Shadows Heart

Sao said she wouldn't leave me. I've been replaying those words in my head like a mantra, clinging to them like a lifeline. But promises are only as strong as the circumstances they're made in, and I can't shake the thought of what happens if something changes—if she changes.

The truth is simple, painfully so: if Sao never leaves my side, she can't leave me. Not in the way Janus did. Not in the way everyone else has.

She needs to stay. And I'll make sure she wants to.

The plan came to me slowly at first, in pieces, like a puzzle I wasn't sure I wanted to put together. But now it's all I can think about.

We're not kids anymore. Sao is 17, I'm 19, and the hospital feels more suffocating with each passing day. We've outgrown it, and Sao deserves better than this sterile, monotonous life. She deserves something beautiful, something hers.

And if I can give her that, maybe she'll see me differently. Maybe she'll love me—not just as the person she's tethered to by circumstance, but as someone she chooses.

---

"Sao," I say casually one evening, leaning against the doorframe of her room. She's sketching again, her pencil gliding across the page with effortless precision.

"Hmm?" she hums without looking up.

"I've been thinking," I start, trying to keep my tone light. "We're not going to be here forever. At some point, we're going to have to leave."

She glances up, her brows knitting together. "What do you mean?"

"I mean… we're not kids anymore," I say. "We need to start thinking about what's next. Where we're going to go. What kind of life we want to have."

Her expression softens, and she sets her pencil down. "You've been thinking about this a lot, haven't you?"

I shrug, forcing a smirk. "Someone has to."

What I don't tell her is that I've already started looking.

---

It started small—just scrolling through apartment listings on my phone late at night, scanning for anything that felt like it could be ours. But nothing felt right. Everything was too sterile, too bland, too… lifeless.

Then I remembered the way her face lit up the one time she talked about her dream home. She'd been flipping through an old design magazine one of the nurses left behind, her eyes lingering on a picture of a Victorian kitchen with soft cream cabinets, intricate woodwork, and a vintage stove.

"This," she'd said, holding up the page with a shy smile. "This is what I'd want, someday."

It wasn't much, but it was enough.

---

The first place I tour is nice—modern, sleek, with big windows and shiny appliances. But it's not Sao.

The second one is better. It has character, with exposed brick walls and a kitchen that feels warm and inviting. But the moment I see the bathroom tiles—a harsh, clinical white—I know it won't work. Sao hates that sterile hospital look, even in small doses.

I lose count of how many places I see, but none of them feel right. Not until I walk into the last one.

The building itself is old, tucked into a quiet street with tall, twisting trees. The apartment has high ceilings, ornate molding, and big windows that let in streams of golden light. But it's the kitchen that seals it for me.

It's not Victorian, not exactly, but it has that same warm, inviting charm. Cream-colored cabinets line the walls, and there's a vintage-style stove in the corner that looks like it's been plucked straight from Sao's dream.

The moment I step inside, I can already see her here. Laughing as she experiments with recipes, filling the space with the smell of something sweet and homemade.

She'll love this. She has to.

---

When I sign the lease, the landlord gives me a strange look. "Moving in alone?"

"For now," I reply, slipping the keys into my pocket.

---

Back at the hospital, Sao is sitting in the common room, flipping through one of Janus's letters. She looks up when I walk in, her expression curious.

"Where've you been?" she asks.

"Just… out," I say, keeping my voice casual.

Her eyes narrow slightly, but she doesn't push. "You're being weird."

"Maybe," I say, leaning against the doorframe. "But you'll find out why soon enough."

She raises an eyebrow but doesn't press further, turning back to the letter in her hands.

---

Later that night, I sit on the edge of my bed, staring at the keys in my hand. They feel heavy, like the weight of everything I'm trying to make right.

Sao said she'd never leave me, but promises can break. So I'll give her something better—a life she doesn't want to leave, a home that feels like hers.

And maybe, just maybe, she'll stay. Not because she promised, but because she chooses to.