Say something, I'm giving up on you.
"Say Something" ~ A Great Big World Christina Aguilera
Hikari sat at her desk, staring at the half-written letter in front of her, the pen hovering above the page as if it might write itself if she stared hard enough. The soft glow of her desk lamp threw shadows across the paper, making her half-formed sentences look more distant than they were, as though even the words themselves didn't know how to bridge the silence stretching between her and Kazutora.
Outside, the night was heavy and still. It'd been like that since Shinichiro's death, like the world was quietly holding its breath, waiting for something no one could name. A fog of silence blanketed everything, the kind that left her feeling unsteady and a little too small.
She'd started the letter with good intentions. She wanted to remind Kazutora that he wasn't alone, that he still had people who were here for him. But now, staring down at the page, she felt a tightness in her chest. There was no getting around it: her words felt…empty. Forced. As if she were writing to someone who didn't exist anymore, or who, at the very least, didn't want her to find him.
Weeks had passed since her first letter. Weeks since Kazutora was sent to juvie. And though she knew how broken he must feel, part of her couldn't shake the sting of his silence. Keisuke heard from him. But for her? Nothing.
She set the pen down and looked at the words she'd managed to get onto the page again. She sighed and leaned back in her chair, rubbing her temples. Why wasn't he writing back? Had she said something wrong? Or…was it just everything?
The questions swirled in her head, unanswered and unwelcome, and with each one, the hurt twisted tighter.
I thought we were friends. That was the part that stung the most. All she wanted was a reply—a sign that she still mattered to him. But his silence gnawed at her, made her feel like she was trying to speak into a void that had no plans to answer back.
The soft knock on her window jolted her out of her thoughts. She turned to see Keisuke crouched on the other side of the glass, looking in. His usual grin was gone, replaced with something quieter, something that mirrored the sadness in her chest. Without a word, he slid open the window and stepped inside, landing lightly.
He glanced at the letter on her desk, then at her, expression careful.
"You writing him again?" he asked, his voice softer than usual.
She hesitated, then nodded. "Yeah. But…I'm not sending it." She sighed. "It's pointless. He hasn't written me back once."
Keisuke ran a hand through his hair as he sat down on her bed. "I don't know why he hasn't," he said, meeting her eyes with an awkward kind of sympathy. "He writes to me, but it's nothing big. Just... like he's saying he's okay, but not really saying it."
He knew he wasn't giving her the full story. Kazutora's letters weren't exactly warm and fuzzy; if anything, they were filled with a bitterness that would break her heart. But he kept that to himself. Instead, he forced a reassuring smile.
She fiddled with the edge of the paper. "You think he's mad at me?"
"No," he said quickly, shaking his head. "He's not mad at you. He's just…he's just going through a lot. I don't think he knows how to talk to anybody right now. Maybe me, just because…you know. Everything."
There was a weight to his words, an unspoken truth hanging between them. Kazutora was struggling, and it wasn't pretty. And Keisuke was the only one who seemed able to reach him, if only barely.
"I just…" She trailed off, her voice quieter now. "I thought he was my friend, too."
Keisuke's gaze softened. He reached over and ruffled her hair, his hand lingering a second longer than usual. "He is. But right now, he's pretty messed up, Hikari. It isn't you."
She nodded, swallowing hard, though the tightness in her chest stayed right where it was. She knew he was probably right, but it didn't make the silence hurt any less.
For a long moment, they just sat there, the room quiet, the hurt hanging heavy in the air. Outside, the city lights blinked on as the rest of Tokyo was carrying on without a clue.
She glanced at the letter one last time, then crumpled it in her hand, the sound sharp in the stillness. There was no point in sending it. Not anymore.
"I'm done," she said softly, her voice steady with a note of finality. "I won't try again."
Keisuke watched her, searching her face before he nodded, accepting her decision without comment. "Alright. If that's what you want. You tried, Hikari. Now it's up to him."
She nodded again, feeling something like relief settle in, heavy but somehow freeing, as she tossed the crumpled paper into the wastebasket. The hurt was still there, but it felt more distant, less like a sharp wound and more like a bruise she could learn to live with.
Keisuke got up, heading toward the window. Just before climbing out, he paused and looked back at her. "I'll let you know if he says anything," he said quietly.
She managed a faint smile, nodding. "Thanks, Keisuke."
With one last nod, he disappeared into the night, leaving her alone with the quiet.
As she sat there, she realized something: letting go didn't mean she was giving up. It didn't mean she cared any less. It just meant that she couldn't hold on to someone who wasn't there. Maybe someday, Kazutora would find his way back to them. But for now, she had to keep moving forward.