Shadows Heart

I'm 17 now, and the hospital doesn't feel as suffocating as it used to. The machines still beep, the IV pole still follows me like an awkward shadow, but things have settled. Or maybe I've just learned how to live with the weight of it all.

Oriel, though… he hasn't changed in the ways I thought he would.

Ever since that fight years ago—the one where I screamed and he finally listened—he's been different. Better, I guess, in some ways. He's not as quick to anger, not as sharp with his words. But in other ways, he's… more intense.

He follows me everywhere now, like a second shadow. If I go to the library, he's there. If I sneak up to the rooftop, he's already waiting. And when I talk to other people—nurses, doctors, other patients—I can feel his eyes on me, always watching, always waiting for something to go wrong.

It's protective, sure. But sometimes, it's too much.

This morning, I find him in the common room, flipping through one of Janus's letters. The edges are worn, the handwriting faded in some spots, but Oriel treats it like it's made of glass.

Janus writes often, his letters full of stories about his life outside the hospital. At first, they were sporadic—short updates about school, his classes, the people he met. But as he grew older, the stories became longer, more detailed, like he wanted to bring us along for the ride.

"Sao," Oriel says, his voice pulling me out of my thoughts.

"What?" I ask, sliding into the chair across from him.

He holds up the letter, his dark eyes narrowing slightly. "Have you read this one yet?"

"No," I admit, reaching for it.

He hesitates for a moment before handing it over, and I can't help but notice the way his fingers linger on the paper.

---

Dear Sao and Oriel,

I hope you're both doing okay. Things here are… busy, but good. Better than I ever thought they could be. Remember that professor I mentioned in my last letter? Dr. Hargrove? Well, he's been pushing me to publish my work on the artificial blood formula I've been developing. And it happened. At 18 years old, I became one of the youngest people in history to have a medical breakthrough like this. The papers are calling it "the invention that will save more lives than penicillin." Can you believe that?

I think about you both all the time. Every patient I meet, every life we save—it's because of the time we spent together in the hospital. I wouldn't have come this far without you. You're the reason I believe in second chances, in making the impossible possible.

Oriel, I hope you're still keeping Sao in line.

Sao, I hope you're still reminding Oriel to be human.

I miss you both more than I can say. One day, when the timing's right, I'll come back. Until then, stay strong.

With love, Janus.

---

I fold the letter carefully, my chest tightening with a mix of pride and longing.

"Artificial blood," I say softly. "He actually did it."

"Of course he did," Oriel mutters, his voice carrying a bitter edge. "Janus always gets what he wants."

"It's not about that," I say, frowning at him. "He's saving lives, Oriel. Isn't that what matters?"

"Sure," he says, leaning back in his chair. "But he left us to do it."

"He didn't leave us," I argue. "He's trying to make things better—for everyone, including us."

Oriel doesn't respond, but I can see the tension in his jaw, the way his hands curl into fists at his sides.

---

Later, when I head to the rooftop to get some air, Oriel is already there. He's sitting near the edge, his legs dangling over the side, the city stretching out below him like a messy, vibrant painting.

"You should stop coming up here alone," he says without looking at me.

"I'm not alone," I point out, sitting down next to him.

"You know what I mean," he says, his voice tight. "It's not safe."

"Oriel, we've been coming up here for years," I say, rolling my eyes. "Nothing's ever happened."

"Yet," he mutters.

I sigh, leaning back on my hands. "You can't protect me from everything, you know."

"I can try," he says, finally looking at me. His eyes are darker than usual, full of something I can't quite name—fear, maybe, or desperation.

"You're not responsible for me," I say gently.

"Yes, I am," he replies, his voice firm. "I've always been responsible for you. And I'm not going to let anything happen to you. Not now, not ever."

"Oriel…" I start, but he cuts me off.

"I mean it, Sao," he says, his voice trembling slightly. "You're all I have left. If something happens to you…"

He doesn't finish the sentence, but he doesn't have to. I can see it in his eyes, in the way his hands are gripping the edge of the roof like it's the only thing keeping him steady.

"I'm not going anywhere," I say softly, reaching out to touch his arm.

He flinches but doesn't pull away. "You say that now," he murmurs.

"And I mean it," I insist.

For a moment, we sit there in silence, the wind brushing against our faces. The city below is alive with movement, with possibilities, and I wonder if Janus is looking out at a view like this right now, thinking of us.

"I got another letter from him," I say after a while.

Oriel snorts. "Of course you did."

"He misses you too, you know," I say, glancing at him.

"He doesn't miss me," Oriel says bitterly. "He misses the idea of me—the Oriel who didn't care about anything."

"That Oriel never existed," I say firmly.

Oriel doesn't respond, but I think, just for a moment, I see his expression soften.