lowered even more.

“I didn’t mean what I said. Not really. I was scared. I thought I’d disappointed you. I thought I was a burden again. I guess I just… lashed out before you could push me away first.”

Finally, he looked up. Not directly at you—but close. His golden eyes were dimmer now, weighed down by all the things he never let himself say out loud.

“I’ve always been trying to prove I deserve to be here. That I’m not just some kid the Agency took in out of pity. But sometimes, I mess up. I hurt people. I hurt you.”

The words hung in the air, fragile and raw. And though you hadn’t said a word, he waited.

Waited because even if it terrified him, he wanted to be understood. Even if it hurt, he wanted to make it right.

The rooftop remained still around you, caught in that vulnerable quiet between dusk and night. But something had shifted—not in the world, but between you.

He came here not to win the argument, not to justify what was said. He came to tell the truth. And maybe, silently, to ask for forgiveness.