Kuru stood alone in the mist, the dim, pale light of Kagekuni's streets casting long shadows that twisted and flickered in the fog. The stillness in the air was suffocating, pressing against her chest, as though the very city itself sought to trap her in its depths. Her breaths were shallow, her heart heavy, as the fog thickened, wrapping her in its embrace like a living thing.
The isolation was comforting, in a way. It mirrored the hollow feeling growing inside her, a sense of detachment that had taken root months ago, steadily growing deeper, more consuming. Once, she had fought against it, clung desperately to the light that flickered inside her. But now, Kuru felt as if she were drowning in the darkness, and part of her had stopped caring.
She ran her fingers through her short, dark hair, the strands slick and damp from the evening mist. The cold didn't bother her—hadn't for a long time—but she felt its weight pressing in on her, along with everything else. For so long, she had tried to maintain control, to keep herself from slipping too far. But how could she, when everything around her was slowly unraveling?
From behind her, she heard the soft sound of approaching footsteps. They were faint at first, then gradually grew louder, more insistent. Kuru didn't turn. She didn't need to. She already knew who it was.
Ami.
Even in this fog, in the crushing silence of Kagekuni, she couldn't escape her. Ami had always been there—always too close, always trying to pull her back into the light. But Kuru wasn't sure there was any light left to return to.
"Kuru..." Ami's voice was barely a whisper, but it carried through the mist like a ripple on still water. There was no anger in her tone, no frustration. Just concern. That was the worst part of all—Ami's endless, unyielding concern.
Kuru clenched her fists, her nails biting into her palms as she exhaled slowly. "I told you to stop following me." Her voice was low, tight, laced with an edge of bitterness she couldn't quite contain.
"I know," Ami said softly, her footsteps slowing as she drew closer. "But I can't. You know I can't."
Kuru's jaw tightened. Of course, Ami wouldn't. She never knew when to let go. She never knew when to stop. Kuru could feel her presence now, just a few steps behind her, close enough to reach out and touch if she wanted to.
But Kuru didn't turn around. She didn't move.
"Why do you keep doing this?" Kuru asked, her voice thick with frustration. "Why do you keep chasing me down? You know what's happening to me."
The silence stretched between them for a long moment, and when Ami finally spoke, her voice was quiet, almost fragile. "Because I don't believe that's all there is to you. I still see the real Kuru, even if you don't."
The words struck Kuru like a physical blow, and for a moment, her chest tightened painfully. She forced a laugh, cold and bitter, shaking her head. "The real Kuru?" she repeated, her voice mocking. "Do you even know who that is anymore? Because I don't."
Ami took a step closer, her presence now only inches away. "Yes," she said firmly. "I know who you are. I've always known."
Kuru finally turned to face her, her eyes hard, glinting with anger and something deeper, something darker. "You don't know anything, Ami," she said, her voice a sharp, cutting edge. "You think you can save me? You think I can be saved? You're deluding yourself."
Ami flinched at the venom in Kuru's words, but she didn't back down. She never did. "I'm not trying to save you," she said quietly. "I'm trying to remind you that you're not alone."
Kuru's expression twisted, a mixture of frustration and pain. "But I am alone, Ami," she snapped. "I've always been alone. I just didn't realize it until now."
Ami's eyes filled with something Kuru couldn't quite identify—sympathy, maybe, or pity. She hated that look. She hated the way it made her feel, like she was broken, like she needed to be fixed.
"You're not alone," Ami insisted, stepping even closer, her hand reaching out tentatively as though she wanted to touch Kuru but wasn't sure she should. "You've never been alone, not as long as I've known you."
Kuru pulled back, her body stiffening. "Don't," she warned, her voice dangerously low. "Don't say things like that."
"Why not?" Ami asked, her tone soft but unwavering. "Why is it so hard for you to believe that someone cares about you?"
"Because I don't deserve it!" Kuru's voice rose sharply, startling Ami, who took a half step back. "I don't deserve any of this—your concern, your friendship, any of it. I'm not... I'm not worth it."
Ami's expression softened, and she shook her head slowly. "That's not true, Kuru. You've always been worth it. You just... you just can't see it right now."
Kuru looked away, her heart pounding in her chest. She wanted to scream, to tell Ami to stop, to push her away, but the words wouldn't come. All she could do was stand there, trembling with frustration, with anger, with guilt.
"I don't need you," Kuru said quietly, her voice shaking. "I don't need anyone."
Ami's lips pressed into a thin line, and for the first time, Kuru saw a flicker of something else in her friend's eyes—something like hurt. "You keep saying that," Ami said softly. "But I don't believe you. I think you need someone now more than ever."
Kuru felt her chest tighten again, the weight of Ami's words pressing down on her. She wanted to reject them, to push them away, but deep down, some small part of her—the part that hadn't completely succumbed to the darkness—knew they were true.
"I..." Kuru started, but her voice faltered. She didn't know what to say, didn't know how to express the storm of emotions raging inside her.
Ami took another step forward, closing the small gap between them, her hand gently resting on Kuru's arm. "Please, Kuru," she said quietly. "Let me in. Just... let me help."
Kuru stared at her, her heart pounding in her ears. The touch was warm, comforting in a way she hadn't felt in so long. And for a moment—a brief, fleeting moment—she almost let herself believe that maybe, just maybe, Ami could help her.
But then the darkness surged inside her again, cold and suffocating, reminding her of what she had become.
Kuru pulled her arm away, stepping back into the fog, her face hardening once more. "You can't help me, Ami," she said, her voice low, but final. "You can't save me from this. I'm already too far gone."
Ami's face fell, her eyes filled with sadness and frustration. But she didn't argue, didn't push any further. She just stood there, watching as Kuru slowly retreated into the shadows, her heart breaking a little more with every step.
"I'm sorry," Kuru whispered, her voice barely audible. "But this is just... the way it has to be."
With that, she turned and disappeared into the mist, leaving Ami standing alone in the cold, empty street. The fog closed in around her, thick and oppressive, and for the first time, Ami truly felt the weight of Kuru's isolation.
She had tried so hard to hold on, to keep their bond intact, but now she wasn't sure if there was anything left to save. The darkness had taken too much, left too little behind. And as Ami stood there, staring into the fog where Kuru had vanished, a single, painful thought echoed in her mind:
Maybe Kuru was right.
Maybe she really was too far gone.
To Be Continued...