It happens without warning.

I wake into darkness.

Not the familiar blur I’ve grown used to, the shifting patches of light and shadow I could still half-navigate. Not the faint halo around the window or the weak outlines of my desk. But darkness. Heavy, suffocating, absolute.

For a moment, I think my eyes are still closed. I blink rapidly. Once. Twice. A dozen times. Nothing changes.

Panic seizes me. My breath shortens into ragged gasps. I throw the blanket aside, lurching upright, my legs tangling in the sheets. My hand shoots out for balance, scraping against the sharp edge of my desk. Pain flares across my palm, but I barely feel it.

Not yet. Please, not yet.

I stagger to the window, fingers clawing the curtains open, desperate for light. I know morning should be spilling through the glass, warming the walls with gold. But when I lift my face, there’s nothing. Just the same black veil pressing in on me from all sides.

I claw harder, until fabric rips under my hands. I’m muttering to myself, incoherent pleas, prayers I don’t even believe in. My knees buckle. The floor catches me hard. I sit there, hunched and trembling, chest caving under the weight of a truth I don’t want.

I’m already gone.

The thought hollows me out.

---

My phone keeps ringing and ringing but I was too weak to reach for it. But suddenly, the door bursts open.

“Kaoru?!”

Shion’s voice. It cuts through the darkness like a blade of light I can’t see but can feel.

I freeze. Shame claws at my throat. I don’t want him here. I don’t want him to see me broken like this—though the irony makes me laugh bitterly inside. He can see. I can’t.

His footsteps cross the floor quickly, but he stops just short of touching me. His voice trembles. “What happened? Are you hurt?”

I bite down hard on the inside of my cheek. My fists clench so tightly my nails dig crescent moons into my skin. “…I can’t see.”

The words fall out as nothing more than a whisper, but I know he hears.

Silence stretches, thick and merciless. Then his voice, low and steady: “Completely?”

I nod, barely managing. My jaw trembles so badly it hurts.

He lowers himself slowly until he’s kneeling in front of me. I can hear the soft rustle of his clothes, the uneven hitch in his breathing. His hand hovers in the air, close enough that I feel its warmth, but he doesn’t touch me—not yet.

And I can’t bear it. His nearness, his carefulness, his concern—it’s unbearable. I spit the words out like shards of glass.

“You don’t deserve this. You don’t deserve someone who’s… disappearing.”

The silence that follows feels like the whole world holding its breath.

Then his voice explodes.

“Don’t you dare.”

I flinch. It’s the first time I’ve ever heard him shout. His voice, usually gentle and musical, now sharp enough to slice through my fear.

“You think sight is the only way to see someone?” His tone cracks with fury, with something deeper. “You think I only care because you can paint colors on a canvas?”

My chest heaves. My throat burns. “I don’t want to drag you into my ruin—”

“You already have!” His voice wavers, thick with desperation now. “Kaoru, you’ve already painted yourself into my music. Every note I write carries you. Every silence echoes you. You’re not fading from me—you can’t. Because you’re already here—”

I hear his palm hit his chest, a sharp thud over his heartbeat. “—and nothing can take that away.”

The words slam into me. I can’t breathe. My ribs feel too tight, my skin too thin to contain the flood surging through me.

I feel his hand at last, trembling but firm, wrapping around mine. His warmth spreads up my arm, grounding me, pinning me back to earth.

“Don’t you understand?” His voice is raw now, stripped bare. “I don’t want a perfect vision of you. I want you. In darkness, in silence, in whatever comes. I want you.”

Something inside me breaks. All the fear, all the walls, all the shame I’ve been holding back—they crumble. My tears spill hot, unstoppable.

I don’t think. I just move. I lean forward, colliding with him.

Our mouths crash together.

It isn’t careful. It isn’t practiced. It’s messy, desperate, trembling with everything we’ve been holding back. His lips are warm, insistent, pressing into mine like he’s been waiting for this moment all his life.

I clutch at him, fisting his shirt, terrified that if I let go I’ll vanish completely into the void. He doesn’t let me. His hand cups the back of my neck, steady and anchoring, holding me in place like I belong.

The kiss deepens. His breath tangles with mine, his heartbeat pounds against my chest. The darkness is still here, endless and absolute, but for the first time, it doesn’t scare me.

Because he’s here. His music is in the way he breathes, in the rhythm of his lips against mine, in the silence between us that feels more alive than any sound.

I don’t know how long it lasts—seconds, minutes, forever. When we finally break apart, we’re both gasping, foreheads pressed together, breaths colliding.

I can feel his smile, faint but steady, against my skin.

“I see you,” he whispers. His voice is hoarse but unshakable. “Always.”

And somehow, impossibly, in this endless dark, I believe him.