Shadows Heart

The rooftop feels smaller today, like the sky's pressing down instead of opening up. It's not the view—I've seen this same cityscape a thousand times—it's Sao. Sitting next to me, staring out like she's somewhere else, her presence somehow making the space feel both crowded and hollow.

"You shouldn't come up here alone," I say, keeping my voice steady, controlled.

She doesn't look at me. "I'm not alone."

"You know what I mean."

Her eyes finally flick toward me, and I hate the way she looks at me sometimes—like I'm something fragile, like I might break if she says the wrong thing. Sao's always been soft with me, even when I don't deserve it. Especially when I don't deserve it.

"We've been coming up here for years, Oriel," she says, her tone light, like this is a joke. "Nothing's ever happened."

"Yet," I mutter, my hands tightening on the ledge.

She sits too close, her shoulder brushing mine, and I hate how much I need it. Her presence is the only thing that keeps me grounded, but it also drives me insane. Sao doesn't get it—she never has.

I'm not just worried about her falling off the edge of the roof. It's the edges I can't see that keep me up at night. The invisible ones.

"You can't protect me from everything," she says, her voice soft but firm.

"I can try," I snap back, sharper than I mean to.

She doesn't flinch, just tilts her head at me like she's trying to figure out what's underneath my skin. I hate that too, the way she looks at me like she knows all the pieces, even the ones I'm still trying to bury.

"You're not responsible for me," she says gently, her hand brushing against my arm.

"Yes, I am," I say before I can stop myself.

Her eyes widen, just slightly, and for a second, I think she might argue. But she doesn't. Instead, she just watches me, waiting for me to explain.

"I've always been responsible for you," I say, my voice quieter now. "And I'm not going to let anything happen to you. Not now, not ever."

"Oriel…" she starts, but I cut her off.

"I mean it, Sao," I say, my voice trembling despite myself. "You're all I have left. If something happens to you…"

The words catch in my throat, and I can't finish the sentence.

She reaches for me again, her hand resting lightly on my arm. It's a small gesture, but it feels like a lifeline.

"I'm not going anywhere," she says softly, her voice steady.

I want to believe her. God, I want to believe her so badly. But there's this part of me—the part that's seen too much, lost too much—that doesn't trust her words.

"You say that now," I murmur, shaking my head.

"And I mean it," she insists, her voice firm.

For a moment, the air between us feels heavier than the sky above. I don't know what to say, so I say nothing, letting the silence fill the gaps.

She breaks the quiet first. "I got another letter from him," she says, her tone casual, like it's not a punch to the gut.

"Of course you did," I mutter, staring at the skyline.

"He misses you too, you know," she says, and I can hear the hope in her voice.

"He doesn't miss me," I reply, bitterness creeping into my tone. "He misses the idea of me—the Oriel who didn't care about anything."

"That Oriel never existed," she says firmly, and I almost laugh at the certainty in her voice.

"You don't know that," I say, turning to look at her.

She meets my gaze, unflinching. "Yes, I do."

I don't know what to do with her belief in me. It feels too big, too fragile, like one wrong move will shatter it. And yet, I want to hold onto it, to wrap it around myself like armor.

But I can't. Not when I know how easily things break.

Later, after we've gone back inside, I sit in my room staring at the folded crane in my hands. It's been years since Janus left it, but I can't bring myself to get rid of it. I've crumpled it, unfolded it, refolded it so many times that the paper is soft, the creases worn.

Sometimes, I think about writing him back. But what would I say? That I hate him for leaving? That I miss him? That every time I read one of his letters, I feel like I'm drowning in my own bitterness?

I don't know how to say any of that, so I say nothing.

Instead, I tuck the crane back into my pocket and lean against the window, staring out at the city below.

Sao's words echo in my mind, quiet but insistent.

"I'm not going anywhere."

I wish I could believe her.