Chapter Text
Azul woke to silence.
His head throbbed, his mouth dry as paper, his body heavy as stone. The ceiling above him blurred into view: the soft lamplight of his office, shadows flickering across familiar walls. He was on the couch, his coat folded neatly over him like a blanket.
And he was not alone.
Jade sat at his desk, a book open in his lap, eyes occasionally flicking toward Azul. Floyd slouched against the armchair, arms crossed, gaze fixed squarely on him. The tension in the room pressed against his skin, suffocating, even heavier than the ache in his chest.
Azul shifted, and immediately regretted it. His stomach clenched painfully, a hollow, gnawing twist that left him grimacing. Floyd’s eyes narrowed.
“Finally up, huh, Azul?” Floyd’s tone was light, but the grin didn’t reach his eyes. “You scared the crap outta everyone, y’know.”
Azul sat up too quickly, head spinning. “I… apologize,” he muttered, voice hoarse. “I’ll resume work at once—”
“Sit down.” Jade’s voice cut through the air like a blade. Calm, even, but absolute. “You will do no such thing.”
Azul froze, hands clutching at the blanket draped across his lap. His cheeks burned. “I can’t—there are contracts, customers—”
“They’ll manage,” Jade replied. He closed his book with deliberate care, setting it aside. “We are speaking of something much more important.”
Azul’s stomach twisted tighter than hunger alone could manage. He forced a smile, brittle and strained. “I truly don’t know what you mean—”
“Cut it,” Floyd snapped. His arms tightened across his chest, knuckles white. “You’re starving yourself. You think we didn’t notice? You’ve been dodging meals, tossing food, lying every time we ask.” His voice cracked with uncharacteristic rawness. “And now you’re collapsing in front of a full house.”
Azul flinched, every word a lash against his skin. He looked away, throat tight. “It’s… nothing. I simply overworked myself.”
“Overwork doesn’t make your ribs stick out,” Floyd shot back.
The silence after was unbearable. Azul curled in on himself, fists trembling in his lap. He wanted to vanish into the couch, into the floor, into the ocean itself. Anything but this.
Jade rose smoothly from his seat, his footsteps soft but unrelenting as he approached. He knelt beside the couch, eyes level with Azul’s. Calm, steady, unblinking.
“Azul,” he said softly. “You cannot continue this. You will destroy yourself.”
Azul’s breath hitched. He shook his head violently, words spilling out, sharp and desperate. “You don’t understand! You didn’t grow up as I did—mocked, ridiculed, hated for what you were. I can’t go back. I won’t. If I let myself… If I let go, I’ll be that child again.” His voice cracked, rising into a plea. “Weak. Disgusting. Worthless.”
The room went quiet.
Floyd shifted, his usual careless posture gone, replaced by something Azul couldn’t bear to name. “Azul…” His voice was quieter now, heavy. “You’re already breaking yourself trying not to be that. Don’t you see?”
Azul squeezed his eyes shut. His chest ached, tears burning behind his eyelids. He didn’t want to cry. He didn’t want them to see. He wanted his mask, his armor, his walls. But they’d all crumbled already, shattered under the weight of his own hunger.
He trembled, small and pathetic on the couch. “I can’t stop,” he whispered. The admission tore him apart. “If I stop, I’ll lose everything.”
Jade’s gaze softened, though his tone stayed firm. “You’ll lose everything if you continue. But if you allow yourself to be helped…” He reached out, resting a hand lightly on Azul’s arm. “You will not be alone.”
Azul’s breath shuddered. Alone. The word pierced deep.
Floyd shifted closer, crouching at the foot of the couch. “We’re not lettin’ you vanish, Azul. No matter how much you lie about it. Got it?”
Something in Azul cracked then. The tears he’d held back spilled silently down his cheeks, his shoulders shaking as the confession slipped out like a secret dragged from the ocean floor. “I’m so tired.”
Neither twin mocked him. Neither left.
Jade rose, retrieving a tray from the desk—soup, simple and warm, steam curling gently above the bowl. He set it carefully on the low table beside Azul.
“Eat,” he said quietly. Not a command, not a demand—an offering.
Azul stared at it, shame crawling up his throat. His hands trembled as he picked up the spoon, lifting it slowly. The first mouthful burned with humiliation more than heat. But the warmth spread through him, unfamiliar and terrifying, and he couldn’t stop the tears that followed.
Floyd watched with sharp, unreadable eyes, but didn’t tease. Jade stood nearby, calm and steady, anchoring him silently.
Azul ate only a few spoonfuls before his stomach twisted, but it was enough. Enough to prove that maybe, just maybe, he could take one step forward.
And for the first time, he wasn’t stepping alone.