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Suo has given Nirei a new workout regimen added onto the training he's been doing with him. Which has been great, don't get him wrong, but he's barely making any real progress. It’s pathetic, really. Every night he replays the fights in his head—every swing he didn’t land, every moment Suo or Sakura had to step in. Seeing everyone on the bridge that night only solidified that feeling. Sure, he put up a fight, but he still had to rely on Suo to protect him. Again. That stung more than any bruise he walked away with. That kind of failure doesn’t just fade—it festers.
He didn't want to be someone on the sidelines, someone who could only stand by as Suo and Sakura got hurt. They deserved better. Suo barely even tries and he still moves like he was born to fight. Sakura burns bright like it’s second nature to protect people. But Nirei? All he has are numbers and shaking hands. And they’re not enough. They never have been. His data doesn’t block punches. His information doesn’t stop people from bleeding. And if he couldn't be better, then what was he even doing here? What was the point of all this if he couldn’t keep up?
He needs to be better than this. His info and data sets only get them so far, and what's the point if he just gets in the way during a fight? So here he is, for the fifth morning in a row, doing that workout routine Suo gave him, doubled. No one told him to. No one asked him to. He didn’t even mention it. Because if they knew, they’d try to stop him. And if they stopped him, he’d never catch up. It feels desperate. He is desperate. If he wants to improve at all, he's going to have to push himself, the same way he sees his friends doing as they face newer and stronger opponents. His muscles have been aching nonstop since the second day he started the enhanced workout.
It hurts to breathe sometimes. His legs tremble when he stands. He doesn’t sleep—how could he? Every time he closes his eyes, he sees that moment again: the way Suo’s arm shot out just in time, the way Sakura’s expression tightened when he looked back at him. He doesn’t want to be the reason they hesitate. He doesn’t want to be the reason they bleed.
Nirei figures that once his body can handle the hits he's been taking, then learning to actually fight might become easier—or maybe it'll just be easier because his body can finally respond to him the way Suo wants it to. Or maybe he’ll still suck, but at least he’ll suck less pathetically.
Halfway through his run this morning, he guesses his body isn’t able to keep up, because he staggers to a stop and barfs up what little breakfast he had. His body is so weak it can’t even handle him trying. Every muscle protests like he’s being punished for daring to want more—for daring to believe he could ever be like them. It leaves his mouth tasting like acid, his brain fogging up in a dizzy confusion that only worsens his nausea, making him throw up again. He’s grateful he had managed to stop by a field, so at least he won’t have to worry about cleaning up his sick later. That’d just be one more thing to be ashamed of.
After a moment of just staring at the ground, waiting for the fog to clear and the nausea to settle, he takes a deep breath and moves to start his run again. Though, he supposes he should’ve known he was pushing his luck, because not even six steps later, his body begins to tilt to the side as the fog overtakes his mind, leaving him to collapse to the ground.
Nirei only feels a distant hum of discomfort rolling through his body when he's awoken by the Suond of a loud whisper, followed by a softer voice shushing it. There's something oddly comforting about it, though he can’t exactly place why. His sleep-ridden brain can only wonder why he isn’t speaking up, asking them to keep talking, to keep him company.
It's with that thought that a sudden surge of awareness snaps through his body, and he bolts upright. He was supposed to be working out, he had just been running. Where was he?
“Whoa, hey—sit down, idiot,” comes the sharp bark from nearby, followed by the Suond of a bag rustling. Nirei's vision swims before he manages to make out Sakura crouched nearby, eyebrows knit tight with worry he’s clearly trying to hide. Suo is nearby too, casually checking his phone, like none of this is as serious as it feels in Nirei’s bones.
They don’t get it. Not really. They think this is just him overworking, skipping meals, running too hard. Another Nirei thing. Another dumb choice they can patch up with some water and sarcasm. But it’s not. It’s worse than that.
Because he’s not just tired, he’s drowning. And neither of them seem to see it yet.
As his senses begin to return, Nirei realizes something doesn’t add up—the air feels too still, too quiet for the field he remembers. That’s when Sakura mutters, almost like an afterthought, “We brought you back to my place, by the way. Didn’t want you face-down in some random field when you came to.”
Nirei blinks, glancing around and finally taking in the familiar clutter of Sakura’s apartment. That’s when it really hits him, he didn’t make it. They had to bring him here. They had to find him, carry him back, clean him up, lay him down. The blanket draped over him, the glass of water on the table, each one a quiet marker of how much he’d failed to take care of himself. It all feels too soft, too considerate. And too much. The realization curls in his stomach like shame.
He swallows hard. “You didn’t have to… I could’ve managed.”
“You passed out,” Sakura adds, voice flat but tight around the edges. “Again, apparently. What the hell were you thinking?”
“You really like giving us heart attacks, huh?” Suo’s voice is quieter, amused, and annoyingly calm as always. He’s leaning against the arm of the couch now, arms crossed and a lazy grin tugging at his lips. “Overachiever of the year.”
“I was fine,” Nirei mutters hoarsely, even though his stomach twists at just sitting up.
“Yeah? Before or after you turned into a human pancake in a ditch?” Sakura shoots back, cheeks flushing red, not from anger, but embarrassment. “I mean—tch—you’re such an idiot.”
“You’ve said that twice now,” Suo points out, voice light. “Means you’re worried.”
“I’m not!”
“Mmhm.”
Nirei slumps back against the couch, chest rising and falling slowly. “I just… I need to get stronger. I can’t keep slowing everyone down.”
Suo's smile fades slightly, the mischief in his eyes dimming as he finally steps forward. “You don’t get stronger by killing yourself, Nirei.”
“And you’re not slowing anyone down,” Sakura says, fidgeting awkwardly with the hem of his shirt. “You’re one of us. So act like it, dumbass.”
But that just makes it worse.
Nirei clenches his jaw, looking away. “You keep saying that, but I’ve seen the way you both fight. The way you always have to cover for me.”
Neither of them says anything. Maybe because they don’t want to admit he’s right. Or maybe because, up until this moment, they didn’t realize just how much he’d noticed—how long he’s been carrying this alone.
“I’m not stupid. I know Suo’s been holding back because he’s too busy keeping me from getting flattened. I know you, Sakura—you always hang back a little when I’m around, like you’re ready to jump in. That’s not how teams are supposed to work. I’m just… making it harder for you both.”
“You think I’d rather fight without you around?” Sakura snaps, voice sharper than he means. “Because I wouldn’t. None of us would.”
Suo exhales quietly, kneeling beside him now. “You’re not a burden. But if you keep treating yourself like one, you’re gonna start dragging yourself down in ways we can’t fix for you.”
Nirei’s hands curl into fists in his lap. His nails dig half-moons into his skin, a small pain to ground himself against the louder one roaring in his chest. He wants to scream, to punch the wall, to disappear completely. Every instinct in him is screaming to run—run from their concern, their warmth, their goddamn patience that makes him feel like an even bigger failure. He wants to tell them to stop caring, because every act of kindness just feels like a reminder of how far behind he is, how far gone he’s let himself get.
His throat feels tight, and he swallows it down, like always, because what else is he supposed to do? Say it out loud? Admit that he's terrified they’ll get sick of dragging dead weight around? That every time they look at him like this, he feels even smaller than before?
Sakura mutters something under his breath, too quiet for Nirei to catch—before shoving a water bottle into his hands. “Drink. And next time you want to pass out dramatically in a field, at least wait until after breakfast.”
It’s meant as a joke. A bad one. But the way Sakura won’t meet his eyes says enough. It’s worry. It’s care. It’s everything Nirei doesn’t know how to hold right now.
And that’s what finally breaks him.
His grip tightens around the water bottle until the plastic creaks, and before he can stop himself, his voice cracks through the air—low and raw. “Why do you even care?”
Suo’s head tilts, the grin gone. Sakura actually looks at him this time.
“I’m not worth this,” Nirei whispers. “I don’t fight like you. I don’t win like you. I don’t even hold my own. You shouldn’t have to keep picking me up off the ground.”
He wipes angrily at his eyes, frustrated that the tears are already falling. “I know you care. I can tell—your voice, your eyes, the way you both keep pretending I’m fine. But I’m not. And I’m tired of making it harder for you just by being here.”
There’s a silence. Not empty. Heavy.
It hangs in the air like a held breath, too loud, too fragile. No one moves. No one says anything.
Nirei’s chest twists. He shouldn’t have said any of it.
He turns his face away, dragging the blanket closer around his shoulders like a shield. His voice is gone, scraped raw. He squeezes his eyes shut and tries to force the trembling in his hands to stop.
He shouldn’t have made it real.
Because if there’s one thing Nirei’s always been good at, it’s reading people. And right now, he can see exactly how much this hurts them, too. And that—hurting them—feels even worse than the weight he’s been carrying alone.
So he does what he’s always done best: he locks it down. Buries it deep. Tries to shrink himself quiet again, like if he just stays small enough, maybe it won’t matter so much.
The quiet stretches again, brittle around the edges.
Then Suo moves. Just a small shift—he sits down fully, legs crossed, right next to him like it’s the most normal thing in the world. “You don’t have to earn being cared about, Nirei,” he says softly. No teasing. No grin. Just Suo, quiet and real.
“And—and it’s not like we’re keeping score or anything,” Sakura adds quickly, stumbling over his words. “You—You’re not a burden, okay? Just—stop thinking like that. You matter.”
Nirei doesn’t lift his head, but his shoulders shake once, and this time it’s not from holding back.
Suo nudges his arm gently. “We’re not here because we have to be. We’re here because we want to be. Because you're one of us. No matter what your head keeps telling you.”
Nirei doesn’t speak right away. He just stares at his hands, red from gripping the water bottle too hard, fingers trembling slightly. There’s still doubt in his chest, loud, messy, and cruel. But even louder, for just a second, is the weight of their words. Of their presence. Of their choice to stay.
He nods. Barely. Once.
It’s small. Quiet. But real.
He still doesn’t understand why they care so much. But maybe… maybe that’s something he can figure out later.
For now, he leans the tiniest bit toward the warmth sitting beside him and lets himself believe, just a little, that he belongs there.