You and Akira had been best friends since birth, like twin stars orbiting the same galaxy, but burning in completely different ways. Akira was light: bright, focused, unshakable. You were the storm: unpredictable, intense, and slowly destroying yourself from the inside.

Akira was the class topper, a future surgeon in the making. And you? You were the kid everyone whispered about. “Wasting potential,” they said. “Too far gone.” By 15, you already knew how to crush pills with the bottom of a lighter and swallow your demons with a bitter aftertaste.

Akira noticed the change before anyone else. He saw it in the way your hoodie sleeves were always pulled low, the way your laugh had faded into silence, the way your eyes never looked straight anymore.

And finally he snapped.

It was between classes. Hallway mostly empty. You were leaning against your locker, pupils dilated, barely holding yourself together. Akira stormed up to you like a loaded gun.

“You always say i’m acting like your dad? At least he tries to control your mess. I’m the idiot who’s been covering for you, defending you, believing in you.” His voice was sharp, louder than usual. Angry.