The Edge of Almost
It was still early when Natsu found himself on the rooftop of Fairy High.
The sun had only just begun to climb, painting the sky in soft hues of gold and lavender. A faint breeze stirred the air, rustling the old wind chime still hanging near the stairwell entrance—slightly rusted now, but intact. The familiar melody drifted through the morning quiet, like a ghost from another time.
Natsu leaned against the fence, his arms draped casually over the top rail, his gaze fixed on the town spread below. Magnolia hadn't changed much. Neither had the rooftop.
But he had.
He took a slow breath, exhaling through his nose as he closed his eyes. Even the air smelled the same up here—like summer on the verge of blooming, like rain that had left but might return.
Like memory.
The door creaked open behind him.
Natsu didn't turn. He didn't need to. Her presence was like water—quiet but consuming.
"You remembered the time I came up here," Juvia said softly, walking toward him.
He gave a small nod. "Could never forget. You always showed up at sunset. Or when it rained."
"I didn't think you'd be here."
"Neither did I."
They stood in silence for a beat, the wind nudging her hair across her face. She brushed it back, her eyes flicking to him—he looked tired. Not just physically, but in the way people do when they're carrying something invisible.
His hoodie was worn and slouched at the shoulders, sleeves pushed up like he hadn't bothered to fix them. The black shirt beneath it clung to his frame, a little too loose. His jeans were lived-in, faded at the knees, and his sneakers bore scuff marks like they'd walked through months of unrest. Even his muffler was absent today. His hair was messy, sticking up like he hadn't touched it in hours. He didn't look like the old Natsu—the reckless star of their youth. He looked like someone who had weathered too many storms in silence.
"What happened to you?" she asked, not unkindly. "You disappeared."
Natsu shrugged, his mouth twitching like he was considering a smile but changed his mind. "Life happened. My family needed help with some things in Crocus. Then overseas. Just… one thing after another."
It was vague, a half-truth wrapped in familiarity. Juvia knew better than to press. For now.
"You used to be louder," she said instead, trying to lighten the mood. "More obnoxious."
"I grew up," Natsu answered, eyes still on the horizon. "Sort of."
Juvia offered a faint laugh, but her gaze sharpened slightly. "You grew distant. That's what you did."
He turned to look at her then, and for a moment, he almost looked seventeen again—reckless, grinning, impulsive. But the echo faded just as quickly, replaced by something more subdued.
"You know, I never planned to leave the way I did," he said quietly. "I was gonna say something… to you. But then things got messy. Real fast."
"Messy?" she repeated.
Natsu nodded. "My parents were dealing with a lot. Health stuff. Business stuff. My brother Zeref was overwhelmed, and Igneel—he was the only one who offered to take me in here, in Magnolia. But then I ended up overseas with my parents for a while. I didn't even have time to breathe, let alone explain."
He left out the hospital. The sterile walls of Magnolia City Hospital, the weeks he spent there hooked up to machines he'd learned to ignore. The quiet panic in his mother's eyes. Zeref's stiff silence. The lies Igneel helped cover with ease.
He didn't tell her how, during that final week of high school, he'd ripped out his IVs in the middle of the night, sneaked out of the hospital, and ran all the way back here—just to see her again. One last time.
Juvia studied his face. She didn't press further. She only nodded, lips tightening slightly as if weighing everything she heard.
"You stayed with Igneel again when you came back?" she asked.
"Yeah. Still do, some nights. My apartment's not far, but his place has better food," Natsu grinned faintly.
Their eyes met. There was a beat of warmth, shared history tucked between the lines. But it passed, replaced by something quieter.
Juvia moved to sit on the low bench by the fence, her knees pulled up slightly. "So, what now?"
Natsu didn't answer right away. He stood beside her, letting his arms fall to his sides, fingers twitching like he wanted to say something but didn't know how.
"I don't know," he finally admitted. "Being here again—it makes things… feel different."
She tilted her head, her voice barely above a whisper. "Different how?"
"Like I could almost pretend we didn't waste seven years."
That struck something inside her—an ache she didn't expect. She looked away, but he kept going.
"I keep thinking about that night," he murmured. "The wind. Your hair. The way you looked at me when I kissed you like I was worth something."
He inhaled sharply. The ache in his ribs was there again—dull and steady. A warning he'd learned to ignore. But this time, it lingered longer than usual.
Natsu winced, subtly placing a hand to his side. Juvia didn't notice. Or maybe she did but said nothing.
"You were worth something," she said at last. "You still are."
Natsu didn't look at her. Instead, he tilted his head back toward the sky, the weight of those words sinking into him like rain.
He didn't want her to know. Not yet. About the tests. The blackouts. The quiet conversations behind closed doors.
He didn't want her to carry the weight of it.
So he smiled, soft and crooked. "Thanks, Blue."
Juvia glanced at him from the side, lips curving upward in spite of herself.
"Don't call me that."
"Too late. It's etched into rooftop history."
They sat like that until the sun climbed high enough to melt the morning mist, the silence stretching comfortably now—no longer cold.
But beneath that warmth, a quiet storm was brewing, unnoticed.
The edge of almost had never felt so close.
~ To be continued ~