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Rui Kamishiro had always been strange. He knew it—owned it, even. But lately, the strangeness wasn’t charming or whimsical. It was suffocating.
The spotlight in his workshop flickered again, casting cold shadows over broken puppets and tangled wires. The marionette strings trembled with the fan's artificial breeze, dancing like ghosts. He hated how quiet it was, how empty the world felt when he wasn’t performing. How fake everything was.
Rui sat hunched over his desk, hands shaking as he tried to sketch something—anything—that might spark that old flicker again. But the page stayed blank. Just like him.
Empty.
He pressed his fingers to his temple. Focus. But all he could hear was static. That endless, unbearable noise in his head.
And then, like always, his thoughts drifted to Tsukasa.
Loud, bright, perfect Tsukasa. He didn’t mean to hurt Rui. Rui knew that. But it still felt like a knife every time Tsukasa chose someone else to shine with. Every time he smiled that blinding smile for the crowd, not for him. Rui knew he was being selfish, but the knowledge didn’t ease the ache. Didn’t silence the voice that whispered:
He doesn’t need you. He never did.
He had tried to reach out. Tried to speak. But his words came out twisted, playful, masked in riddles and half-truths. Tsukasa didn’t understand. None of them did.
Tonight, the pain coiled too tightly inside his chest.
His eyes drifted toward the box in the drawer.
He opened it slowly, the blade catching the dim light. He stared at it. This wasn’t theatrics. There was no stage, no audience. Just him. Just pain.
He pressed it against his skin. A single line. Then another. Red bloomed like flowers, silent and soft.
It felt real. More real than anything had in days.
But it didn’t help. The emptiness was still there, louder now, demanding. Mocking. The thought rose again, uninvited but persistent:
What if you just disappeared?
Rui leaned back in his chair, head tilted toward the ceiling. He imagined it. A world without him. Would Tsukasa notice? Would he cry? Or would he move on, the same way he always had, surrounded by laughter Rui could never quite reach?
His throat tightened. He wiped his arm clean, mechanical and numb. Then, he stood.
Maybe tomorrow. Maybe then, he’d finally make the choice.
But for now, he’d sleep. If the nightmares came, at least they felt familiar.
And the static—ever-present, ever-hungry—would lull him to sleep again.
The morning light didn’t reach Rui’s room.
The curtains stayed closed, heavy and untouched. Dust floated in thin shafts of light from the gaps between the fabric, specks that danced too freely—like they didn’t know how still and suffocating everything was in here.
Rui lay curled on the mattress, still in his clothes, the sheets crumpled and kicked to the floor. His arm stung. Not sharp—just dull, like a bruise he’d grown used to. He didn’t look at it. He didn’t need to.
He didn’t move until his phone buzzed.
He blinked at the screen. A message.
> Tsukasa: Are you coming today? You’ve missed three practices. Emu is worried.
That was all it said.
No “I’m worried.” No “are you okay?” Just Emu’s concern passed through like a stage cue.
Rui stared at the message for a long time, then locked the screen. He rolled onto his side, away from the light, and let the silence flood back in.
It wasn’t anger that stirred in him—it was something colder. A final understanding, maybe. Tsukasa cared about the performance. About the group. But not Rui. Not really.
The version of Rui they liked was performative. Witty. Clever. Masked. As long as he was smiling and spinning riddles, they clapped. But if he stepped offstage—if he stumbled, cried, bled—they looked away.
Even Tsukasa.
Especially Tsukasa.
He sees the puppet, not the puppeteer.
The thought hollowed him.
Rui finally sat up, dizzy, head pounding. He looked around at the mess—fabric scraps, shattered props, forgotten sketches. A stage that had fallen apart mid-performance.
His breathing quickened. Something inside cracked.
He shoved everything off the desk.
The crash wasn’t loud enough. Not enough to echo the collapse in his chest. He wanted to scream, but the sound caught in his throat, useless.
He sank to the floor.
He covered his face with shaking hands.
And for the first time in days, he cried.
No one would see. No one would know. That was the worst part.
He wanted Tsukasa to walk in and see him. To stop pretending. To say something real. Something true.
But the door stayed shut.
And Rui—brilliant, broken Rui—sat alone in the silence, bleeding in places no one could see.
---The next day passed in a haze. Rui didn't leave his room. He barely moved.
He had to keep pretending, though. The mask had to be back in place before anyone saw the cracks. He couldn't let them see him like this—not like this.
Not broken. Not weak.
But even the mask felt heavy, like it was suffocating him. He put on his usual smile when Emu messaged again. She sent him an emoji-filled rant about missing him, asking why he hadn't responded to Tsukasa's last message. She didn’t ask how he was, though. She couldn’t see it. None of them could.
Even Emu was a part of the performance—innocent and bubbly, the perfect little ray of sunshine. She couldn’t understand why he had to keep fighting this war with himself. She didn't know what it felt like to stand on the edge and feel everything slipping away.
The phone buzzed again, and this time, it was Tsukasa.
> Tsukasa: You’re really pushing your luck, Rui. Are you trying to make me angry? I’ve been patient. Come back already.
Rui stared at the words, his heart clenching. He hated the way Tsukasa’s message felt like a command. An expectation.
But then again, maybe that’s all he was to Tsukasa. A piece to move, a cog in the machine. Rui never meant to fall in love with him. It just happened, slow and insidious, until it consumed everything in his life that mattered. He could hear Tsukasa’s voice, cheerful as ever, mocking him in his mind.
Just come back, Rui. It’s not hard, is it?
He let out a bitter laugh. He could imagine it so clearly. Tsukasa would stand there, hands on his hips, laughing at him for being so dramatic.
But Rui wasn’t dramatic. He was drowning. Drowning in the space Tsukasa created by choosing everything but him.
The silence gnawed at him. The mask he wore cracked further.
He stood, almost robotically, and moved to the drawer where the blade still waited, tucked safely in the corner of his desk. He wasn’t sure why he kept coming back to it. It didn’t even help anymore.
But today—today, he couldn’t hold it back. He pressed the blade against his skin, the cold steel biting into him like an old friend. It felt like the only thing left that was real. The sensation was sharp. Clean. Everything else was noise. Static. White noise that clouded his mind.
For a moment, he was still. Then, his phone buzzed again. It was Tsukasa.
> Tsukasa: Come to my place tonight. We need to talk.
The words cut deeper than the blade ever could.
Tsukasa wanted to talk. But why? Rui didn’t want to listen anymore. He didn't want the fake comfort of empty words. He didn’t want a conversation about schedules or practices or whatever trivial thing Tsukasa thought was important.
He wanted Tsukasa to notice the pain, to see the blood on his hands, the pieces of him that no one ever bothered to pick up. But Tsukasa couldn’t see it. He never had.
Rui leaned against the desk, his mind whirling, spiraling. He could go. He could put on the act and show up at Tsukasa’s door, let him brush it all off like usual.
Or he could end it. He could stop pretending. He could finally let go of the suffocating silence that pressed in on him every time Tsukasa was too far away.
A knock on the door startled him out of his thoughts.
It was soft at first, almost tentative. It wasn’t Tsukasa’s usual knock, the confident, rhythmic beat of a friend who felt comfortable walking in uninvited. This knock was quieter, unsure.
Rui's breath caught in his throat. He didn’t know if he could face anyone right now. Certainly not Tsukasa. Not like this. Not with the mask falling apart.
But the knock came again, more persistent now.
“Rui?” Emu’s voice came through the door, gentle but strained. “Rui, please. You’ve been avoiding us… Is everything okay?”
Everything *wasn’t* okay. But he couldn’t tell her that. He couldn’t explain the empty void in his chest, the hollow feeling that only grew larger every day. He didn’t want Emu to see him like this.
But still, there was something about her voice. Something about the care in it.
Rui stood in front of the door, shaking, eyes dry but aching. He wiped the blood from his arms, forcing himself to compose the façade one more time.
And he opened the door.
Emu’s eyes widened. She glanced at his disheveled state—his torn clothes, the faint tremor in his hands—and then back up to his face, trying to gauge the truth in the cracks of his smile.
“Rui... Why didn’t you come to practice?” she asked, voice quivering with concern.
He smiled more brightly than he felt. “I was just… a little tired. I’m fine now, really.”
But Emu didn’t believe him. Her gaze was too sharp, too knowing.
Rui couldn’t stand it. He couldn’t stand that she saw through him. She didn’t need to. He didn’t want to explain.
“Don’t worry, Emu,” he said, his voice colder than he intended. “I’ll be fine. Just… give me some space, okay?”
Her face faltered. “I don’t want you to be alone, Rui.”
The words hit him harder than he expected. She was worried. She didn’t know what to say to help him, and that only made it worse.
But he couldn’t keep pretending.
“I’ll be fine,” he repeated, voice quieter now. He didn’t look at her. He couldn’t.
Emu sighed deeply, her shoulders sagging. “You’re not alone, you know? You never have to be.”
He wanted to believe her. Really, he did. But the emptiness, the numbness… It was like he was invisible. Like nothing mattered anymore.
He closed the door gently behind her.
And as he leaned against it, he could almost hear Tsukasa’s voice again.
We need to talk.
But Rui knew what it would be.
And he wasn’t sure he had the strength to listen anymore.
---
The door was shut. The world felt muffled beyond it.
Rui sank down to the floor, his back against the wood. His fingers trembled at his sides. He didn’t feel the physical pain anymore—his cuts had long since stopped bleeding, the sting fading into numbness. But his heart? That was still raw, still bruised, still aching in ways that sliced through him deeper than anything the blade could do.
I don’t want to be alone.
The thought echoed, but not from Emu’s voice. It was a whisper from somewhere deeper. Somewhere darker.
He had gotten used to the isolation. The constant noise in his head—the static, the feeling of being too much and not enough at the same time. Tsukasa had left him behind. Tsukasa had never been able to see him as anything but the puppet.
But even now, there was a flicker of hope—just a spark, something that could still be fanned to life if Tsukasa noticed. If Tsukasa cared. But that was the problem, wasn’t it? Tsukasa’s words had been kind, but they were always just words. Hollow. The same way everyone else treated him. Like he was nothing more than a tool. A prop. Not someone worth loving.
Rui’s breath caught, sharp. Not someone worth saving.
The reality of it twisted inside him. It wasn’t that he wanted to die—not exactly. He just wanted the noise to stop. The crushing weight of feeling invisible. Unseen.
A knock on the door, this time with a louder force, nearly made him jump.
“Rui,” came Tsukasa’s voice. He sounded calmer than usual, but there was an edge to it. “Open the door.”
Rui’s body froze. He hadn’t expected it to be Tsukasa. He didn’t know if he was ready for this. Not now, not with everything breaking apart inside of him.
But Tsukasa’s voice continued, softer now, almost pleading. “I know you’re in there. I need to talk to you.”
Rui stood, but his legs were shaky, and his stomach twisted in knots. His breath quickened. He couldn’t handle it. He couldn’t do this. Not when he felt like a ghost, a hollow shell of who he used to be. Not when he had all these pieces of himself scattered in the dark, too afraid to let anyone pick them up.
“I’ll be fine,” he whispered to himself, but it didn’t sound convincing. It was a lie.
The knocking persisted. A steady rhythm now, more insistent.
Rui didn’t answer. He couldn’t. Not like this. Not when his entire existence felt like it was coming unraveled in front of him.
But Tsukasa wasn’t going to leave.
With a heavy sigh, Rui unlocked the door, but he didn’t open it. He couldn’t. Not yet. He stood in the gap between it and the wall, just enough to hear Tsukasa’s voice clearly.
“Rui,” Tsukasa started again, his tone different this time, softer but still firm. “I’m not leaving until we talk. You can’t keep doing this to yourself.”
Rui’s chest tightened at the words. Doing this to myself?
It stung. Tsukasa sounded concerned—genuinely concerned—but it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t enough for Rui to believe. He’d heard the words before. But when no one showed up after, when the lights dimmed and the applause faded, it always came back to this same silence.
“What do you want, Tsukasa?” Rui asked, his voice hollow, distant. He didn’t even recognize it. It was like the words had been pulled from someone else.
“I want to help you,” Tsukasa replied quickly, almost desperately. “I don’t know what’s going on, but I know it’s not you. This—this isn’t you. You’re…” He trailed off for a moment, and when he spoke again, there was a tremor in his voice. “You’re more than this. More than whatever you're going through right now. I’m not going to leave you alone.”
But Rui couldn’t do it. He couldn’t let Tsukasa see him like this. He couldn’t show him the jagged, broken parts. It felt like if Tsukasa saw that—saw him—it would shatter whatever was left of him.
“I’m fine,” Rui said, his voice barely above a whisper. “You don’t have to worry. It’s just… just some bad days. It’ll pass.”
Another long silence hung between them.
“Rui…” Tsukasa’s voice faltered again. “It’s not just ‘bad days.’ You don’t—” He stopped himself, a sigh escaping his lips. “I don’t know what’s going on, but I can’t just stand by and watch you destroy yourself.”
Rui’s chest constricted. Tsukasa’s words hurt in the worst way possible, and the pain was like a wound that couldn’t heal. A knife in his ribs that no one could take out. He wanted to scream. He wanted to yell at Tsukasa to leave him alone, to stop pretending to care, to stop making him feel things he couldn’t handle.
But instead, he just stood there, holding the door between them, silent.
Tsukasa’s breath hitched, and for a long time, there was nothing but the sound of his uneven breathing on the other side of the door.
“Please… Rui, I need you to trust me,” Tsukasa finally whispered, his voice cracking. “I can’t lose you. I can’t.”
Rui closed his eyes, feeling the tears well up against his will. The weight of Tsukasa’s words—genuine, raw—struck him harder than he expected. It wasn’t enough to stop the hollow ache in his chest, but it did something. Just a crack in the wall. A small, flickering ember.
He pressed his palm against the door, but he didn’t open it.
Maybe Tsukasa cared. But it was too late now. The stage had already fallen apart. He didn’t know how to fix it anymore. Didn’t know how to be anything more than the puppet he had become. Not when all he felt was empty.
“I’m not worth saving, Tsukasa,” Rui muttered, barely audible. “Not anymore.”
The silence between them stretched.
“I disagree,” Tsukasa whispered.
And then, without another word, the door opened.
--
The door opened slowly, creaking on its hinges. Rui didn’t move, his hands still pressed against the wood. His chest was tight, as if the space between him and Tsukasa was an ocean too vast to cross. A wide chasm that Rui had learned to accept. An ocean that had always been there, and now, it felt like it was swallowing him whole.
Tsukasa’s figure was framed in the doorway, still and uncertain. His eyes searched Rui’s face, as if trying to piece together the broken fragments, but Rui wasn’t sure he had anything left to give.
Tsukasa took a step forward, hesitant but insistent, and yet the air between them felt heavier than anything he could say. His gaze softened, but there was something in his eyes—something that Rui couldn’t quite decipher. It wasn’t pity. It was… fear. Fear of losing something he never truly understood he had in the first place.
“Rui,” Tsukasa whispered, his voice breaking at the edges. He reached out, fingers trembling, but stopped just short of touching him. “Please. I can’t stand seeing you like this. I don’t know how to help you, but… don’t shut me out. Please, don’t shut me out.”
Rui’s throat tightened painfully. He knew what Tsukasa was trying to do, and it hurt more than anything else. Tsukasa’s words were too late. The space between them had already widened so far that no matter how much Tsukasa tried to bridge it, there was no longer any reaching Rui.
*He doesn't know what it's like...*
Rui shook his head slowly, the ache in his chest growing tighter. He wanted to cry. He wanted to scream. But all he could do was stand there—trapped in his own thoughts, lost in the weight of his mind.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured, voice barely audible. The words tasted like ash. “But this… this isn’t something you can fix, Tsukasa. I’ve been broken for so long, and you’ve never even seen it. Not really.”
Tsukasa flinched, the words hitting him like a slap. His mouth opened, but he couldn’t seem to find anything to say that would undo the damage. Nothing to stop Rui from slipping away further.
“I—I don’t understand, Rui,” Tsukasa’s voice cracked, but he was determined now, stepping closer. “Why… why won’t you let me help? Please. You’re more than this. You’re—”
“No,” Rui interrupted, his voice rising in desperation. “I’m not. I’m just a mask. You know that.” He let out a harsh, humorless laugh. “You only see the puppet. You don’t see the strings pulling me apart.”
Tsukasa took another step forward, but it felt like an eternity. Rui stepped back, his heart pounding in his chest, shaking his head.
“I can’t keep pretending,” Rui whispered, barely able to choke out the words. His voice was thin, fragile, like a string about to snap. “I can’t do this anymore.”
Tsukasa’s eyes widened in horror. He reached for him, but Rui stepped back again, this time with finality.
Rui was shaking, his body tremoring with the weight of everything he couldn’t escape. His mind was drowning in the static, the white noise that consumed him. He couldn’t hear Tsukasa anymore. He couldn’t see anything but the unbearable pain in his chest.
“I’m sorry, Tsukasa,” he whispered again, quieter now, almost to himself. “I never meant to be like this… but I’m not who you think I am. I’m just… I’m nothing. And I can’t take it anymore.”
He turned away from Tsukasa and walked toward the desk, where the blade waited. It was almost soothing now, the cold metal, the feeling of control in his hands. He couldn’t remember when it had started feeling like a release, but now… now, it felt like the only thing he had left. The only thing that had ever made him feel real.
Tsukasa’s voice came again, more desperate this time. “Rui—please. Don’t do this. Please don’t.”
But Rui didn’t turn around. He couldn’t. He couldn’t face him anymore.
This is it. This is the end.
He lifted the blade, trembling, the sharp edge gleaming in the dim light. He pressed it against his skin, the only way he knew how to silence the storm in his head. A slow, steady pressure.
But before he could do anything, he heard Tsukasa’s voice—stronger now, more insistent—coming from behind him.
“Rui!” Tsukasa’s hands grabbed his wrist before the blade could make its mark, pulling him away. “I’m not going to let you do this. Please, you have to fight. Please don’t let go.”
Tsukasa’s words broke through the haze, slicing into the static. The physical pain in his wrist was sharp, but it was nothing compared to the ache in his heart. Tsukasa was holding him, but even as he struggled against the grip, part of him wanted to stay in the numbness. To let go of everything.
“I can’t, Tsukasa,” Rui whispered hoarsely, the tears finally slipping free. “I can’t keep living like this. I’m not strong enough.”
Tsukasa’s eyes welled up, but his grip didn’t loosen. He pulled Rui toward him, their faces inches apart, his breath ragged. He wasn’t letting go. “I’m not letting you go, Rui. You don’t have to do this alone. I—I know I haven’t been there for you the way you needed, but you’re not alone. I need you, Rui.”
For the first time in a long time, Rui felt something other than emptiness. He felt the warmth of Tsukasa’s arms around him, holding him together. But even then, it wasn’t enough to fix the cracks inside him. Even as Tsukasa’s words bled out into the silence, it felt like too little too late.
“I’m broken, Tsukasa,” Rui whispered, voice breaking. “I don’t know how to be fixed. I don’t know if I even want to be fixed anymore.”
Tsukasa’s face softened, his hands trembling as he cupped Rui’s face gently. “I don’t care if you’re broken. I don’t care how long it takes. I’ll be here. You don’t have to carry this alone anymore.”
Rui’s vision blurred as tears fell freely now, his chest tight, suffocating under the weight of everything. He wanted to believe him. He wanted to be saved.
But as Tsukasa held him, as his arms enveloped him with warmth and care, Rui felt the grip of the blade loosen in his hand. For a moment, it felt like he was still falling, but Tsukasa was there, holding him together, pulling him back from the edge.
It wasn’t a resolution, not yet. But in that moment, it was enough.
Rui sat alone on the roof, just like the old days.
The world was quieter here—no voices calling out, no expectations, no masks to wear. Just the endless sky above him and the empty space around him. The wind tousled his hair, the familiar chill biting at his skin, but it didn’t matter. He barely noticed it anymore.
This was the place where he used to go when the world felt too loud, when everything was too much. The place where he could pretend, if only for a moment, that he was someone else. Someone better.
But the feeling of being alone wasn’t the same anymore. Not like it used to be. There was something heavier about it now. He had spent so much time in silence, building walls around himself, until the quiet was suffocating. It was as if everything had conspired to push him to this moment, to the point where there was nowhere left to hide. No more pretending.
The wind gusted again, stronger this time, but Rui didn’t flinch. He looked down at the edge of the roof, his eyes tracing the familiar path of the long fall. His fingers curled around the edge of the concrete, feeling the roughness under his fingertips.
This is where it ends, he thought.
He had thought about this moment a thousand times. How the pain would finally stop. How the silence in his head would fade into nothingness. No more pretending. No more pretending to be okay when he was never okay. No more pretending to be strong when every day felt like a battle he was losing. No more pretending to be someone worth saving when he felt so hollow inside.
Rui closed his eyes and leaned back slightly, letting the wind carry his thoughts away.
Tsukasa’s voice echoed in his mind.
“I’m not going to let you go, Rui.”
The words were familiar, but they felt distant now. Tsukasa had tried. He really had. But Tsukasa couldn’t see him. Not really. He couldn’t see the emptiness that Rui carried inside, the shadows that stretched too far to reach, the silence that spoke louder than any words.
He had wanted to be saved. He really had. But somewhere along the way, he had stopped believing that anyone could.
The sound of footsteps made him open his eyes. A part of him flinched, but it was too late to turn back now.
A figure stepped onto the roof, hesitant at first, but with a steady pace. Rui didn’t need to look up to know who it was.
“Rui,” Tsukasa said softly, his voice trembling, filled with the same fear and desperation as before. “Rui, please… don’t do this.”
Rui didn’t respond. His gaze stayed fixed on the ground below, the blur of his own reflection dancing in his mind. He couldn’t look at Tsukasa. Not now. Not when the weight of everything pressed down on him like a vice. Not when the ache inside him was too deep, too consuming.
“Rui,” Tsukasa continued, a little closer now. “I’m not leaving. You don’t have to do this. You don’t have to carry all of this alone.”
But Rui could feel it. The distance. The distance between them had grown too wide to bridge, no matter how hard Tsukasa tried to close it. The space between them, the silence, the weight of unspoken things—it had always been there, buried beneath the surface, and now it was all he could feel.
“You don’t understand,” Rui said quietly, his voice barely audible, but sharp. “You never understood. You don’t see how it feels. You don’t see how much it hurts.”
Tsukasa reached out, his hand shaking, but Rui stepped back from the edge slightly, the faintest of smirks pulling at the corner of his lips.
“Please,” Tsukasa’s voice cracked, his hand now hovering in midair, like he was afraid to touch him. “Please don’t do this. I’m not going to let you go. I won’t let you—”
But the words didn’t reach him. Nothing did anymore.
Rui took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the decision pressing against his chest. He looked at Tsukasa one last time, feeling a bitter sweetness on his tongue. Tsukasa's eyes were wide, panicked, but Rui couldn’t hold on anymore. He couldn’t stay. The pain, the emptiness—it had become too much.
“I’m sorry, Tsukasa,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I’m not what you think I am. I’m not strong enough.”
Tsukasa's breath hitched. “Rui… don’t. You are strong. You are—”
But Rui shook his head, the sound of Tsukasa’s voice fading into the wind. The words were just that. Words. They didn’t mean anything anymore. They didn’t fill the hole in his heart. They didn’t change the fact that Rui had been broken for so long, and nothing could fix it.
With one last glance, one last fleeting moment where everything almost felt okay, Rui stepped back. The world seemed to slow, the air around him thickening, the weight of everything crashing down in that instant.
And then he moved.
The wind rushed around him as he fell.
It was quiet. For a moment, there was nothing but the rush of air and the sound of his heartbeat in his ears, fast and frantic. But as the ground grew closer, the noise faded, and everything went still.
---
The end.
They did not live happily ever after