The sun hung heavy above the trees, golden light dancing across the rippling lake beside them. Birds chirped softly, a low, mournful hum that matched the quiet sorrow settling between the two teenagers like fog on a grave.
Midori sat beside the water, her knees drawn tightly to her chest, arms wrapped around them like a shield. Her eyes were distant, glassy with tears long since spilled—yet the pain still echoed raw in her voice. Riku knelt silently beside her, head bowed in respect. The words she had spoken still hung in the air like ash.
The wind shifted. It blew gently across the lake, rustling the grass and tousling Riku's messy black hair. The breeze whispered through the trees, but he barely heard it over the pounding in his chest.
Something inside him cracked.
Without thinking, without hesitation, he moved.
He threw his arms around her.
Midori gasped quietly as Riku embraced her, his warmth enveloping her trembling body. Her shoulders stiffened at first, but then—slowly—they relaxed, and she collapsed into him. Her body trembled violently against his. Her hands gripped his jacket, fists curling into the fabric like a lifeline. She buried her face into his chest, and then finally—
She broke.
The sobs came unbidden. Deep, heart-wrenching cries that shook her from the inside out. Her voice echoed across the water like a shattered melody, broken and raw.
"I couldn't do anything... I just stood there and watched her die..."
Riku held her tighter.
"I hate this. I hate all of it!" Midori screamed. "Why did it have to be her? Why did it have to be my mother?!"
Tears soaked through his shirt, but he didn't care. He just held her. He didn't say a word—not yet. What words could he possibly offer in the face of such agony?
He didn't remember his own parents. Not their faces. Not their voices. Nothing.
In some ways, he had always felt cursed because of that. But now... now he wasn't so sure.
Because what Midori had endured... that memory—that trauma—was something no one should ever have to carry.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice hoarse with emotion. "I'm so... so sorry, Midori."
Her fists tightened around his clothes.
"I wanted to forget," she said through clenched teeth. "I tried to forget. But I can't. Every night, I hear her screaming. Every night, I see her fall. And I see him—Ronin. That mask. Those eyes. The man who took everything from me."
Riku felt a chill run down his spine. He could feel her hatred—it was tangible, heavy, and burning like fire between every word.
"I'll never forgive him," she continued, quieter now, voice barely above a whisper. "Never. Not for what he did. Not for taking her from me."
Riku swallowed. He didn't move. He didn't flinch. He let her speak, let her pour the venom out of her heart like blood from an open wound.
"But..." Her voice cracked again, this time softer, unsure. "Even if I hate him... even if I want to scream when I look at him..."
She hesitated.
"I still... owe him. I wouldn't be here without him."
Riku blinked.
"I would've died that night. Just like my mom. He didn't have to come back for me. He could've left me. But he didn't."
Her hands loosened around him. Her head turned slightly, just enough for her voice to travel.
"That doesn't erase what he did. It doesn't fix it. But it means something, doesn't it?"
"Yeah," Riku finally said, quietly. "It does."
Midori slowly pulled away from him, just enough to look into his eyes. Her face was red and streaked with tears, but there was something else there now—resolve.
"I don't forgive him. But... I think I still need him."
Her lips trembled. "He's the only adult I have left. And no matter how much I try to deny it... part of me looks up to him. Not because he's a good man—but because he's trying so damn hard to be one."
Riku's breath caught in his throat. That hit harder than anything else she had said.
He looked down, then slowly placed his hand over hers. "We all carry something, Midori. Pain. Regret. Loss. Some of us remember too much. Some of us remember nothing at all."
She didn't speak. Her gaze searched his.
"I don't know who my parents were," he continued. "I don't know what they were like. I don't know if they were kind or cruel or if they ever even loved me."
He met her eyes, unwavering. "But I do know what love is. Because I see it in you."
Midori's breath caught.
"I see it in how hard you fight. In how deeply you feel. In how much you still carry her in your heart."
The wind picked up again. The trees swayed gently, their leaves rustling like murmurs from the past.
"You didn't stand there and do nothing," he said, voice firm. "You survived. And sometimes, that's the hardest thing to do."
Midori stared at him, her eyes wide and glistening.
"Riku..."
He gave her a soft smile, though it was tinged with sadness. "You're the strongest person I've ever met. And not because of your power. But because you've endured. And you're still here."
She looked away, blinking rapidly, more tears threatening to fall.
"You're such a dork," she muttered under her breath.
Riku laughed. "Yeah, I get that a lot."
A silence settled between them. Not an empty one—but one filled with understanding. With healing.
Midori leaned against him again, resting her head on his shoulder.
"Thanks," she whispered.
"For what?"
"For not treating me like I'm broken."
He looked down at her.
"You're not broken. You're just... still putting the pieces back together."
"...Do you think they'd be proud?" she asked softly. "My mom. Aya. Do you think she'd be proud of who I've become?"
Riku didn't hesitate.
"I know she would."
Midori smiled, tears still in her eyes.
The afternoon sunlight shimmered over the water, bathing them both in a golden glow. And for the first time in a long while, the weight Midori carried felt just a little lighter.
⸻
They sat there together for a long time.
The sound of the breeze rustling the tall grass, the occasional ripple on the lake's surface, and the subtle chirps of birds in the trees were the only things that accompanied them. The air was warm but mild, a gentle caress of sunlight beaming down from directly overhead. It was around noon, though the two had long since stopped paying attention to time.
Midori rested her head against Riku's shoulder, quiet now, her breathing steady again after the storm of emotion that had passed. The weight hadn't vanished, but it was lighter—more bearable—like someone else was finally helping her carry it.
Riku stared out at the lake, eyes distant. He was quiet for a long while, his thoughts like thunderclouds.
And then, suddenly, his voice broke the silence.
"If I ever see your father," he said, "I'm gonna beat the shit out of him."
Midori's eyes widened slightly. She blinked and sat up straighter, her gaze turning toward him.
He wasn't looking at her. His jaw was clenched, hands balled into fists on his lap, knuckles white. There was no heat in his tone—only cold, simmering fury. The kind that came from deep inside, buried under layers of empathy and helplessness.
She stared at him for a moment longer, and then... smiled faintly, like it was almost funny.
"You don't have to do that," she said softly. "That was a long time ago. I don't care anymore."
Riku finally looked at her. "I care."
Midori's smile faded slowly.
"He put you through hell," Riku continued. "He put your mother through hell. And from what you told me, he never paid for it. He never suffered. He just vanished. Like he got to walk away."
He shook his head, eyes narrowing. "That's not right. That's not how the world should work."
Midori looked down at her hands.
"I used to think like that too," she murmured. "When I was younger. I dreamed about seeing him again. About making him pay. About breaking his bones the way he broke my mom's spirit."
Her voice trembled slightly. "But that anger... it eats you alive. It devours you, Riku."
He didn't respond right away. He was listening. Really listening.
"I hated him," she said. "So much that it scared me. I wanted to kill him, and I was just a kid. I was so full of rage, I couldn't breathe some days."
She turned to him, her eyes sharp despite the tears that had dried on her cheeks.
"But the more I hated him... the more power I gave him. He wasn't even around anymore, and he was still controlling me."
Riku's lips parted slightly. He didn't know what to say.
Midori looked away again.
"It took me years to realize... I don't want him to have anything from me. Not even my hatred. Not even my attention."
The lake shimmered under the midday sun. The water sparkled like it was full of diamonds.
"I'm not saying I forgive him," she added quietly. "I never will. But I won't waste any more of myself on him, either."
Riku leaned back slightly, still staring at her.
"You're incredible," he said.
She blinked. "What?"
"I mean it," he said, voice firmer now. "You've been through more than most people could survive, and you still—somehow—you still manage to be you. Strong. Brave. Fierce."
She flushed a little, looking away. "Don't make it sound so noble. I've made mistakes. I've hurt people. I push everyone away."
"You haven't pushed me away."
Midori opened her mouth, but no words came.
"I know you think you're broken," Riku said, his voice low, "but you're not. You're fighting. Every single day. And I see that."
She swallowed hard, a new wave of emotion hitting her chest. It didn't burn like before. It felt... warmer. Softer.
She didn't know how to respond to that.
So she said the one thing that came naturally.
"You're not too bad yourself."
Riku tilted his head. "Oh?"
"You're reckless. Kind of stupid. Always jumping into danger with no plan."
He snorted.
"But..." she added, more gently, "you're also kind. You listen. You care. And you didn't flinch when I told you the worst parts of myself."
He looked away, suddenly a little self-conscious. "Well... you deserved someone who listened."
There was a pause. Then Midori scooted a little closer.
"You know," she said, glancing at him sideways, "you really suck at taking compliments."
He gave a small, sheepish grin. "Guess I'm not used to getting them."
Another moment of quiet passed between them. The air was warm, the light breeze moving slowly through the trees, sending their shadows dancing across the ground.
Midori's voice was softer when she spoke again.
"I used to think... that maybe I wasn't meant to be loved. That maybe something inside me was just too broken. Too angry. Too full of hate."
She paused, biting her lower lip. "But now... sitting here, with you... I don't know. I feel like maybe that's not true."
Riku turned to her slowly.
"It's not," he said, looking directly into her eyes. "You deserve to be loved. More than anyone I know."
She stared at him.
There was no hesitation in his gaze. No doubt. Just quiet certainty.
And for the first time in a long time, she let herself believe it.
"...Thanks, Riku."
He smiled gently. "Anytime."
They sat together like that for a while longer, watching the lake shimmer under the afternoon sun. No more words were needed for the moment. Not when the silence felt this peaceful. Not when the ache in their chests had finally started to dull, if only a little.
Even if the pain never left completely, even if the scars stayed forever—at least now, they knew they didn't have to face it alone.
Midori leaned her head against Riku's shoulder again, her hair brushing his arm, and for once, the world felt... quiet. No screaming. No pain. Just the two of them and the lazy lull of the breeze.
Then Riku, being Riku, opened his mouth again.
"Well," he said, almost too casually, "what if I loved you?"
Silence.
The birds stopped chirping. The wind paused mid-rustle. Somewhere in the distance, a squirrel dropped its nut in sheer disbelief.
Midori's eyes popped open.
She jolted upright so fast she nearly launched herself into the lake.
"Huh!?!"
Her voice cracked like a whip through the calm air, echoing off the trees.
Riku blinked, then raised his hands like he was under arrest.
"Wait—wait! Not like that! Not like—that that!"
Midori scrambled back, cheeks turning a dangerous shade of red, a fist raised like she was preparing a full power punch to the solar plexus.
"You absolute dumbass! What the hell kind of bomb was that?! You don't just say stuff like that after a traumatic heart-to-heart!!"
"I was trying to be hypothetical!" he shouted back. "Like—philosophical love! The pure, supportive kind! The 'I got your back in a totally not romantic way' kind!"
"Since when does hypothetical love get dropped like a confession?! You can't just drop a line like that!"
"I didn't drop it, it slipped!"
"WHO SLIPS ON LOVE!?"
Riku waved his arms in a panic. "Okay! Okay! Time-out! Miscommunication! I was just saying—if someone were to love you—hypothetically! Maybe me!—then it'd be totally understandable because, you know, you're amazing and terrifying and honestly I'm a little scared of you right now."
Midori narrowed her eyes, crossing her arms with a huff.
"I should fry you with lightning just for the emotional whiplash."
"You don't even have lightning powers."
"I'll steal yours just to do it."
"Please don't."
They stared each other down for a second longer before Midori finally let out a sharp snort. Then a chuckle. Then, before she could help it, full-on laughter.
Riku stared at her, wide-eyed.
"...Wait, you're laughing? I thought I was dead for sure."
She wiped a tear from her eye, shaking her head. "You should be. But that face you made when I freaked out—" she snorted again, "—looked like a puppy getting yelled at for chewing on a katana."
"That's oddly specific."
"I have vivid metaphors when I'm panicking."
Riku sighed, flopping back into the grass. "So... no violent retribution?"
Midori smirked and leaned over him, her shadow casting across his face. "I didn't say that."
He flinched. "Please not the ribs. I need those."
She jabbed a finger into his side playfully. "Next time, lead with context, you idiot."
He groaned, laughing. "You got it, context first—then hypothetical love. Lesson learned."
They lay there again, the world slowly returning to its natural rhythm, the trees swaying, the lake sparkling, and the birds resuming their afternoon gossip.
And in the midst of it, despite the awkwardness, the misfire, and the near-death by embarrassment—
Midori smiled.
So did Riku.