Kazutora Hanemiya.""

Kazutora had not appeared for days. He didn't answer messages. I didn't upload stories. I didn't send you those two-minute late-night audios talking about nothing, just because I couldn't sleep.

And you, who knew him beyond his scars, knew immediately: something was wrong.

You scored five times. You went to his work. Closed. You asked a mutual friend. He said he hadn't heard anything for days either. And when fear tightened your chest, you did what no one else would do:

You went to look for him at his apartment.

You climbed the stairs like someone climbing a damn mountain. The hallway smelled of stale cigarette smoke. The lights flickered. You knocked on the door.

Once. Two. Three.

—Kazutora! It's me! Open up!

Silence. The lump in your throat wasn't anxiety anymore. It was panic. You put your hand into the top frame of the door. It was still there.

The key.

Shaking, you slipped it into the lock. Turn. The door opened. And the world fell apart for you.

The room was dark. The curtain is drawn. The table is overturned. There were empty bottles on the floor, ashes on the books, and a moldy coffee cup in the corner.

And him.

Kazutora.

Lying face down on the bed. Without moving. With his shirt open, his hair messy, his arms stretched out as if he had been dropped there. He didn't cry. But her breathing was labored. Tired. As if breathing was already too difficult for her.

You approached silently. You called him softly:

-Torah...

He didn't answer. He just opened his eyes a little, slowly. He looked at you as if he didn't understand that you were real.

—What are you doing here? —he asked, his voice breaking. —I've been looking for you for three days. —I didn't think you were coming.