Morning crept in quietly.
The first golden rays of sunlight slipped through the half-drawn blinds, painting the room in pale amber. Dust motes drifted lazily through the air like tiny, weightless ghosts. Beyond the window, the city was just beginning to stir—distant chatter, the low growl of engines warming up, a dog barking somewhere far below. Life moved. Slowly. Indifferently.
Yuri opened his eyes to the same hollow silence that had greeted him every morning since memory began. No birdsong. No footsteps. No humming from a mother making breakfast. Just the faint tick… tick… tick… of the wall clock, marking another day he had chosen not to die.
He sat up, bare-chested, skin brushed with cold. For a long moment he stayed perfectly still, staring at the sunrise with an expression that wasn't quite empty—but wasn't alive either. His breath fogged the glass.
He inhaled.Then exhaled.
A new day meant one thing.
Discipline.
He dropped to the floor and positioned himself beneath the metal frame of his bed.
"One."
The push-up came smoothly.
"Two."
By fifty, the familiar ache began whispering its presence.By two hundred, it was screaming.
Sweat dripped down his spine, falling to the floor in slow, heavy beats. The bed above him pressed down like a silent opponent—testing him, taunting him, asking him if he would break.
He didn't.
His mind slipped into rhythm.Pain and breath.Pain and breath.Pain… until thought itself evaporated.
Next came pull-ups. He gripped the steel beam bolted across his ceiling—something he'd installed years ago, knowing one day he would need to be stronger than anything he feared. Or hated.
His shoulders quivered with each pull, the muscles burning with memory—blows he'd endured, screams he couldn't forget, nights spent curled beneath blankets pretending walls could protect him.
He counted under his breath.A hundred.A hundred and ten.A hundred and twenty.
His arms trembled violently by the end, but he didn't stop. He never stopped.
Abdominal crunches came last. He moved through them mechanically—five hundred, six hundred, seven—until his body shook beneath the weight of the morning. Sweat soaked the floor. His breath hitched. His vision blurred.
Yet still, he kept going.
Only when the faint buzz startled the quiet did he stop.
His phone. On the nightstand.A vibration he didn't recognize.
He grabbed it, thumb brushing across the cracked screen.
Unknown number.One message.
"Come down."
No name. No punctuation. No context.
Yuri stared at it for a long moment. Enemy? Stranger? Mistake? His instincts shifted—slow, sharp, precise. Curiosity crawled up his throat like a dangerous itch.
And Yuri never ignored danger.
He slipped on a dark shirt and gray sweats, tying his messy hair back. His movements were silent, practiced—every stretch, every shift of weight built from years of training himself to move like nothing and no one.
The hallway outside his apartment felt unusually still. The kind of stillness that hid teeth beneath it.
Each creak of the wooden steps echoed like a warning as he descended.
By the time he reached the lobby door, his pulse had steadied into a calm thrum. His body tightened. He could feel someone on the other side, lingering close.
He reached for the handle—
—but before he could touch the metal, the door exploded inward.
"Huh—"
Standing there, grinning awkwardly, was Eithen.
Behind him: Sarah and Gemma.
All three dressed casually. All three far too cheerful for how early it was.
"Yo," Eithen said. "You good? Didn't wake you, right?"
Yuri blinked. "Uh…"
"Sorry for showing up like this," Sarah added. "Hope you didn't have plans."
"N-no. Not really. Hi, guys. What's… going on?"
Eithen scratched the back of his neck, sheepish. "So… I kinda told them something's been bothering you lately. And since it's Saturday, we figured… day out. Fresh air. People. You know."
"Day out?" Yuri echoed.
Gemma shifted nervously, clutching her sleeves. "Y-yeah. It might be fun. Don't you think?"
He looked at her closely.Gemma had changed.The light in her had dimmed.Her laughter was softer, strained.She'd shrunk—not physically, but emotionally—as if trying to fold herself out of existence.
"So… you in?" Sarah asked.
Yuri hesitated. Solitude called to him—it always did. But something in Gemma's attempt at a smile… stopped him.
"…Sure," he said quietly. "That sounds… pleasant."
Their expressions lit up like fireworks. Sarah clapped. Eithen whooped. Gemma's faint smile twitched into something almost real.
Before Yuri could think, they pulled him outside.
They spent the day wandering through the city like kids who'd forgotten that tragedy existed.
The zoo came first. The air smelled of animals and fried food; children screamed with laughter; grown men posed for photos with birds perched on their arms. Yuri stayed a step behind, watching the others from a distance.
For a man who had seen the world painted in blood, this peace felt foreign. Beautiful. Wrong.
Next came the arcade. Music blared, lights flashed, coins clattered. Sarah and Eithen dove into every game like rivals destined for war. Gemma hugged a plush she'd won to her chest like a shield. Yuri tried a game reluctantly—his reflexes so sharp the machine whirred in protest.
When he actually smiled after winning, the others stared at him like he'd parted the sea.
Lunch happened at a restaurant way beyond their budget. They begged for mercy afterward but ended up washing dishes together—laughing through soap bubbles and exhaustion.
For hours, Yuri felt something he hadn't felt in years.
Something small.Something warm.Something terrifying.
Joy.
But beneath the warmth, something else lurked.
This happiness isn't meant for you.
By evening, the sky glowed purple over the local amusement park. Neon lights flickered to life. Music drifted through the air. The group split up—Eithen and Sarah to buy drinks, Yuri and Gemma to grab snacks.
The air was cool, fragrant with caramel, popcorn, and the faint scent of rain waiting in the clouds.
"Hehe! I'm sure this'll be enough to beat those two!" Gemma said, arms full of sweets.
Yuri nodded. "Yeah…"
But something wasn't right. Her laugh was too light. Too hollow.
"Gemma," he said softly. "Are you okay?"
She froze."H-huh? W-where did that come from? Of course I am."
"I know it's sudden," he said gently. "But all day… you've had your guard up. And your smile…"He held her gaze, steady and kind."…it's been forced. Hasn't it?"
Her grip loosened.The snack bags slipped from her arms.Her gaze dropped to the ground.
"W-why…?" she whispered. Her voice wavered like thin glass. "Why did it have to be me? What did I ever do that was so wrong?"
She trembled. Tears gathered.Then she broke.
She crumpled to her knees, shoulders shaking, breath hitching violently.
Yuri didn't hesitate.
He knelt beside her, wrapping his arms around her trembling body.She froze for a heartbeat.Then she clung to him—desperate, small, aching.
"He saved me," she cried. "He saved me and I pushed him away like he was nothing!"
Her words cut through Yuri like a blade.He knew that guilt.He knew that grief.He knew exactly what it meant to survive when someone else didn't.
He held her tighter.
"It's not your fault," he murmured. "There are cruel people in this world—parasites who feed off suffering. They're the ones who deserve pain. Not you."
Her sobs filled the air, raw and honest.
Her sorrow settled into him like fire.
Every tear.Every tremble.Every memory she fought alone.
He felt it all.
And something inside him sharpened—like a blade being honed.
Later, when they rejoined the others, no one mentioned what happened. They didn't need to. The silence between them was thick with understanding.
They walked Gemma home together, making sure she didn't take a single step alone.
The streets were quiet.The stars faint through the haze.For the first time in years, Yuri felt something close to peace.
Not because his wounds had healed.But because—for once—someone else's didn't have to bleed alone.
And under the shimmering night sky, he let out a slow breath.
Maybe… this is what living feels like.