The warehouse was silent again. Silent, but heavy—soaked in the stench of blood and smoke.
Ayu slumped against the wall, sliding down until she was sitting on the cold floor. Her whole body trembled with exhaustion, every cut and bruise screaming now that the adrenaline had faded.
Her head throbbed where the crowbar had grazed her. She pressed her fingers against the wound, wincing as they came away sticky with blood.
Across from her, Luv crouched on the ground, methodically wiping his blade with a torn strip of cloth. His breathing was steady, controlled, as if nothing had just happened.
Ayu stared at him. At the way his black hair clung to his face, damp with sweat. At the shallow cut across his cheekbone that he hadn't even acknowledged. At his hands—hands that killed without hesitation, yet now moved so carefully.
Finally, the silence broke.
"You didn't hesitate," she whispered.
He didn't look up. "Hesitation gets you killed."
She swallowed hard, her voice small. "I almost froze."
Now his eyes lifted, dark and sharp, pinning her in place. "But you didn't. You fought. That's what matters."
Her chest tightened. Hearing it from him—so blunt, so certain—felt like more than praise. It felt like recognition.
Luv set his knife aside and pulled a small metal tin from his bag. He opened it to reveal a jar of salve, its smell sharp and herbal. Without asking, he crossed to her side.
"Show me your arm."
She hesitated. Then slowly held it out. Her forearm was raw, the gash ugly and deep. She winced as he dabbed the salve onto it, the sting making her eyes water.
"You've done this before," she murmured.
His expression didn't change. "Too many times."
She dared to ask, softly, "How many fights have you survived?"
He paused. For a long moment, he didn't answer. Then he tied the bandage around her arm and leaned back slightly.
"Enough to know the world doesn't care if you bleed," he said at last. "It only cares if you get back up."
His words sank into her like stones. She wanted to ask more—what happened to you? why are you like this?—but she could see the wall in his eyes, the one built from years of pain.
Instead, she offered a small, tired smile. "You're covered in cuts too. Let me help."
For the first time, surprise flickered across his face. He didn't argue, though. He sat down beside her, letting her clean a slice across his shoulder with trembling but determined hands. His skin was warm, his body tense beneath her touch.
When she pulled back, she noticed them—faint scars crisscrossing his chest and arms. Old wounds, healed but never forgotten.
Her throat tightened. She wanted to say something, but the words felt too fragile. Instead, she simply whispered, "You've carried this alone for a long time, haven't you?"
He didn't answer. He didn't need to. The silence was enough.
For a long while, they sat together in the dark, their wounds patched, their breaths slowly steadying. The city outside kept moving, but in that quiet space, they shared something unspoken—pain, trust, survival.
And when Ayu finally closed her eyes, drifting into an uneasy rest, Luv stayed awake, watching the shadows. His blade rested across his lap, his gaze sharp, unyielding.
But somewhere, deep inside, a thought he hadn't let himself feel in years stirred faintly: Maybe I don't have to carry it all alone anymore.