For the first few days, the sound of that metal thing piercing the door of our bar followed me everywhere. At work, on the street, in my sleep. Everywhere.
Every time I paused or closed my eyes, the scene rose in front of me again: Kazuo staring at his bloodied hand, the blood running down his gray fur and dripping to the floor.
I thought maybe, after a night or two, it would fade.
It didn't.
It only got worse.
Every time I stepped outside after that, I felt pressure at the back of my neck, as though someone was standing too close behind me. As if I was never truly alone, even when the street was empty.
I had no idea who it was. Or if there even was anyone at all.
I had never caught someone staring at me, never heard footsteps following behind me.
And yet the fear stayed. It settled into me, becoming part of my breathing.
I wanted to disappear, wanted to crawl into some deep, hidden hole and stay there, somewhere no one would ever find me.
Somewhere dark
Somewhere safe.
However, I couldn't leave Kazuo. So I forced myself forward. Step after step. Night after night.
I pulled my hood lower than usual, and the mask never left my face anymore.
Bracing for something sudden, I stayed tense all the time, as though an attack could come at any second. My keys were always clenched in my hand, ready to use if I had to.
Dark alleys seemed safer because no one was there.
But that was exactly why they terrified me.
Main streets were no better. Too many people. Too many eyes.
Every passerby looked like a threat, as if they knew exactly who I was, as if they knew what I was hiding, as if the hood and the mask fooled no one, as if they could see straight through me.
I started flinching at footsteps. At sudden laughter. At movement in the corner of my vision. My heart jumped for no reason at all.
For months, I had grown calmer.
Meeting Ed had pushed those fears into the background.
Not completely, but enough that I stopped mapping exits the second I walked into a place. Enough that my thoughts shifted to him. To us.
And I almost forgot who I was.
Now, though… now the fear was back, heavier than ever.
The weather didn't help either. The cold rain hadn't stopped for days, running along the sidewalks, dripping from rooftops, and making things worse.
This fear, this constant sense of eyes on me, was so heavy this time, so unbearable, that I needed some way to let it out.
As for Kazuo, he was doing everything he could to act as if nothing had happened. As if our world hadn't shifted. As if there was no threat and everything was fine.
He joked with customers, placed supply orders as if the bar were standing forever, as if there were no reason to stray from the usual rhythm of things. He wiped down glasses. Lined up bottles.
But this time, you didn't need to be a genius to see that it was all an act. It was obvious. He was pretending to be okay.
He would freeze for long stretches, staring at his bandaged hand. The same hand he'd injured that night. The same hand I kept seeing in my nightmares.
And he continued staring at the door…
That damn door.
Why did it keep taking the hit?
First, someone wrote on it. Now someone drove metal into it.
What next?
Were they going to tear it off its hinges?
Fuck.
I was right on the edge of a breakdown, and Kazuo's forced calm was what finally pushed me there. I couldn't hold it in anymore.
So at some point, I just blurted out, "I wanted to talk."
Kazuo scanned me from head to toe and asked evenly, "About what?"
I hesitated. I had no idea where to start. No idea how to shape what I was feeling into actual words.
"I'm scared," I said, under my breath.
It caught his attention immediately. The bottle he'd been moving came down onto the counter with a dull, solid thud. He turned to me fully.
"What exactly scares you?"
I stared at him, genuinely confused.
"What do you mean, what?" I said. "You're really going to go on pretending nothing happened? You think I don't see it? Don't see how much this affected you?" My voice shook. "It affected me too," I went on. "I know you have to be just as scared as I am. So why pretend?"
A lump rose in my throat, but I tried to get a grip on it, to pull myself together, to make sure not a single tear slipped through.
"I know what this place means to you. You built it with your own hands. You did all of this yourself." I said, nearly sobbing. "And now it's suddenly under threat. All of it. Because of people like me… Because of me… Because you let me work here."
Maybe I shouldn't have said any of it.
He was definitely angry. Now he had to be thinking he never should've taken me in, that he never should've gotten involved with hybrids. None of this danger would've existed if he hadn't.
I couldn't lift my eyes.
The fear that had been aimed outward until now made me afraid to see his reaction. Afraid to see regret on his face. Afraid that he wished he had never opened that door to me.
He stayed silent for a long time, then let out a heavy breath.
"You think I'm scared?" he asked, leaning back against the edge of the bar. "Maybe. But it's like being afraid of falling off your bike and scraping your knee."
I slowly lifted my eyes to him.
"Luka, I'm not an idiot. When I decided to open this place and chose how I was going to run it, I knew what I was signing up for. I knew it wouldn't be easy. Don't think some group of hybrids showed up and forced me into this. No. I chose this path myself. I knew the pros and the cons."
I watched him, and honestly, I still didn't fully understand where he was going with this.
He crossed his arms over his chest and continued. "But it seems like we've reached a point where the neutrality I chose isn't an option anymore."
"What are you talking about?" I finally asked.
"There are moments, Luka, when you have to choose a path. Even if you think you've already chosen and you're walking straight ahead, sometimes you hit a fork." He sighed, glanced at a bottle, and picked it up. "The real question," he added, turning to me, "is which path you're going to choose."
I still had no idea what he was talking about. Bikes… scraped knees… paths to choose.
What the hell was he even saying?
Something sour started building inside me. I hadn't wanted this conversation. I'd wanted to talk about something else.
"I'm trying to talk to you about my fears," I said. "About what I'm feeling. About the fact that this is actually my fault. About how—"
"Luka." He cut me off and looked straight into my eyes. His expression was more serious than I'd seen in a long time. "I thought you were smarter than that."
My mouth opened, but nothing came out.
"Don't you hear how self-centered that sounds?" he said. "You really think you're the only one who's scared? You think this happened because of you?" he went on. "The world doesn't revolve around you, kid. There are plenty of people like you. Look around. You know how many this threat was meant for."
He paused, letting it sink in.
"You're not alone in this. And for this to be your fault, you'd have had to force me. But I chose this long before I met you."
My throat burned.
"I know you're scared," he said more softly. "And that's normal. It's normal to be afraid of threats. Of violence. Of being targeted." He leaned closer. "But don't make yourself responsible for everything. You're surrounded by people who are as afraid as you are. When I made this choice, I knew what I was accepting. Including their threats." He straightened. "And as I said, it's time to choose."
My voice barely worked. "Choose what?"
He looked at me for a long moment, then said quietly, "Think about the life you want for yourself. Think about how you want to spend your days. Do you want to keep being afraid, hiding, putting on that mask? Or do you want to walk down the street like everyone else without a mask or a hood?"
He held my gaze.
"The life you want determines the path you take. You can let fear decide for you and try to hide in some hidden place. Or you can admit you're scared, admit you don't want to live that way anymore, and decide you're going to do something about it."
He paused, then added, "Just think about all of it. Once you do, you'll understand what path I'm talking about."
Someone at the other end of the bar called him out.
He straightened up, gave my shoulder a light pat, and walked away.
I stayed where I was, unable to move.
The last thing I expected was for our conversation to take this turn.
And now my thoughts were in absolute chaos.