Edit 22/03/2025 : I'm still working on this fiction, and I'm determined to finish it. Since I've improved quite a bit in translation, I just updated the first chapter and finally published it on Archive of Our Own, where I hadn't uploaded it before. I'm going to try to keep up the momentum regularly while continuing to work on the other fiction as well.
Author's note : Hey!
Here's a story I've been working on for a long time. The chapters are shorter than what I usually write, ranging from 4,000 to 8,000 or 9,000 words, rarely exceeding 10,000. This was a project I was deeply passionate about, and I had plenty of inspiration while writing it.
As for the story itself, it mainly focuses on the deep, brotherly bond between Gray, Natsu, and Erza (with an emphasis on Natsu and Gray). It revolves around a specific past event that still affects their relationship today, interwoven with present-day events that connect back to it. The tone is particularly dark and serious, following Natsu and Gray as they struggle to overcome the traumas of their respective pasts to finally reach the relationship they share today. But trust me, it won't be an easy road.
One last thing to keep in mind: there may be some inconsistencies with the manga's canon, and that's entirely intentional. For example, don't take into account what we know about Gray and Erza's childhood interactions, I've reimagined that part to fit the story I want to tell. There are likely other small changes as well, but for the most part, just assume we know nothing about what happened during their childhood, aside from their respective pasts before joining the guild.
I think that's everything, so all that's left to say is, enjoy the read!
Title: When the masks fall, the winds turn
Characters: Natsu Dragneel, Gray Fullbuster, Erza Scarlet, Lucy Heartfilia
Genres: Angst, Friendship
Full summary:
When two people go from loathing to unconditional brotherhood overnight, it's only natural to assume they're lying.
But not them.
It took more than a passing breeze, more than a fleeting moment, for hatred to transform into an unbreakable bond. The road was long and brutal, paved with tears, blood, and screams—born from a misunderstanding and sealed with a promise.
A promise that united them. That shaped them. Their hatred gave way to friendship, their differences to complicity, their pain to intimacy. They opened up, understood, and experienced each other, all because of one thing.
The truth.
When the masks fall, the winds shift. And for Natsu and Gray, they carried them toward a brighter future.
Chapter 1 : July 8th
He was roused from his slumber by the melodious chirping of the local fauna, a delicate cadence that teased the edges of his drowsy consciousness. His heavy eyelids barely stirred, allowing only a sliver of daylight to intrude upon his dream-laden gaze.
The constant murmur of the wind slipped through his perpetually open window, brushing against the branches of Selbra, the venerable centenarian willow tree that his modest apartment seemed almost to embrace within its walls. Propping himself up on one elbow, he let out a long yawn, his gaze—as it always did—becoming lost in the vibrant palette of the landscape. From his cocoon of sheets, he could see the solar star rousing itself alongside him, its rays still steeped in a deep vermilion as they danced across the river's surface to meet his watchful eye. The day had barely begun, and it was rare for him to awaken naturally this early, especially on a morning like this, free from his mage's duties as was customary at the start of July.
Fairy Tail had been on hiatus for six days. Every year, ever since a certain event fifteen years ago, the guild chose this time to pause, reflecting on and confronting the memory of what had transpired that day. It was their way of honoring the promise of unwavering support they had made to the one who, during this season, needed it most.
Everyone was free to take what the master loosely referred to as a 'vacation' during the first week of the month, but the guild's senior members understood the weight behind the term and had, for years, adhered to what was more a ritual than a respite. It served as a quiet pretext, gently encouraging newcomers—still unaware of the guild's deeper traditions—to remain at the guild, sparing anyone the burden of explanation. Missions weren't forbidden, but the sight of the elders willingly partaking in this solemn custom was usually enough to dissuade the novices from leaving. The tedium of these seven days of enforced inactivity was stifling, yet none of the elders, Gray included, had ever succumbed to the temptation of breaking the ritual by taking on a mission.
Knowing he would be unable to return to the regenerative embrace called "sleep", he stretched and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. With a brief sigh of self-encouragement, he ran a hand through the untamed mass of his brown hair before getting up, the last traces of drowsiness evaporating from his features as he made his way into the kitchen.
As he did every morning, he first made his way to the window, his fingers brushing gently against the few leaves of Selbra that ventured into his home. He paused, casting a brief but contemplative glance at the horizon, its vibrant colors helping him mentally prepare for the day ahead. The slow ascent of dawn painted the fading night sky, dusting the clouds with hues of carmine and saffron, a promise of bright and sunny hours to come. The river, snaking just a few meters away and curving around his home on its journey to the ramparts and out to the sea, lent a welcome freshness to the air—a soothing balm against the stifling heat of summer days.
The young man stretched once more, turning away from his reverie with a second yawn, followed by a final sigh. Despite the beauty of its dawns and twilights, Gray despised summer. Hardly surprising for an ice wizard, is it? Yet the stifling heat wasn't what he loathed most about the season. What he truly hated were the memories it unearthed, and the guilt that came with them. For him, July was a month unlike any other, a poignant reminder of how cruel and selfish the kid he once was could have been.
Following his train of thought, his gaze drifted to the calendar pinned to the wall as he lazily dressed. His attention lingered on today's date, the red circle drawn around the number catching his eye as he slipped his arm into the second sleeve of his shirt. A shadow of guilt immediately clouded his eyes.
July 8th.
Now dressed—though for how long, only the gods could say—he straightened, a sudden gloom overtaking him. His gaze shifted to the object he had safeguarded for years, a relic of immeasurable worth encased in glass.
It was nothing more than a tattered children's storybook. Its pages, once savagely torn and clumsily mended, were now illegible, and its cover was riddled with holes and cracks. Yet, to Gray, this battered book was more precious than his own life, as it embodied a memory he both cherished and cursed, that he longed to forget yet fought to preserve. On this day more than any other, this fragile remnant of the past took on an almost sacred importance.
Taking a bite of his breakfast, he slowly approached the relic, placing one hand on the glass casing that safeguarded it. His palm glided gently over the surface as he gazed at his cherished possession, his eyes heavy with a nostalgia tinged with sorrow and regret.
'Today's the day, huh…?'
It was no surprise he had woken so early. Not once in fifteen years had he forgotten this date or the promises tied to it, and he had no intention of making this year an exception. He wasn't entirely sure why he clung to it so fiercely, especially when everyone else had long since forgiven him—most of all, the person involved—but he had never missed a single July 8 and never wanted to. Once again, he would honor his promise. Even if the day held little significance for anyone else, to him, it would always stand as a stark reminder of the cruel acts he had once committed against someone who had since become an irreplaceable friend—to him and to the entire guild. Justified or not, no matter how much time had passed, he had never been able to forgive himself for what he had done.
He took a deep breath to steady his resolve before stepping out of his home, finishing his pancake in one swift bite. The dawn was still young when he arrived at the guild's doors, yet even the near certainty of finding the hall nearly empty did not deter him from going inside.
He was unsurprised to find Mirajane behind the bar upon his arrival, with their old master sitting cross-legged on the counter. Though the shutters had been opened, the lamps in the hall remained lit, as the daylight was still too faint to brighten the room on its own.
"Morning, Mira. Gramps," he greeted as he approached the counter.
"Good morning, Gray!" The young barmaid waved cheerfully, her warm smile lighting up her face. Makarov acknowledged him with a simple nod, which Gray returned before settling onto a nearby seat.
"You're up early today," Mirajane noted, her tone gentle as she set down the glass she had been wiping. Her gaze, a mix of affection and curiosity, lingered on him. "Got something planned?"
For a moment, Gray lost himself in the radiant gaze of his interlocutor, unconsciously searching for any trace of the suspicion woven into her voice. Yet, he soon abandoned the attempt, unable to see past the veil of selfless kindness clouding her eyes. Shifting his focus, he fixed his gaze on a point just beside her face.
"Yeah," he admitted, his tone leaving little room for further inquiry. "Something like that."
He caught her stealing a brief, furtive glance at Makarov. Though he couldn't see the old man's reaction, he could sense the unspoken exchange between them. Mirajane's expression softened into quiet concern, but she chose not to press the ice mage for an answer.
"Can I get you a drink?" she asked simply, making it clear she had chosen to change the subject.
"Just water, thanks," Gray replied.
She nodded and disappeared into the kitchen. His gaze lingered absently on the rhythmic sway of her hair before he turned in his seat, taking in the quiet details of the guild hall. Each table was meticulously arranged, the chairs neatly tucked beneath them, the room devoid of life. The silence was so deep that the faint murmurs of the waking city seeped through the thick walls.
His gaze lingered on his usual spot, and for a fleeting moment, he almost saw him there—eating heartily, laughing, filling the space with warmth and joy. The vividness of the illusion only betrayed how deeply his thoughts were steeped in his presence.
"Something on your mind, my boy?"
The master's sudden interjection shattered the illusion he had been staring at for what felt like hours. With a quiet sigh of resignation, he let it fade.
"It's too quiet," he murmured, knowing Makarov would understand. "It's always like this."
The old man remained silent, his gaze following Gray's, lost in quiet contemplation of the empty seat that had remained vacant for six days. The absence of its occupant weighed heavily on the guild, casting a lingering shadow over those who knew the reason why. These silent days were slowly sapping their energy, and in this moment, nothing was missed more than his presence. The thought of facing yet another day without his boundless vitality was almost suffocating—a quiet ache made all the worse by the knowledge of why he was gone.
The ice mage noticed his movement and, without turning his head, shifted his gaze discreetly toward him. Two dark eyes gleamed with quiet sorrow, rekindling the guilt he had tried to suppress.
He sighed again, turning back toward the counter, and propped his chin against his palm with a nonchalant air of exasperation.
"I hate July."
He didn't bother looking at Makarov, already knowing what his reaction would be, and simply waited for the words he expected to come. His gaze drifted instead to Mirajane's shadow, moving gracefully through the small kitchen. He wondered if she was deliberately taking her time, giving them space to speak freely—until the master's voice finally broke the silence.
"Just like everyone else here," he said, a quiet reminder that he wasn't alone.
"Hm."
He didn't miss the way Mirajane froze for a brief moment before resuming her work. Despite her best efforts to appear unaffected, he knew she was listening intently. Even the mere mention of this stressful time of year was enough to stir memories of that fateful day, fifteen years ago.
"Don't be too hard on yourself," Makarov said suddenly, as regret began creeping into the ice mage's thoughts.
This time, Gray dared to meet the master's gaze and found it fixed on Mirajane's back as he had noticed—just as Gray had—her brief hesitation. Under the dim glow of the chandelier, the turmoil in Makarov's eyes seemed to burned with quiet intensity as they shifted to him. Gray nearly shivered.
"I know what day it is," the old man murmured, "and what it means to you."
The knowledge did little to ease his discomfort. Even though he knew, deep down, that his grandfather had long since forgiven him, it was the certainty that he had never forgotten that day that unsettled him the most—not the fact that he could read it so easily in his eyes.
His hands were already trembling with dread by the time he looked at them.
How could anyone forget… that?
Only he and Erza truly knew—had lived through—the appalling details of the events that had brought such horror to their doorstep. Yet the vision of that bloodied, broken body collapsing to its knees at the guild's threshold, the memory of the words, the pleas, the tears that had torn through their very souls, haunted them all.
And it was all Gray's fault.
The memory, which had until now only skimmed the surface of his mind, suddenly erupted, seeping through every pore of his skin and flooding his entire being.
He could almost feel it again—the sickening crunch of bones beneath his knuckles, the violent tremors of the body under his grip, the warm spray of blood against his face. He could even hear the screams of pain. The onslaught of these sensations crushed his heart with self-disgust.
The primal rage that had once consumed him stirred in his gut, as if he had been thrust back in time. And then, the words came back to him. Damn, those words. It was almost impossible to believe they had ever left his lips, that he had been capable of something so vile, so monstrous.
His selfishness, his instability, his jealousy—they had nearly erased an entire existence from the guild's future. The mere thought of what might have been, of the void he could have left behind, twisted his stomach in knots.
He rested a trembling hand against his forehead, his elbows propped on the counter, and forced a sharp exhale through lips already frozen with dread.
"If you remember, then you haven't forgotten. What I did…"
The warm, reassuring touch on his arm made his remorseful shoulders sag, but he couldn't bring himself to meet his interlocutor's gaze. Instead, he fixed his eyes on a random spot on the counter, tracing a groove with deliberate focus—anything to push away the lingering fear left in the wake of his resurfaced memories.
"What I don't forget, Gray," Makarov said, his voice steady, "is that today is the day one of my kids is going to torment himself for no reason. And I'm not even mentioning Erza."
Erza.
His muscles tensed at the mention of her name. He would never forget that she, too, had to live with the memory of him—of the way he had massacred another child, a member of their family, like a ravenous beast. Because of him, she had been dragged into his crime, and the worst part was that she had never once blamed him for it. Instead, she had taken the guilt upon herself, burdened by a mistake she had never made.
If this day was harder on her than anyone else in the guild, it was his fault. And, in a way, he almost wished she would hate him for it. But she hadn't. She had forgiven him. She had even taken on part of his burden, carrying the weight of his sins to ease his pain—when he deserved none of it.
No, he definitely didn't deserve friends like them.
"She's the reason I don't have his blood on my hands. She shouldn't even blame herself."
"Neither should you."
Gray's fist clenched—this time, with anger.
Why? Why did they all keep telling him he shouldn't feel guilty? He had nearly beaten one of their own to death, damn it! No matter his reasons, no matter how much time had passed, no matter how young and reckless he had been, it wasn't something that could be dismissed as insignificant. Especially not when his actions had been driven by nothing but selfishness and jealousy.
Did they ever stop to consider what would happen if he let go of his guilt? If he simply… moved on? It would be as if he were dismissing everything—everything he had done, everything his victim had suffered. As if he were accepting it.
He could never allow that.
Never, never, never.
"How can you say that?"
Fury burned through him, blinding and raw. He could feel his magic stirring beneath his skin, quivering in response to the emotion surging through him, sending jolts of adrenaline through his veins. Yet, despite the storm inside him, his voice had wavered—more uncertain than enraged.
"Gray—"
"If I don't feel guilty, who will?!"
He shot to his feet, slamming his fist against the wooden counter with enough force to make it groan under the impact. Mirajane flinched at the sudden outburst, turning toward him with wide eyes.
"You really want me to pretend I have nothing to blame myself for? That it wasn't my fault?!"
Makarov held his gaze, his expression unreadable. Something in that look cut through Gray's anger, reducing it to nothing more than a dull tremor in his gut. And suddenly, he realized how unfair it was to lash out at them—when all they were trying to do was help.
The master was quick to speak, his voice calm but firm.
"That's not what I mean."
Gray sank back into his seat, shoulders heavy.
"It was your fault," Makarov continued. "You shouldn't have done what you did, and your actions had serious consequences."
The ice mage lowered his head once more.
For all the times he had claimed he wanted his friends to hold him accountable—to curse him without restraint for what he had done—he had vastly underestimated how much it would hurt to hear it from their lips. The weight crushing his heart was proof enough that their words were justified.
"However."
The weight of that single word eased some of the tension gripping his chest. He knew what would come next—understanding, forgiveness, redemption. Bracing himself, he straightened slightly in his seat, holding his breath.
"It was fifteen years ago, Gray. Your past actions no longer hold power over the present."
The black-haired man frowned in thought. Even if it was true that, outwardly, nothing had changed, could they really trust appearances? After all, they had never even suspected the gaping wound he carried inside him—until they had unknowingly pried it open and been forced to face it in the harshest way possible.
Who was to say that, if they dug deeper, they wouldn't uncover another one hidden beneath the surface?
"Are you really sure about that, Gramps?"
The weight of Gray's gaze bore into him, stripping away the defenses he had built over the years. Makarov felt his throat tighten.
"He's the best at hiding his feelings, you know that. If not for this incident, we might never have known what he was going through. And what if he's still hiding something… for the same reasons as before?"
A deep furrow joined the many wrinkles on the old man's forehead as he grudgingly realized he had no valid argument to counter Gray's words. He studied the young man's eyes, a storm of unspoken questions swirling within them, and for a moment, it was as if time had rewound—back to a nine-year-old Gray, his tear-filled gaze pleading for reassurance, for guidance in the wake of the disaster he had wrought.
"Why does he always act like that?" Gray pressed, his gaze never wavering.
The weight of the moment settled over Makarov, wrapping around him like a vice. That feeling from years ago returned in full force—the same confusion, the same helplessness reflected in Gray's eyes. It was as if nothing had changed.
For a fleeting moment, Makarov could almost hear the voice of a child, small and uncertain, asking once more:
"Hey, Gramps... how can he smile all the time if he's in so much pain?"
Back then, he had evaded the question with a vague answer, and young Gray had accepted it without pressing further. But that child had grown into a man—one who would no longer be satisfied with half-truths or empty reassurances.
It pained Makarov to admit it, but he had no more answers now than he had back then. And nothing frustrated him more than failing in his role as a guide and mentor.
He always acted that way simply because it was who he was—he had no better explanation. And yet, Makarov knew that, for all his frustration, Gray wouldn't change him for the world.
"I don't know," he admitted, but he didn't give Gray the chance to be disappointed. "But that's how we love him, isn't it?"
Gray merely let out a low grunt, averting his gaze, unwilling to voice agreement in such sentimental terms. Makarov chuckled, watching him with fond amusement.
"And then people wonder why we fight all the time…," Gray muttered with a dramatic sigh, half genuine, half feigned. "You never get anything out of him unless you punch him in the face first."
The guild master might have laughed if the moment had allowed it, but not even Gray's attempt at levity could dispel the weight of their conversation. Those two boys shared a bond unlike any other—one that few could truly grasp, but Makarov was among the rare few who understood it best. As much as he was their master, he was also something more, a father figure, and that role was one he held closer to his heart than anything else.
He was grateful that Gray could speak to him openly and seek his advice, even if there were still things the proud young man he had become wasn't ready to admit. Having watched them grow and mature into adulthood, Makarov had long since learned to read between the lines of their words and actions, allowing him to offer guidance in the best way possible.
That understanding was essential, enabling him to help them navigate their emotions without overstepping or wounding their pride by delving too deeply into their private struggles.
"Maybe that's true," he finally agreed. "But would you really want that to change?"
Gray hesitated, his answer no longer as obvious as it would have been fifteen years ago. Back then, he might have wished for things to be different without a second thought. Now… he couldn't deny that there were times he longed for a shift in their dynamic—moments when he wanted to understand him on a deeper level, to know his thoughts and feelings without the barriers of pride and honor standing in the way. Yet, at the same time, he cherished their relationship as it was.
They had reached such an instinctive understanding that words were rarely necessary to convey emotions or thoughts, and Gray valued that simplicity. The only times he ever wished for something more were those rare moments when a conversation's weight made him wonder if their bond could withstand the strain of speaking the unspoken.
He didn't want him to change—he doubted he even could. If there were things that fists couldn't quite explain, then he still had these July 8ths to do so. Beyond the weight of that memory and the promise he had made, that day had become something else as well, a quiet testament to the bond they shared, strengthening their friendship year after year.
A faint, knowing smirk tugged at his lips before he even realized it.
"No," he answered firmly. "I wouldn't."
Gray's response, along with the look on his face, softened Makarov's features even more. At that moment, his role as their spiritual father had never felt more meaningful, a deep quiet fulfillment settling warmly in his heart. The thought made him feel fifty years older, but he wouldn't trade it for anything. Watching these children grow, mature, and carve out their own lives before his eyes was his greatest joy. He loved these kids with every bit of his heart.
"Then you know what you have to do," he stated. "You're both adults now. We've been through so much together since that incident, he knows we won't abandon him, that he can count on us, and on you too. He understands now, more than ever, that he will never be alone again. And if he fights so fiercely to protect this guild, I believe it's also his way of repaying those who always believed in him."
Makarov noted the contemplative expression forming on Gray's face and, seemingly satisfied, pressed on without waiting for a response.
"You're one of those people, Gray, no matter what you've said or done in the past."
Gray didn't look convinced. It wasn't that he didn't believe in him—there was no doubt about that. But he wasn't sure he saw it that way. Not after everything that had happened. He had been trying to prove it to him ever since, but their complicated relationship left little room for such sentiments. With the few hints he had managed to offer over the years, he wasn't sure he had ever truly gotten through to him, wasn't sure he had succeeded in showing just how much he mattered.
Somehow, he doubted that all the punches to his face had been able to convey that.
He suppressed a bitter sneer at the thought. No, it was highly unlikely that everything he'd done over the past fifteen years had helped in that regard. Makarov noticed the flicker of self-reproach in his expression but didn't give him the chance to argue.
"Even if we assume your actions still affect him in some way, I'd say that impact is barely noticeable now. So stop punishing yourself, you've already served your sentence. You're looking for an absolution you already have, and I'm sure you remember the first person who gave it to you."
How could he ever forget? Of all people, he should have been the last to forgive him, and yet… Barely minutes after waking up in the infirmary—his body still wrapped in bandages, his wounds and fractures the work of Gray's own hands—he had given him a smile. A smile of forgiveness. The most life-saving, most reassuring smile Gray had ever seen.
Even Erza had needed hours before she could bring herself to speak to him again, and the other children had shunned him for days. Only the adults had shown him any leniency, and without Makarov's intervention, the silence would likely have stretched on for weeks. But him… he had forgiven him in an instant. Accepted his apology without hesitation. Opened himself back up to him so quickly that Gray sometimes wondered if he had ever resented him at all. Even now, he still couldn't understand why.
And that was the real problem. The whole guild had forgiven him. He had forgiven him. But Gray… Gray had never been able to do the same. Not when that memory still burned so vividly, so unbearably close.
The master sighed inwardly in defeat, sensing the familiar weight of Gray's guilt resurfacing in his posture. "Honestly, how many years will it take before you finally forgive yourself?"
"At least fifteen, apparently."
A quiet pause settled between them before Gray let out a slow, heavy breath, pressing his forehead against his clasped hands and closing his eyes. "Actually, most of the time I don't even think about it. With him, it's just too easy to forget. But..."
"Not today, hmm?"
Gray's fingers tensed before he straightened, letting his arms drop onto the counter, his mind drifting far from the present. "Not today."
Makarov watched as Gray's gaze drifted toward the kitchen, where Mirajane had been absent for nearly ten minutes. Following his line of sight, the old master then spoke, his voice calm yet firm. "I suppose remembering our mistakes now and then doesn't hurt... but just remember, if this day marks the worst of that time, it also marks the best."
Gray turned back to him, brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"
"What happened fifteen years ago was painful, but you also made a promise that day, didn't you? Or... has that, too, become a burden?"
Gray knew Makarov wasn't referring to the promise itself, but rather to what it granted him, what it allowed him to have, if only for one day a year. Today, he would have the chance to share a private, meaningful moment with someone just as important to him. No matter how painful the past was, those memories could never take that away.
"It's not a burden," he admitted. "I want to keep my promise."
"I'm glad to hear that."
With that, the conversation reached its natural conclusion, neither of them feeling the need to reopen it. Everything that needed to be said had been said, and Gray felt immeasurably lighter than when he'd arrived—something he hadn't dared to hope for. The memories still lingered beneath his skin, coiling like a restless serpent, but the weight of guilt had loosened, making room for the hope that, once again this year, he would succeed in keeping his promise.
"All right," Makarov said, satisfied that he had managed to ease his kid's fears, if only a little. "Unfortunately, I have a meeting today. I need to get going."
"The council doesn't care about our little 'vacation,' huh?" Gray quipped, his tone light and teasing.
Makarov let out a self-exasperated sigh at hearing his own words thrown back at him. He had called these days of forced stillness a "vacation"—a brief period when the guild closed in on itself to bear the weight of one of their own. But in truth, they were anything but restful. Even without missions, there was no escaping the heaviness in the air. His kids would probably never let him live that phrasing down.
"No, they certainly don't," he grumbled. "Luckily, it won't take long. I'll be back tonight."
"Good luck, Gramps."
Makarov nodded in thanks and straightened his coat as he stood atop the counter. "Enjoy the day, both of you."
"Three, actually," Gray corrected. "Erza's joining us in the evening, as usual."
"Good. Then have a nice day, all three of you. Make the most of it."
"Count on us. Thanks, Gramps."
With one last reassuring pat on Gray's shoulder, Makarov hopped down from his perch and made his way out, leaving Gray alone in the vast, empty guild hall.
Well… almost alone.
The ice mage lifted his head abruptly when a glass of water was placed in front of him. His gaze landed on Mirajane, though not as he had ever seen her before. Her head was bowed, her hair veiling her eyes, and not the faintest trace of a smile graced her lips.
He opened his mouth to speak, but she beat him to it.
"I'm sorry… I was listening."
Gray took the glass with a guilty expression, his eyes catching the faint traces of dried tears on her cheeks.
"It's okay," he murmured. "I'm sorry if I made you cry."
"N-No, it's not your fault, really! It's just..." She hesitated, searching for the right words to express what she felt. "We all know what today means, don't we? The same thing has happened every summer for years now, and every time, I can't help but think we shouldn't just sit around and wait for him to come back."
Gray understood what she meant. If not for the rare, precious moments he was granted every July 8 with him, he too would have spent those days of seclusion wondering about his well-being, questioning what state of mind he was in. He would have asked himself the same thing Mirajane did.
Except for him and Erza, everyone likely believed he was withdrawing out of fear of being a burden to the guild, and while that was partly true, it wasn't the only reason, nor was it the most important. Gray felt a pang of guilt for not recognizing their concerns sooner, for never taking the time to ease their worries with what he was the only one to know about. He should have said something.
"I don't know," Mirajane murmured sadly. "We shouldn't just let him face this alone… we should all be there for him, show him that we're here, help him forget, even more so now that we know about… this." Her voice trembled slightly before she added, "It feels like we're letting him down… and I hate it."
Who wouldn't hate that feeling, knowing it was one of his greatest fears? Gray understood her pain all too well, and it only made him angrier at himself for never sharing what he had come to understand every July 8.
There was something Mirajane needed to know, something they all needed to understand. He needed these moments of solitude and reflection. It was hard to believe, given how much he despised loneliness, but Gray was certain of it. He didn't isolate himself to forget, he did it to remember. To recall the things he spent the rest of the year trying to bury, to contain what he dared not show.
"Hey, Gramps said it himself, didn't he?" Gray said gently. "He's not a kid anymore. Whether we're physically by his side or not, he knows we're here for him. And honestly… I don't think he wants to forget. If anything, it's the opposite. There's more to remember than just the bad stuff, you know."
Mirajane looked at him knowingly. "You're speaking from experience, aren't you?"
The ice mage shifted slightly in his seat, his gaze slipping away from his glass, uneasy with how the conversation had turned from her struggles to his own. Especially because she wasn't wrong.
Everyone had their own way of confronting emotions and making peace with the past, but one thing remained constant. Sooner or later, they all had to let their walls down and allow themselves to be submerged by those feelings. Whether that moment happened in solitude or in the presence of another depended on the person, but for him, breaking down in front of someone else was the hardest thing imaginable. That was an undeniable truth.
In many ways, they weren't so different. Though he'd never admit it, he knew he processed the past in much the same way he did.
Not that he had any intention of saying that out loud. There were limits to what he was willing to acknowledge about his relationship with him.
"S-Sort of."
Fortunately, Mirajane didn't press the issue. She seemed reassured by his explanation, her posture loosening as her shoulders slumped with relief.
"So… you really think it's better not to interfere?"
"I don't just think so. I know it." Gray's voice was firm. "If he's chosen to stay away from the guild during this time, it's not just for our sake. Trust me on that."
"If you say so…" she murmured, still unconvinced.
Gray sighed, realizing he'd have to swallow his pride a little more if he wanted to put her at ease.
"Let me put it this way: imagine we all show up at his door right now. What do you think would happen?"
The answer was obvious, yet Mirajane could not bring herself to reply. If they intruded on his solitude like that, he'd only shut them out further, wearing his usual mask of indifference and pretending everything was fine. They'd get nothing but his well-practiced deflections.
Stripping him of his privacy was the worst thing they could do.
She was beginning to see Gray's point, but that didn't mean she had to like it. Her gaze dropped to the counter, her silence heavy with reluctant acceptance.
"For now, he doesn't even know the guild shuts down for him while he's away," Gray added, sensing he was finally getting through to her. "What do you think would happen if he found out?"
This time, he held her gaze, silently demanding an answer.
Mirajane hesitated before sighing in defeat. "He'd force himself to come back… just to keep us from worrying." Her voice was distant, reluctant.
Gray nodded, satisfied to see the first traces of understanding in her expression and voice.
"Exactly," he said firmly. "And that's the last thing he needs right now. He wouldn't be able to stand knowing we were sulking around on his account. The worst thing we could do is give him another reason to act strong for our sake. What he really needs is time to himself. The best thing you can do is accept that and be here to welcome him back when he's ready."
Mirajane's posture sagged further, resignation settling in, but it didn't erase the sadness or guilt lingering in her eyes.
"You're probably right… but that doesn't make it any easier."
Gray exhaled softly, his own expression shadowed with understanding. "Yeah… it sure doesn't."
"I just wish there was more I could do. After everything he's done for us…" Mirajane's voice was laced with sorrow, and Gray had a good idea of the personal regrets tied to those words.
Of course, it was moments like these that reminded them all just how much he meant to everyone, how different their lives would have been without him. And to think Gray had almost been the spark that could have sent their futures spiraling down a completely different path… The mere thought was terrifying. If he hadn't come back that day…
Gray gave a slight shake of his head, cutting off the dangerous train of thought before it could take root. Fortunately, Mirajane was too lost in her own memories to notice his sudden tension.
"When Lisanna died, he was there for me and my brother when he had every reason to blame us," she murmured. "He acted so… normal. I didn't even realize he was just as devastated as we were, maybe even more. I was too caught up in my own grief to stop and wonder how he was holding up. I let him walk away with nothing but my thanks, and that was it. I never once checked on him. He deserved better."
"It's not—"
"Don't you dare tell me it wasn't my fault, Gray." Her voice was sharp, but not with anger—just a raw, aching guilt. "We all know how he is. I knew how much she meant to him. I should have known better, should have realized he needed someone too, but I was too lost in my own grief to notice."
The ice mage didn't argue with her again. He had no real words of comfort to offer—at least, none that wouldn't be a lie. The truth was, they had all fallen into that trap at some point, all because it was so easy to be fooled by the quiet strength he wore like armor, by the way his body language insisted he wasn't suffering. No one had the power to take that guilt from her, just as no one could erase his own. So he simply let her speak, offering no empty reassurances, only silent understanding.
"I feel selfish for forgetting so easily that just because he doesn't ask for help doesn't mean he never needs it." Her gaze darkened as she stared absently at the guild's doors. "I wonder how many times he's walked through them, acting like everything was fine… when in reality, no one even noticed he wasn't."
It was a question Gray had asked himself countless times over the past six days, though, oddly enough, not out of guilt. No, it was just the curse of this damned month, when his absence and the reasons behind it weighed on everyone's minds, leaving Mirajane, himself, and the whole guild chasing pointless questions. It felt almost dreamlike, as if he was trapped in an unstable state of mind where his thoughts and emotions were tossed around so violently that they lost all structure, stripping him of his usual restraints. It was the same every year, yet this was the first time he had spoken so openly about him with someone, even at that time of year.
Worse and worse…
"What about you, Mira?" He asked suddenly. "How many times have you done the same?"
She blinked, caught off guard by both the question and the sharpness in his tone. Though she didn't voice her confusion, she didn't have to as her expression alone told the ice mage that he needed to clarify.
"We're all the same, you know," he went on. "I'm sure there have been times when you were hurting but still managed to smile around us. Does that mean those smiles weren't sincere?"
The moment the words left his mouth, he saw the realization dawn on her face, the shift he'd been aiming for. Encouraged, he pressed on.
"See? It's no different for him. It's no different for any of us. That idiot might be a pro at hiding it, but we all have our highs and lows, and the guild is what gets us through it." He held her gaze. "You're part of the guild, aren't you?"
Mirajane still didn't answer, rendered speechless. Gray took the last sip of his water, then set the empty glass back on the counter before finishing his thought.
"So just like everyone else, you have a part in making his life easier. All you have to do is be yourself. Don't sell yourself short."
Her lips remained slightly parted as she absorbed his words, processing them, before finally pressing together in quiet gratitude.
"Thank you."
The ice mage nodded, relieved that this difficult conversation had finally come to an end and that he had managed to comfort his friend. His mind was still buzzing with all the emotions and thoughts stirred up by their words, leaving his head spinning as if he had downed an entire barrel of alcohol. The sun had barely risen, yet he already wanted to crawl back into bed and sleep for days.
It was moments like these that made him hate these so-called "vacations" even more. The thought of enduring three more days trapped in this whirlwind of raw, gnawing emotions made his stomach churn. He would give anything just to stop thinking.
He sighed in frustration, slouching against the counter, and Mirajane offered him an encouraging smile.
"Cheer up, Gray. I'm sure the day will fly by before you know it."
"Today will be fine. At least it won't be the same routine as yesterday, or the day before, or the day before that, or—"
"Alright, alright, I get it," she cut in with an amused tone. "I can't wait for this to be over. I just hope nothing changes."
"Don't worry, Mira. Just wait until he comes crashing through the guild doors, screaming like an idiot... Everything will be back to normal in no time." He rested his chin on his crossed arms and muttered, "At least until next year."
Another sigh escaped him as he ran a hand over his face before finally straightening up. "Okay, I need to do something, or I'm going to turn into a puddle. Need any help?"
"You're not leaving?"
"Not yet. If I go too early, I'll just get kicked out. Besides, I need to see Erza first."
"In that case… you could help me sort through some things in the archive room, if you're up for it."
"Alright, sounds good."
"Go on ahead, I'll meet you there in a couple of minutes."
The young man nodded, shoving his hands into his pockets in a casual manner as he headed down the stairs toward the archive room. After a few steps, though, he paused and turned back to Mirajane, who was just about to disappear into the kitchen.
"Oh, and Mira?"
She glanced up at him, waiting expectantly. "Yes?"
"Keep all this to yourself, okay? I'd rather not have to kill everyone you told that to."
Mirajane giggled fondly, relieved to see him slipping back into his usual fiery, confident self—to watch as that familiar ice-cold armor called pride, momentarily melted by the weight of the conversation, slowly rebuilt itself around his tender heart.
"Message received."
Gray offered a small, fleeting smile before turning on his heel and vanishing into the basement. His mind was still tangled with thoughts and memories, but for now, his heart felt just a little lighter.
Author's note : Well, here we are!
For now, this is just a little teaser, but I hope it makes you want to find out what happens next. I have some doubts about the flow of the story, especially in the parts where I use italics to refer to the "mystery character" (who, let's be honest, isn't all that mysterious—if you haven't figured out who it is, I think you might have a problem :p). I feel like I might be overusing italics, but at the same time, if I remove them, it could make things harder to understand. So... I'm not sure. Maybe I should just name him outright? What do you think?
As for this chapter itself, I hope I haven't gone overboard with the whole "hidden suffering" aspect of the characters. I have a tendency to crank up the angst in my fics, so I don't always realize when I'm pushing it too far. I like to imagine that beneath their cheerful exteriors, all the characters have their own unspoken struggles, which they manage to deal with thanks to the guild's warm and lively atmosphere. I feel like this side of things is a bit lacking in the manga (which is a real shame), and that actually gives me a lot of inspiration for new fics and one-shots. The whole "friendship gives you strength" theme is definitely there, no doubt about that, but it only scratches the surface. There's hardly any deep introspection, and that frustrates me! And from that frustration, inspiration and imagination flow like crazy!
Anyway, I hope all of this makes you curious about the promise and that particular event Gray and Makarov mentioned, the one Gray feels so guilty about. These two things are at the heart of the story, and the event in question will be told in detail. In a broader sense, that event is what really solidifies the bond between Gray, Natsu, and Erza. The fic will focus mostly on the past, with present-day scenes woven in between. You'll start to see what I mean in the next chapter.
That's all I have to say for now. Thank you so much for reading, and I'll see you soon for the next update!
Oh, and don't forget to leave a comment if you liked it! It might just speed up the release schedule :p