Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

Ash knows he’s awake before he even opens his eyes. His fingers touch the soft, smooth fabric of the sheets around him, and the sensation feels both familiar and strange, like something he should have recognized but didn't.

He struggles to open his eyes, and when his eyelids finally lift, he’s met by a different kind of darkness. It’s not complete blackness, but something dim, as if the world is far away. His head is foggy, slow, like he’s wading through thick water.

It takes a moment for him to figure out where he is. He’s lying on a bed, in a small room. The lights are off, and the only source of light is the moon shining softly through a window behind him. It’s enough to make the shadows in the room feel alive, stretching across the walls.

He shifts slightly, and his fingers brush something hard under his shirt—wires, tubes. Cables are attached to him, running beneath the collar of his thin shirt, and he follows their path with his eyes. A heart monitor beeps quietly next to the bed. The sound of his heart is steady, but it’s strange, it almost feels like it doesn’t really belong to him.

His left arm itches, and when he looks down, he sees a catheter stuck in his arm, a clear tube running from his vein. The sight of it makes him feel uneasy, a deep, crawling discomfort. It feels wrong and he has the urge to pull it out.

He tries to move, tries to reach for it with his right arm, but before he can he realizes something is holding it back, a cold, unyielding pressure around his wrist: a handcuff, its metal hard against his skin.

The realization hits him like a shock and he jolts, heart racing along the beeping of the monitor. He tries to sit up, but as soon as he does, a sharp pain shoots through his stomach, as if something inside him is being torn apart, the pain knocking the air out of him.

"Hey, hey, lay back down." A deep, rough voice says from Ash's left. The voice is clearly that of a man, and the mere fact makes Ash want to just run.

His instincts take over, and he tries to push himself up from the bed, ignoring the sharp pain in his abdomen and his arm. He swings his legs off the bed, desperate to get away, but his body is too weak and he only manages one small step before he collapses onto the cold tiled floor. His right hand is still tied to the metal frame of the bed, leaving him trapped.

He hears a loud, metallic clack, feels the wires that were attached to his chest being torn off. He realizes the catheter in his arm has slipped out and small droplets of his own blood drip onto the white floor.

"Ash!" The voice calls again, closer now. The man is coming towards him, and Ash’s body trembles in fear, his vision blurry. He can barely move, and his powerlessness terrifies him. Then, the bright lights above him suddenly turn on and the shadow of the man disappears, but Ash doesn't dare to look up.

"Max, step back, you’re scaring him." A soft, feminine voice says.

Max? Ash raises his head slowly, wincing at the sharp, white light. His mind is still foggy, but he focuses on the woman in front of him.

He sees Jessica first. She’s standing nearby, her face filled with worry as she watches him closely. Her presence is both comforting and confusing. Why is she here? What is happening? People he loves being close to him is never a good sign. He is too dangerous, the farther, the better.

He can barely understand anything, his thoughts spinning in circles, but he knows one thing for sure—he’s in pain, he’s afraid, and he’s not sure who to trust. Still, Jessica seems to want to help, though Ash is unsure if he can trust her either. His whole body is sore, his head is spinning, and the fear inside him refuses to settle.

“Jes—” Ash starts to speak, but his voice cracks, dry and weak. He coughs, his throat burning as if it hasn’t been used in days. He realizes a moment later that that’s probably the case.

Jessica’s lips curl into a soft smile as she crouches down to his level. Her eyes shimmer, but no tears fall. “Hey. Hey, Ash.” She murmurs gently, her voice soothing. “You’re safe.” Her words are more for herself than for him, a reminder that he’s okay.

Ash’s gaze drifts past her to where Max is standing. He’s watching them both closely, his face a mixture of concern and uncertainty.

“Hey, kiddo.” Max greets Ash quietly, his voice soft but carrying an edge of unease. He steps back, his hand resting on the doorframe of the doorway. “I’m gonna go get you a glass of water.”

Ash, still feeling weak, tries to lift himself up again, but his limbs don’t obey. He stumbles and falls back against the bed, his glaring at the handcuff still restraining his wrist.

“I’m also gonna get the key to that thing from Charlie.” Max adds apologetically, before turning quickly and shutting the door behind him, leaving Ash and Jessica alone.

The room grows still for a moment, and Jessica sighs quietly, her breath shaky with something Ash can’t quite place. “I told them not to restrain you.” She says, voice regretful.

Ash presses his chapped lips together, his mind sluggish, his words coming out rasped and faint. “It’s fine.” He shakes his head slowly, too tired to argue or explain. It isn’t fine, but he doesn’t want to worry her more than she already is.

Jessica takes a step closer, careful not to crowd him. “Did you hurt yourself? Pull at any stitches?” She asks, cautious, gentle. She tries to assess his condition without getting too close, knowing how fragile and unsteady he must feel.

Ash glances down at his body for the first time, his exhaustion almost making it feel like someone else’s. His side is sore, a dull ache that worsens with every shallow breath. He feels dizzy, lightheaded, like he used to feel during that month he stayed with Dino—the thought of that time sends a shiver down his spine.

He looks down to his lap. "I’m okay." He mutters. “What- What happened?”

She opens her mouth to reply, but before she can, the door bursts open. Max, Jenkins, and Charlie stumble into the small room.

“You’re awake!” Charlie exclaims, relief flooding his voice. “We really thought we lost you this time.” His hands fidget nervously with a set of keys, but before he can take another breath, Jenkins elbows him sharply in the ribs. The redhead yelps, shooting Jenkins a glare.

Ash blinks, his expression unreadable. “What do you mean?” His voice sounds distant, like he’s hearing himself through a fog.

Max and Jessica exchange a glance, one of those silent conversations that makes Ash’s stomach twist with unease.

“You don’t remember?” Max asks, his tone measured as he takes the keys from Charlie and moves to unlock the handcuff binding Ash’s wrist.

Ash shakes his head. His newly freed hand drops into his lap, and he massages his sore wrist.

“Maybe it’s better if you lie back down.” Jenkins suggests. “You need to rest.”

Ash rolls his eyes, a flicker of his usual defiance surfacing for a moment. But the exhaustion is too much, so he nods and lets Max guide him back toward the bed.

Fragments of memory flit through his mind, half-formed and blurry: the library, the glint of a knife, a gunshot, a letter—

A letter.

The realization hits him like a bullet, a sensation he has actually come to know far too well. He freezes mid-movement, his knees buckling, and he gasps.

“Eiji!”

Chapter Text

Ash is lying back on the bed, propped up by two pillows so that he’s almost sitting up, but not enough to aggravate the wound in his abdomen. His head lolls slightly, the tranquilizer coursing through his system, leaving him groggy and unfocused.

After his collapse, Jenkins called for a nurse. A young woman arrived quickly, calm and efficient, and helped Max and Jessica steady Ash as he gasped for breath. Despite his resistance, she injected him with a tranquilizer and worked with Jenkins and Charlie to get him back onto the bed.

Now, Max stands with his arms crossed over his chest, watching Ash’s dazed glare follow the nurse as she adjusts his IV drip. The guilt gnaws at him, and he can’t hold back his frustration.

“Maybe we shouldn’t have given him the tranquilizer.” Max mutters, his voice low. He shifts uncomfortably, his fingers tapping against his arm. “Not without his consent.”

Charlie sighs, avoiding Max’s gaze. “He was erratic.” He says, though the justification sounds weak even to his own ears. “We couldn’t risk him getting hurt even more.”

Max’s jaw tightens as he looks at Ash—pale, vulnerable, his green eyes hazy and unfocused. He can’t shake the feeling that they’ve made the wrong call. The boy had been terrified, struggling, yes, but they hadn’t even given him the chance to try calming himself down.

“He didn’t deserve that.” Max says quietly, almost to himself.

Jessica, standing a few steps away, glances between them but says nothing. The tension in the room is heavy, guilt hanging unspoken in the air.

Max wonders if Golzine and the others ever drugged Ash for being erratic . The answer comes to him too easily, twisting his stomach. He wonders how different they really are from those monsters, and the thought makes him feel sick.

Jessica must notice. She always does.

“You good?” She murmurs, her voice low as she places a gentle hand on his back. Her eyes, however, are fixed on Ash, who is fighting the tranquilizer’s effects with every ounce of his strength.

Max bites the inside of his cheek, shaking his head. He can’t ignore the sour feeling rising in his chest. Without thinking, he steps forward, placing himself between the nurse and Ash like a barrier.

“Just leave it!” He snaps, his voice sharper than intended. “He’s good now, you’re making it worse.”

The nurse freezes, startled by the sudden outburst. She glances towards Jenkins, who simply shrugs and nods, waving her off with a dismissive gesture.

The nurse hesitates for a moment before gathering her supplies and leaving the room in silence. The door clicks softly behind her, but the tension lingers, heavy and unspoken.

Max’s shoulders sag as the tension drains from him. He turns to look at Ash, who lies pale and groggy on the bed.

“I’m sorry.” Ash mumbles, his voice faint but laced with guilt. “I didn’t mean to cause a scene. I’m sorry.” He looks up at Max, and there’s something vulnerable in his gaze, something close to fear.

Max blinks, caught off guard. “Oh.” He whispers, unsure of what else to say. “Oh, Ash.”

Ash grimaces, blinking slowly as if the effort alone is exhausting. His gaze shifts upward to the IV drip, and for a moment, he seems far away.

“Ash…” Jessica calls softly, her voice warm and steady. She steps closer, moving to the opposite side of the bed. “You have nothing to apologize for.”

Her hands twitch at her sides. She wants to reach out, to place a reassuring hand on his shoulder or brush the unkempt strands of blond hair from his pale face, she stops herself, knowing that touch might not bring Ash any comfort right now.

Ash nods numbly, his eyes glazed over. Jessica watches him carefully, unsure if it’s the lingering effect of the sedative or something deeper, something she can’t fix. Maybe it’s both.

Jenkins clears his throat, the sudden sound making Ash flinch.

“If you don’t mind, we’d like to go over what happened.” Jenkins says, pulling a small notebook and pen from his pocket. “And hear your side of the story, too.”

Ash nods faintly, his expression unreadable.

“Okay, so… Blanca said he heard a gunshot from the library after meeting you near there. When he went to check, he found you sitting at one of the tables, bleeding out. He called Charlie first, luckily, because otherwise, you’d be in prison right now. Or worse.”

Ash exhales slowly, his shoulders sagging as he absorbs the information. He leans back against the pillows and closes his eyes for a moment. “Where am I now?”

“We’re in New York.” Charlie replies.

Ash’s eyes snap open, wide with alarm. “It’s not safe—!”He says sharply, trying to sit up, but his body betrays him. He falls back with a wince.

“Take it easy.” Charlie says, raising his hands in a calming gesture. “We know. We’re planning to move you as soon as you’re stable enough to travel.”

Max steps in, nodding. “You’ll come to Los Angeles with me and Jess. Stay with us until we figure out what to do next.” His tone is calm, but there’s no mistaking the finality of the decision.

“No.” Ash says, his voice firmer than before. “No, Max. You can’t risk your life for me again . You two have a kid.”

The memory of that night flashes through Ash’s mind: those men invading Jessica’s home because of him, Michael’s terrified face… The guilt twists in his gut. He can’t let that happen again. He can’t put their family in danger.

The sharp beeping of the heart monitor grows faster. Jessica, noticing his panic, places a hand over his. The warmth and weight of her touch snap him out of the downward spiral.

“I’m sorry, Ash.” She says firmly, meeting his gaze. “But this isn’t up for debate. You’ll come with us and stay until you get better.”

Ash stares at her, the words lingering in the air. You’ll regret it , he thinks bitterly. You’ll regret letting me back into your lives. And by the time you do, it’ll be too late. But he’s too exhausted to argue further.

Charlie clears his throat again. “What about your side of things?” he asks. “Can you tell us what happened?”

Ash looks away, staring at the far wall. His voice is distant as he speaks. “I met Sing at the library and after he left, I let my guard down. Lao came out of nowhere and stabbed me. I shot him, killed him, and then I went to the library to rest.”

He doesn’t mention Eiji’s letter or his plan to abandon everything and follow him to Japan. Some truths feel too raw to share.

Out of the corner of his eye, Ash notices Jessica’s hand flying to her mouth in shock.

Max breaks the silence, his voice soft but heavy with emotion. “Why didn’t you call for help?” He asks. “You realize you would’ve died if no one noticed you weren’t just sleeping?”

Ash shrugs, his face carefully blank. He can’t tell them the truth, that dying had felt like an acceptable outcome. That he would’ve been content knowing Eiji was safe, even if it meant he wasn’t alive to see it.

Instead, he deflects, turning to Jenkins. “Shouldn’t I be in a prison cell?” He asks, his voice flat.

“We’ll take care of that, too.” Jenkins says, his tone uncharacteristically soft. “You deserve some peace, Lynx.”

Ash snorts bitterly. “Peace? That’s not for people like me.” His voice drips with cynicism. Peace, for him, is nothing but a distant, childish fantasy. He stopped believing in it the first time he was forced into the bed of a man four times his age.

For a moment, something flickers across Jenkins’ face, pity, maybe, but it’s gone as quickly as it appeared. “We can make you look like an innocent man.” the detective says, almost too casually. “You’ve already stirred up enough trouble for some very powerful people with what you exposed about Banana Fish and Club Cod—”

“Exactly.” Ash cuts in, his voice sharp and unyielding. “A lot of powerful people want me dead. Why would they ever let me be free?”

This time, it’s Jenkins who snorts. “Sometimes, Ash, dead people are louder than living ones.”

Ash glares at him, skeptical but silent.

“If you leave the criminal world behind…” Jenkins continues, “…start a normal life, and keep your mouth shut about what happened, they’ll leave you alone. They’ve got bigger fish to fry.”

Ash stares at him in disbelief. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” He says, his voice low and brimming with barely contained rage. “So what? You want me to just move on?”

“Please, Ash, try to see that this is a rare opportunity.” Jenkins says, his patience fraying. “Charlie and I are already crossing legality by even considering letting you walk after what you’ve—”

“ Legality ?” Ash interrupts with a sharp, humorless laugh. “Don’t tell me you cops suddenly care about legality after ignoring everything Golzine was doing! After ignoring the fact that hundreds of kids were treated like disposable fucking sex toys!”

“Ash—” Max starts, his voice calm but cautious.

“Do you know how many men who came to Club Cod were cops? Police officers? Detectives?” Ash’s voice rises, each word a snarl. “I don’t owe any of you sick bastards a damn thing. If you want to let me rot in prison, then do it. If you want to kill me, hand me a gun, and I’ll do it myself!”

“Ash.”

Max’s voice cuts through the chaos, steady and commanding. It’s the tone Ash has come to recognize, the voice Max uses when he’s trying to get through to him.

Ash’s jaw clenches, his words dying in his throat as he turns to glare at Max. His chest heaves with the effort of holding it all in, his fists clenched tightly against the sheets.

Max clears his throat, breaking the tense silence. “I get it.”He says gently. “You have every reason not to trust them. Hell, you have every reason not to trust any of us.” He pauses, studying Ash’s face. The boy looks utterly worn out, far too tired for someone so young. “But you’re just a kid. And I know you don’t feel like one, never got to feel like one, but please, Ash. Let us adults do our jobs for once, okay?”

Max is right about one thing: Ash doesn’t trust any of them. But there’s something in Max’s voice, in the way it pleads without demanding, that tugs at him. He glances at Jessica, who’s watching him with quiet affection, and then at Jenkins and Charlie, who both seem resolute but strangely earnest.

For the first time in a long time, Ash feels something stir in him.

Hope .

And hope, he knows, is dangerous.

“Fine.” He mutters, his voice laced with exhaustion. Whatever happens next, he’ll accept it. If he gets to live, so be it. If he doesn’t, that’s fine too. He’s tired of fighting, tired of resisting a fate he’s not sure he even cares about anymore.

Eiji’s words float into his mind: “I wanted to protect you from your fate.” Ash feels the faintest hint of a smile tug at his lips. Those fleeting moments in the library, reading Eiji’s letter, had been the most peaceful he’d ever known. The memory of it is like a soft blanket against his frayed nerves.

“Can I have the letter back?” He asks suddenly.

Jenkins looks at him, confused. “What letter?”

Ash’s expression tightens. “The letter I was reading at the library. It was from Eiji. Where is it?”

Charlie and Jenkins exchange puzzled looks before Charlie speaks. “We didn’t find any letter, Ash, and we searched the whole place.”

Ash’s heart sinks, realization dawning on him. His lips press into a thin line as he leans back against the pillows.

“Blanca, you bastard.”

Chapter Text

“You said he found me. He has to be the one who took the letter.” Ash insists, glaring at Jenkins.

Jenkins rolls his eyes. “What’s so important about that piece of paper?”

The deathly glare Ash gives him is enough of an answer.

“He just called us and left before we could talk to him.” Jenkins explains. “He got away before we could stop him. We were too busy saving your bleeding ass.”

Ash rolls his eyes and nods. “He was in Bryant Park last time I saw him, right before meeting Sing at the library. He goes there a lot.”

“That explains how he heard the gunshot.” Charlie reasons.

Max steps forward. “I’ll go look for him and get your letter back.”

“You don’t have to—” Ash begins, but Max cuts him off.

“I know, but I want to.” Max grabs his backpack and heads for the door. “Just rest, now.”

“Where are you going?” Jenkins asks.

“I was thinking of checking Bryant Park first,” Max replies.

The detective nods and follows him.

***

Max and Jenkins drive to the park next to the library, with Jenkins at the wheel.

“You stay here, I’ll take a walk and see if I can find him.” Max says, opening the door and getting out of the car.

The park is nearly empty because of the cold, which makes it easy for Max to spot a solid figure sitting on a bench in the eastern part of the park.

It’s unmistakably Blanca, his raven-black hair tied back in a ponytail.

Max walks to him, noticing that Blanca is reading a book.

“Blanca?” He calls out, unsure of how to approach the man.

Blanca acknowledges him with a brief nod. “Lobo.”

Max clears his throat and awkwardly sits beside Blanca, looking first at the ground, then at the book in his hands: The Catcher in the Rye.

“Are you enjoying the book?” He asks without thinking.

Blanca smirks. “It’s not the first time I’ve read it.”

Max hums. “So, you must really like it if you’re reading it so much.”

Blanca nods. “You could say I do, yeah.” He closes the book and looks at the cover. “What about you? Have you ever read it?”

Max mentally questions why he decided to engage in conversation with Blanca, a Russian mercenary, instead of sending Jenkins or asking him directly about the letter.

“I did.” He replies instead. “It was a pretty good book, though I couldn’t stand how many times Holden says lousy.”

The raven-haired man snorts. “Ash said the exact same thing after reading it.”

Max looks down. Ash never really talked to him much about Blanca or how they met. All he knows is that Blanca… trained Ash? And that, ironically, he was one of the few men who hurt him the least.

“What did Ash tell you about me?” Blanca asks, as if he can read Max’s thoughts.

Max startles at the unexpected question and clears his throat. “Not much. He said you taught him how to fight, that you were like a private teacher…” Max fidgets, suddenly nervous. “And I must say, you taught him well. That boy is a real menace.”

“Yeah, he’s strong. He started training when he was fourteen, and he was strong even back then.” Blanca agrees.

Max thinks bitterly that Ash shouldn’t have had to be strong. He should have been protected, cared for.

“I never raped him, if you were wondering.” Blanca says suddenly, answering the unspoken question between them.

Max purses his lips. “But you allowed dozens of men to do it.”

Blanca closes his eyes and sighs. “I know. And I regret it every day of my life.” Then he slips his hand into his pocket, and for a moment, Max fears he might pull out a weapon to kill him or something that a Russian assassin would do. But instead, Blanca takes out a slightly crumpled piece of paper.

“I always thought that boy had no hope, that this was his fate. So I tried to make him stronger, to prepare him for what he would have had to live with forever…” Blanca unfolds the letter. “But I was wrong.”

He hands the paper to Max. The brunette notices dried bloodstains on it, and then realizes it’s probably the letter Ash had been searching for.

“The truth is, I didn’t believe he could change his life because I never could. I tried to convince him because I couldn’t convince myself.” Blanca continues as Max silently reads the letter. “I tried until the end to convince him that leaving Eiji was the best choice.”

At this, Max looks up. “The best choice for who?” He asks coldly. “Blanca, this is a goddamn love letter. We both know no one can truly separate Ash and Eiji.”

Blanca grits his teeth. “People like Ash shouldn’t venture into love. It’s dangerous. He should never let his emotions get in the way—“

“Are you talking about Ash or yourself?” Max interrupts.

Blanca pauses. “How is he doing?”

God, this man and his ability to change the subject. “He’s at the hospital, he’s fine.”

“I’m glad.” The Russian nods. “I hope he doesn’t resent me, you know. For what I did and didn’t do.”

Max suddenly recalls the night he and Ash went to that bar to get the photos. The wild look on Ash’s face as he pointed the gun at that man’s head, his hand shaking so hard that he probably would have missed anyway, even if he’d fired.

Ash often acts as though everything that’s been done to him doesn’t affect him. He gets stabbed? Raped? Beaten up? He just bottles it up and moves on. But Max saw him almost break that night.

Does Ash hate Blanca? For forcing him to become a ruthless killer? For ignoring the fact that he was being raped on a daily basis?

“I would.” Max replies honestly. “Resent you, I mean. If I were in Ash’s place.” He lets out a nervous laugh. “God, I would never want to see your face again.”

Blanca hums, staring at the ground.

“I really hope he can build himself the best of lives.” He says quietly.

“He deserves that and much more.” Max agrees.

Then Blanca gets to his feet, and Max follows suit.

“Ash will stay here in New York for a couple more days.” Max says. “You could visit him. He’d be happy about it.”

Blanca snorts without looking back. “No, he wouldn’t.”

***

After a good half-hour of waiting, Blanca finally sees Ash arrive. They’re in Mr. Golzine’s garden, which is large enough to almost be considered a private nature reserve.

Ash limps slightly, his face flushed, Blanca notices as he approaches.

“About damn time.” Blanca mutters, crossing his arms.

Ash’s lower lip trembles. “I’m sorry.”

Blanca frowns. “What’s the matter?” He asks seriously, his patience running thin. He doesn’t have much time to waste.

Ash pulls his arms tight around his chest and hunches over, staring at the grass beneath his feet. “Just… the usual.”

Blanca rolls his eyes. “Keep your back straight.”He orders, placing a hand on Ash’s shoulder. But Ash doesn’t just flinch—he jerks away as far as he can.

“Don’t fucking touch me!” He snarls.

Blanca blinks. It’s not the first time Ash has freaks out, but it’s the first time it’s escalated to this point.

“Ash, get a grip.” Blanca scolds him.

Ash clenches his jaw. “I’m sorry.” He shrugs.

Blanca sighs. “Listen. This is part of the reason I’m here, okay?” He says calmly. Ash raises an eyebrow, questioning him.

“Being a prostitute, or Papa Dino’s property…” Ash flinches, instinctively covering a forming hickey on his neck. Blanca presses on: “Put up with this just a little longer, and soon you’ll be the one in control.” He tries to smile, to look convincing. “How does that sound?”

Ash swallows hard, looking away. “Let’s just start the lesson.”

Blanca’s expression falls, just a little.

“Fine. Did you bring your knife?”

Chapter Text

Ash lies on the bed, unmoving, his gaze fixed on the ceiling. The room is quiet now, only he and Jessica remain. Charlie had left shortly after Max and Jenkins, saying something vague about “bureaucratic errands.”

Time feels irrelevant. Ash realizes he has no idea what day it is, or even the time. Outside, it’s already dark, but he knows that in winter, the sun sets far too early in New York.

Jessica sits beside him, perched on the chair next to his bed. Her usual calm is replaced by a restless energy that Ash can’t ignore. She keeps pulling her phone out of her pocket, glancing at the screen for a moment before slipping it back in. She’s done this at least ten times since sitting down.

“Jessica?” Ash speaks up, his voice breaking the tense silence.

Jessica immediately looks up, her warm smile masking whatever has her on edge. “Yes, dear?”

“What… what time is it?” He asks, his voice raspy, almost foreign to his own ears.

Jessica blinks, likely not expecting such a question. She checks her phone again, quickly this time, as though she needs to reassure herself. “It’s almost seven in the evening. Are you hungry?”

Ash shakes his head, brushing off the offer. “And what day is it?”

Jessica’s brows knit briefly before smoothing again. “The 21st.” A small smile touches her lips. “Today’s the first official day of winter.” She glances out the window.

Ash shifts his gaze to the ceiling, shrugging slightly. “Yeah.”

Jessica studies him for a moment, unsure whether to say something more. The silence between them feels heavy, as though words would only weigh it down further.

“Are you sure you’re not hungry?” Jessica presses gently. “It’s been more than a day since you last ate something.”

Ash considers her words. She’s probably right; he should eat.

“Can I even eat, though?” he asks, his eyes darting to his bandaged abdomen beneath the blanket.

Jessica immediately stands up. “I don’t see why not, but I’ll double-check. Let me find a nurse, wait here.” She hurries out of the room.

Ash waits for the door to click shut and for her footsteps to fade into the distance. Then, with a deep breath, he tries to sit up. The pain in his midsection is blinding, a sharp, searing ache that makes his vision blur and tears sting his eyes.

He collapses back onto the pillow, groaning. “Fuck!”

Just as he gathers the will to try again, the door swings open. Jessica is back, followed by the same nurse who had sedated him earlier. She’s pushing a cart with two food trays balanced on top.

“Dinner time!” Jessica announces cheerfully. She grabs one of the trays from the cart and gestures for the nurse to leave.

Ash glances at the plates on the trays, one for each of them: grilled chicken breast, a few steamed carrots, a small piece of bread, an apple wrapped in a napkin, and a glass of water. Simple, but decent. Jessica carefully lifts Ash’s tray and sets it gently on his lap.

“There you go.” She says.

“Thanks.” Ash mumbles, picking up his fork.

They eat in silence for a few minutes. The food, surprisingly, is better than he expected for hospital fare. Yet it might as well be cardboard to Ash. He barely tastes it, forcing each bite down out of obligation rather than hunger.

After a while, a knock comes at the door. “It’s me.” Max’s voice calls from outside.

Jessica smiles instinctively. “Come in.”

The door swings open, revealing both Max and Jenkins.

“You were right, Ash.” Max says as he steps inside. “Blanca had your letter.”

Ash’s eyes widen, and he hurriedly puts down his fork.

Max approaches and hands him the letter. Ash nearly snatches it out of his hand, his movements frantic.

He runs his fingers over the familiar handwriting, his eyes scanning Eiji’s words. Tears glisten in his eyes, though they don’t fall.

He finally looks up. “How’s—How’s Eiji?” he asks, voice wavering.

“He and Ibe probably just landed in Japan,” Jenkins begins. “I can give Ibe a call and let you talk to Eiji…”

“No.” Ash shakes his head, cutting Jenkins off sharply. “I can’t talk to him. Don’t tell him anything about me, clear?”

Max’s expression softens. “Ash…”

“Don’t Ash me, Max.” The blond snaps, his voice fierce. “It’s better this way.”

Jessica and Max exchange a worried glance, but neither presses him further. Jenkins sighs and gives a slight nod. “As you wish, Callenreese.”

Chapter Text

Ash is ordered to stay in the hospital for two more days by the doctor.

Technically, he should have stayed for at least a week, but Charlie and Jenkins had insisted on an early discharge. They wanted to get Ash out of New York and bring him to Los Angeles, to stay with Max and Jessica.

“I’ll leave you the medications he needs.” The doctor had explained to Max and Jessica while Ash pretended to sleep. “He must rest and avoid any physical or emotional strain. Understood?”

On the morning of his third and final day there, Ash finds himself sitting in the hospital lobby in a wheelchair, staring at the tiled floor. Max is loading his few belongings into the car outside, and Jessica is finishing up with the doctor, holding a bag full of medications Ash will need to take.

Ash hates this. Hates every second of needing help, of not being able to take care of himself.

He doesn’t want to live with Max and Jessica. It’s not that he doesn’t care for them. He does. Deep down, even if he’d never admit it, they’re the closest thing to real parents he’s ever had.

But Ash remembers too well how things went the last time he stayed at their house. He doesn’t want to drag them into his mess again. He doesn’t want to put them, or their son, in danger.

A bitter thought creeps into his mind: dying in that library would have been simpler. Cleaner. Because now he has to deal with everything, and he doesn’t know how.

Now, he’s leaving his gang behind without so much as a goodbye. Now, he’s forced to leave behind the streets, Dino, and the wreckage of Banana Fish. Now, he’ll probably have to face doctors, lawyers, police officers, and advocates, all while being pitied and pushed towards a life he doesn’t want.

A life where people might even call him innocent .

The word makes Ash want to laugh.

He could be innocent on paper. He could be buried under layers of witness protection and legal excuses.

But he knows the truth.

He knows what he’s done. He knows what he is. And no paperwork, no new identity, will ever change that.

“Ash?”

Jessica’s voice snaps Ash out of his thoughts, and he flinches. When he looks up, she’s standing in front of him, holding a bag, likely full of his medications, and wearing a worried expression.

“You okay?” She asks gently.

Ash nods quickly. “Yeah, sorry. Just thinking.”

Jessica purses her lips but doesn’t press further. “Are you ready to go?”

Ash nods again, and Jessica begins to push his wheelchair toward the automatic doors, out into the cold parking lot where Max is waiting beside the car. He smiles as he sees them approach.

“Did you get everything?” Max asks, closing the trunk after loading Ash’s bags.

Jessica nods and opens the car door, leaning down to help Ash into the backseat. Just as she’s about to lift him, a familiar voice interrupts.

“Let me help.” Says Blanca.

Jessica jumps, startled, and instinctively steps in front of Ash.

Ash’s eyes widen, his mouth falling open.

“Blanca? What the hell are you doing here?” Jessica demands.

Blanca chuckles. “I just wanted to say goodbye to my protégé one last time.”

Hearing that, Max strides over, standing protectively beside Jessica. “I really don’t think you should be here—”

“It’s fine.” Ash interrupts. He looks up at Jessica. “Can you two give us a moment?”

Jessica hesitates, her eyes narrowing. She doesn’t want to leave Ash alone with this man, not after everything he’s done, but if it’s what Ash wants…

Reluctantly, she steps back with Max. They stop about ten meters away, far enough to give them privacy but close enough to intervene if needed. Max pulls out a cigarette, only for Jessica to snatch it from his lips before he can light it.

Blanca stays where he is, leaning casually against the car’s roof, while Ash sits stiffly in his wheelchair.

“What do you want?” Ash snaps.

“Don’t be so rude.” Blanca replies lightly. “I meant it when I said I wanted to say goodbye. I’ll be returning to the Canary Islands and I don’t think we’ll be seeing each other anytime soon.”

Ash feels his chest tighten, though he’s not sure why. It’s not like he had planned on seeing Blanca again.

“Good.” He replies curtly, leaning back in his wheelchair. “That’s probably for the best.”

Blanca raises an eyebrow at the sharpness in Ash’s tone but doesn’t comment. Instead, he looks at Ash for a moment longer, as though committing the boy’s face to memory.

“You’ve grown a lot.” Blanca says finally, his voice almost wistful. “In ways I didn’t think possible. Don’t waste it.”

Ash glares at him, but there’s no venom behind it. “I don’t need your advice, Blanca. I’ll figure it out on my own.”

Blanca smirks faintly. “You always do.” Then his expression softens. “I also wanted to apologize…” He says.

That makes Ash look up.

“For what?” He asks, though he already knows the answer.

Blanca meets his gaze. “For being part of what made your life a living hell.” He replies simply.

Ash shrugs, trying to appear indifferent. “Tsk. You were hardly bad, compared to the others.”

Blanca’s expression hardens. “Just because others treated you worse doesn’t mean I treated you well.” He counters.

Ash clenches his jaw, his hands gripping the sides of his wheelchair. “You were just doing your job.” He mutters, as if that would make it all okay.

Blanca hums thoughtfully, his dark eyes steady on Ash.

After a moment of silence, he speaks again. “I read Eiji’s letter.”

Ash’s head snaps up, and he rolls his eyes. “Of course you did. You nosy—”

“That boy really cares about you.” Blanca interrupts, his voice softer.

Ash freezes, his gaze darting away. He doesn’t respond, but his silence speaks volumes.

Blanca takes a deep breath, as if choosing his next words carefully. “I think I was wrong.” He says at last, his tone unusually gentle. “Maybe you two can be friends, even if you’re really different from each other.”

Ash scoffs, crossing his arms tightly over his chest. “That doesn’t matter. Eiji would never be safe with someone like me.” He says, his voice barely above a whisper. Saying it out loud hurts more than he expected, but it’s the truth, one he can’t let himself forget.

Blanca studies him for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he sighs, stepping back from the car.

“Take advantage of this second chance at life, Ash. Not everyone gets one.” His voice is firm, but there’s something almost wistful in it.

Ash bites the inside of his cheek, suppressing the swell of emotions threatening to choke him. He watches Blanca turn and begin to walk away, his steps slow and deliberate.

“Blanca.”

The Russian stops in his tracks but doesn’t turn around, waiting.

“See you around…” Ash says, his voice soft but steady.

Blanca smirks faintly, though Ash can’t see it.

“Goodbye, Ash.”

Chapter Text

Ash stares out of the car window, his head leaning against the glass as the world outside passes by in a blur. The coolness of the glass is a small relief against the overwhelming weight pressing on his chest. Max is driving, and Jessica sits in the passenger seat. The quiet hum of their conversation occasionally breaks the silence, but Ash barely registers it.

The plan is to take a plane to Los Angeles. None of them has the energy for another 50-hour drive, especially with Ash’s condition. Tomorrow was Christmas Eve, and Jessica and Max are eager to get back home for their son, Michael. Ash still isn’t sure why they want him there. He doesn’t belong in their cozy family holiday, but he had no say in the matter.

When they reach the airport, Ash is wheeled through security and onto the plane. He hates every second of it, the stares, the murmured comments from strangers. Jessica stays by his side the entire time, her hand occasionally brushing his shoulder in reassurance.

Seated between Max and Jessica on the plane, Ash’s mind wanders. How had they even managed to get him on a flight? He isn’t naïve; he knows what he is— a criminal. Someone like him doesn’t just board a plane without strings being pulled. He feels like an imposter, sitting there like a regular person, as if he isn’t broken beyond repair.

Jessica breaks the silence. “Michael is going to be so excited to see you. He’s been talking about you non-stop.”

Ash forces a faint smile, nodding. “Yeah.” He mutters.

In truth, he doesn’t know how to feel about seeing Michael again. The boy’s innocence stirs something in him, a fierce need to protect him, to keep him from ever experiencing the darkness Ash has known. Maybe it is because Michael reminds him of himself before his life went so far off course.

When they land in Los Angeles, it is evening. The city lights twinkle in the distance as a taxi takes them to Max and Jessica’s home. The drive feels endless, but eventually, they pullinto the driveway.

Outside, a small figure stands bundled up against the chill, bouncing on his toes with excitement. Next to him is a woman Ash doesn’t recognize but guesses is Jessica’s sister.

“Mom! Dad!” Michael’s voice rings out as he waves wildly. But then his eyes land on Ash, and his excitement doubles. “Ash!”

Before Ash can react, Michael runs toward him. Jessica had just opened the car door and was helping Ash into the wheelchair when Michael throws his arms around Ash’s waist.

“You’re here!” Michael exclaims, his face lighting up with joy.

Ash freezes, caught off guard. His hands hover awkwardly before he hesitantly returns the hug, his movements stiff. “Hey, kid.” He says softly, a small smile tugging at his lips. “You’re getting taller.”

Michael grins, pulling back to look at Ash. “I knew you’d come! Mom and Dad said maybe, but I knew it. It’s Christmas!”

Ash’s smile falters for a moment, but he quickly masks it, ruffling the boy’s hair. “Yeah, you were right. I couldn’t miss Christmas with you.”

Jessica and Max exchange relieved glances as they watch the exchange. Jessica then gestured to the woman beside her. “Ash, this is my sister, Gloria. She’s been helping us with Michael while we were busy.”

Gloria smiles warmly and extends a hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Ash.”

Ash hesitates before shaking her hand briefly. “Nice to meet you too.”

Michael, still brimming with excitement, grabs Ash’s arm. “Come on, Ash! You have to see the Christmas tree! And the cookies! And my presents!”

“Take it easy, Michael.” Max says with a chuckle, moving to help push Ash’s wheelchair.

The house is warm and inviting, a stark contrast to the chill outside. The scent of pine and something sweet baking in the oven fills the air. In the corner of the living room stands a tall Christmas tree, decorated with colorful lights and handmade ornaments.

Michael begins pointing out each decoration, his enthusiasm infectious. Ash listens quietly, nodding along as the boy chattered. For a moment, he lets himself take in the warmth of the scene, the gentle hum of normalcy around him.

But deep down, he can’t shake the unease. He doesn’t belong here, in this world of laughter and light. He is broken, tainted.

Still, as Michael beams up at him, proudly showing off his favorite ornament, Ash wondered if maybe, just maybe, there is still a sliver of hope for him to carve out a new life.

Jessica’s sister stays long enough to pull a tray of cookies out of the oven before saying her goodbyes. Michael gives her a quick hug, then runs back to Ash, who is seated on the living room couch.

The boy leans against Ash, his small frame warm and trusting. His eyes are fixed on the TV, where The Grinch is playing. Jessica and Max are in the kitchen, quietly cleaning up, but Ash can feel their worried glances on him even from across the room. Years of living on edge have sharpened his ability to notice when someone is watching him.

Ash keeps his eyes on the TV, the absurd green creature stealing Christmas decorations a surreal contrast to the heaviness in his chest. He has never seen this movie before, or any Christmas movies, for that matter. As a kid, when he still lived with his father and Griffin, they didn’t own a TV, and going to the cinema was out of the question.

Then his coach happened.

Then Dino happened.

Ash shudders involuntarily as memories claw their way to the surface, memories of how Dino used Christmas as another excuse to hurt him in new and horrifying ways.

His stomach churns, and he forces himself to focus on the present, on the warm glow of the room, the weight of Michael against him, the sound of Jessica humming softly in the kitchen.

Michael stirs and looks up at him. “Are you cold?”

Ash blinks, caught off guard, and shakes his head. “No.” He says, his voice soft.

Michael tilts his head, his brow furrowing. “Then why’d you shiver?”

Ash hesitates, then gestures at the TV. “I’ve never seen The Grinch before.” He admits, deflecting the boy’s question.

Michael’s eyes widen in disbelief. “No way!”

Ash huffs a quiet laugh at the dramatic reaction. “Yeah. I’ve never watched it. Or any Christmas movies.”

Michael gasps as if Ash has just admitted some terrible crime. “What? You’ve never seen Home Alone ? Or Elf ? Or The Polar Express ?”

Ash shakes his head after each title, feeling strangely amused by the boy’s genuine shock.

Michael crosses his arms with a determined look on his face. “Well, I’m gonna make sure you see all of them. By next Christmas, you’ll know every Christmas movie ever!”

Ash’s faint smile falters, but he quickly forces it back into place. He doesn’t have the heart to tell Michael that he doesn’t even know if he’ll make it to New Year’s, let alone another Christmas.

Instead, he ruffles the boy’s hair and murmurs: “I’ll hold you to that, kid.”

Michael beams at him, turning his attention back to the TV. Ash leans back against the couch, letting the movie play, trying to push aside the weight of everything he carries, even if just for a little while.

“Dinner’s ready!” Max calls from the kitchen, his voice carrying a warmth that fills the house.

Ash slowly lifts himself from the couch, the movement still awkward, though less painful than before. Michael, ever observant and quick to act, rushes over, positioning Ash’s wheelchair so that it’s just at the edge of the armchair. With a wide smile, he gently helps Ash settle into the chair.

“Thanks, kiddo.” Ash mutters softly, feeling a small wave of gratitude for the child’s eagerness to help.

“I’ll push you! You shouldn’t strain yourself!” Michael insists, his voice full of determination as he wheels Ash forward. Despite being barely taller than the back of the wheelchair, Michael pushes with a quiet strength, his hands gripping the sides with confidence.

“Okay, okay, just don’t crash me into the wall!” Ash teases, the smallest laugh escaping his lips. He watches as Michael’s face lights up with excitement, glad to be of help.

They make their way into the kitchen, where Jessica and Max are busy setting the table. The warm aroma of roasted potatoes and steak wafts through the room.

As they enter, Jessica looks up and immediately facepalms, a mix of frustration and guilt crossing her face. “Ah, damn it, Ash! I should’ve come to help you with the wheelchair.”

Ash shrugs it off, unbothered. “No worries, Jess. I’m good.”

Michael, proud of his efforts, beams up at his mom. “Yeah, I helped him, Mom! I’m a big helper.”

Jessica smiles and ruffles Michael’s hair. “You sure are, buddy.” She says, her voice full of affection.

The table is set, and they all sit down, ready to eat. Michael continues to chatter enthusiastically, telling them about all the gifts he’s hoping to get from Santa the next day. His excitement is infectious, and the warmth in the room makes Ash feel a little lighter.

“I think I’ve been really good this year.” Michael says, his voice filled with the excitement of a child who believes wholeheartedly in Christmas magic. “So, I’m definitely getting that big Lego set! The one with the dinosaur! And maybe some video games, too!”

Ash listens, nodding along, but his mind is drifting. He’s not used to this, the casual, easy conversation, the warmth of a family around a dinner table, the laughter of a child.

Then Michael’s voice cuts through his thoughts. “Hey, Ash, what’s Santa bringing you?”

The words hang in the air, and for a moment, Ash freezes. His fork is suspended mid-air, and he feels an uncomfortable lump rise in his throat. It’s a simple question, one children ask all the time, but for Ash, it suddenly feels like the weight of the world is on his shoulders.

He glances at his plate, then at Max and Jessica, who are both watching him with concern. They’re waiting, expecting an answer, but Ash doesn’t have one. He has nothing. He never thought about Santa, never thought about gifts. His life had never allowed for such things.

He clears his throat, the sound feeling too loud in the silence that follows Michael’s innocent question. Ash looks at Michael, his bright eyes filled with hope and curiosity, and Ash feels a tight knot in his chest.

“I… uh, I don’t know, Michael…” He says, his voice hoarse. He wants to say more, to explain, to tell the child that the holidays haven’t meant much to him in years, but it’s too hard. Too painful.

Michael’s face falls just a little, confusion flickering in his eyes. “Really?” He asks, as if the idea of not having a Christmas wish is impossible to understand. “But… don’t you want something?”

Ash forces a small smile, not quite reaching his eyes. He doesn’t want to disappoint him. “Maybe, but… I don’t think I’m on Santa’s list this year, huh?”

Michael thinks about this for a moment, his brow furrowing in concentration. Then, after a beat, he leans in close, a sudden burst of inspiration lighting up his face. “Well, next year, you’ll definitely be on the list! I’ll make sure of it. I’ll tell Santa you’ve been really good.”

Ash’s chest tightens at the boy’s innocent, unwavering belief. He doesn’t know how to respond, his own heart heavy, and instead of saying anything, he just ruffles Michael’s hair gently.

“Yeah.” Ash says softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “Maybe next year.”

***

Ash wakes up with a start that night, hearing footsteps from behind the couch.

Max and Jessica have a guest room upstairs, but Ash insisted on sleeping on the couch because it’s more comfortable and easier for him to get to.

He doesn’t tell them, but the positioning of the couch also allows him to keep an eye on the front door, the kitchen, and the stairs, helping him feel just a little bit safer.

Opening his eyes, illuminated by the soft glow of the Christmas tree lights, Ash sees Max carefully placing presents under the tree.

“Hey, Santa.” Ash calls quietly, sitting up. Max turns and gives him a sheepish smile.

“Hey.” Max responds, finishing arranging a gift before turning fully towards Ash. “Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you. I just need to make sure Michael finds the gifts under the tree in the morning.”

Ash shakes his head, trying to dismiss the thought. “It’s fine. I’m a light sleeper anyway.”

Max hesitates for a moment, then speaks again, his voice quieter this time. “Ibe called me, after dinner. Eiji’s been asking about you. I didn’t tell him anything, though, as you said…”

Ash’s gaze drops, his face tightening. “I told you, it’s better if he has nothing more to do with me.”

Max sighs and stands up, rubbing the back of his neck as he looks at Ash. “Okay.”

Chapter Text

Ash wakes up in the morning to the sound of Michael barreling down the stairs, his excitement vibrating through the house.

He sits up just in time to see the boy standing frozen in front of the Christmas tree, which is now surrounded by neatly wrapped gifts. The sight warms Ash’s heart in a way he doesn’t expect.

“Oh my god!” Michael practically screams, jumping up and down. He spins around to look at his mom, Jessica, who shuffles in, still half-asleep and hair tousled. She rubs her eyes and stifles a yawn.

“Santa really spoiled you, didn’t he, sweetheart?” She murmurs, smiling fondly. “Go on, open your presents.”

Michael doesn’t need to be told twice. He dives under the tree, zeroing in on the gifts wrapped in shiny gold paper, clearly marked as his.

He tears into the first one with unmatched enthusiasm, revealing the LEGO set he had been talking about nonstop the night before: a dinosaur-themed prison from Jurassic Park .

Michael spins around and beams at Ash, holding up the box like a trophy. “Will you help me build it later?” He asks eagerly.

Ash blinks, startled. “Me?” He asks, pointing at himself like he isn’t sure the kid means him. “Uhm… yeah, sure.”

Michael giggles, satisfied with the answer, and dives into the next present.

By the end of the morning, Michael is surrounded by his haul: the LEGO set, a new video game, a toy truck, and a puzzle. He’s practically glowing with happiness.

Meanwhile, Jessica and Max exchange their own gifts. Jessica receives a pearl bracelet that she immediately slips onto her wrist with a soft smile. Max unwraps a new pair of shoes, and Jessica teases him about finally throwing out his old ones.

Ash, for his part, watches Michael play with his new truck, seemingly oblivious to everything else around him. But Jessica points something he didn’t notice: a small, unopened package left under the tree, wrapped in green paper.

She places a hand on Michael’s shoulder and gently nudges him. “Hey, Michael, there’s one more present under the tree. Go see who it’s for.”

Michael sprints over, crouching down to carefully read the tag attached to the box. His face lights up, and he gasps dramatically, spinning back around to Ash.

“It says Ash !” He exclaims, holding the box up high like a prize. His eyes are practically sparkling. “See? You were on Santa’s list after all!”

Ash freezes, his eyes darting from the little green package to Michael, who is already running towards him with the box in hand.

“Here!” Michael thrusts the gift at him, hopping from foot to foot in excitement.

Ash hesitates, his fingers hovering over the box for a moment before finally taking it. He glances up at Jessica and Max, who are watching him expectantly.

“You didn’t have to…” Ash starts, his voice quiet, almost hesitant.

“Open it!” Michael interrupts, practically bouncing on his heels with excitement.

Ash lets out a soft breath and begins unwrapping the box with deliberate care. The paper crinkles under his fingers until it falls away, revealing a sleek, modern mobile phone nestled inside.

His eyes widen, and for a moment, he just stares at it. Then, as if unsure of what to do, he looks up at the couple again.

There’s a knot in his throat he can’t seem to swallow, and his eyes begin to burn. Words hover on the edge of his lips, thank you, or maybe there was no need, but they never make it out. His mouth trembles slightly, and his grip on the box tightens.

“Santa must have known you lost your old phone.” Max says, his tone casual but his expression warm. He crosses his arms, a smug smile tugging at his lips.

It’s true. Ash lost his phone somewhere in the chaos, between Eiji getting shot, Dino’s final moments, and everything else that feels like a blur now. He can’t even remember when it happened.

Michael’s gigantic grin starts to fade when he notices Ash’s shoulders trembling slightly. The boy’s brow furrows, and he steps closer.

“Ash?” Michael asks softly, placing his small hand over Ash’s much larger, calloused one. “Do you not like your present?”

Ash’s head hangs low, his blond bangs casting a shadow over his face. His voice is barely audible when he answers. “No—” It cracks, and he takes a shaky breath before continuing. “No, I like it very much.”

His hands rise to his face, brushing against his cheekbones as he tries to wipe away tears that have already begun to fall. “I’m sorry.” He whispers, his voice choked. “I don’t know why—”

A small sob escapes before he can stop it, and he presses a hand against his mouth to stifle the sound. His other hand grips the box tightly, as if it’s the only thing grounding him.

Jessica kneels beside him without a word, her hand resting lightly on his knee. She doesn’t speak, doesn’t try to force him to explain, just stays there, her presence solid and steady.

Max stands a little farther back, leaning against the doorway. His usual smirk is gone, replaced by something softer, more solemn. “Ash, it’s okay.” He says gently, his voice steady and calm.

Ash tries to pull himself together, but the sobs keep coming, unstoppable now, like a dam finally breaking. He clutches the phone box tighter, his knuckles white, and shakes his head. “No, it’s just…” He struggles for words, gasping through the tears. “I didn’t get you anything—”

Max blinks, momentarily startled by the statement, then shakes his head, his voice firm but kind. “Ash, you being alive is our gift for Christmas. That’s all we could ever want.”

The words hit Ash like a punch to the chest, and his face crumples. His shoulders shake as he doubles over, holding the phone package close like it’s a lifeline.

Because he could have been dead. No, he should have been dead, he realizes. He wanted to be.

The weight of it crushes him now, the thought of what could have been, what should have been, and what he might have taken away from them. Do they really care this much about him? Enough to risk their lives for him, put Christmas presents under the tree for him?

Ash glances up, his tear-streaked face meeting Michael’s wide, worried eyes. The boy looks so small, so fragile, standing there with his hands clenched together, his brow furrowed in concern.

The sight twists something deep in Ash’s chest. “Michael.” He rasps, his voice raw. “Michael, I’m so sorry.”

Michael steps closer, confused. “Why are you sorry?” He asks softly.

Ash doesn’t know what he’s apologizing for. For ruining Christmas? For showing up here and invading their home, their family? For existing in this world at all? He doesn’t have an answer, and the lump in his throat makes it impossible to speak.

“I don’t…” Ash starts, his voice barely audible. “I don’t know.”

Michael tilts his head and looks at his parents, unsure what to do. Jessica nods at him encouragingly, her own eyes glistening, and Michael takes a step closer to Ash.

“You don’t have to be sorry.” Michael says, his voice small but firm. He places his tiny hand over Ash’s trembling one. “You did nothing wrong.”

Ash stares at him, unblinking, unable to process how this kid can look at him like that, with so much trust and care, when Ash knows exactly what kind of person he is.

Jessica squeezes Ash’s knee gently. “Michael’s right.” She says softly. “You don’t have to apologize for anything, Ash. You’re here, and that’s enough.”

Max walks over, crouching down to meet Ash’s gaze. “You’re part of this family now, whether you like it or not.” He says with a small smile. “We’re just happy you’re here.”

Ash’s chest tightens, and for a moment, he can’t breathe. He looks at each of them: Michael, with his innocent, unwavering faith; Jessica, with her steady warmth; Max, with his quiet acceptance; and something inside him breaks in a way that feels different this time.

Not in a bad way.

In a way that feels like… maybe, just maybe, he doesn’t have to do this alone anymore.

“Thank you.” Ash whispers, the words barely audible.

Michael grins and hugs him, wrapping his arms tightly around Ash’s shoulders. Jessica and Max exchange a look over the boy’s head, their faces full of quiet relief.

Ash lets himself be held, for once not pulling away. The phone box slips from his grip and falls onto his lap, forgotten for the moment.

For the first time in a long time, Ash doesn’t feel like he has to run.

“Merry Christmas, Ash.” Michael whispers.

Chapter Text

The peace doesn’t last.

Christmas ends up being a beautiful day, for everyone, including Ash. For a while, he allows himself to enjoy the fleeting normalcy.

Once he recovers from his emotional breakdown that morning, Ash spends most of the day helping Michael assemble his new Lego set. They sit cross-legged on the living room floor, Michael eagerly barking out instructions while Ash patiently follows along, occasionally suppressing a chuckle at the boy’s enthusiasm.

Lunch is warm and comforting, a true Christmas feast shared with Jessica and Max. They laugh, talk, and for a few blissful hours, Ash feels like he’s part of something good. The evening is spent watching classic holiday movies. Ash doesn’t understand the appeal of some of them, but Michael’s joy is infectious, and Ash finds himself smiling more than he expected.

But tranquillity is a fragile thing, one that Ash knows can never fully hold. His past doesn’t leave him alone. It’s always there, lingering like a shadow, creeping into the edges of every moment.

It’s in the way his mind sometimes drifts to a place far from the present. He’ll stare at nothing for far too long, his thoughts trapped in memories he doesn’t want to relive.

Jessica or Max, or even Michael, will notice and gently place a hand on his shoulder, pulling him back to the world. Each time, Ash forces a faint smile and murmurs a quiet Sorry, but the look in his eyes says more than words ever could.

It’s in his physical reactions, the way he jumps at loud sounds or flinches when someone moves too quickly near him. Jessica accidentally drops a plate in the kitchen, and Ash is out of his seat before he even realizes it, his breathing heavy and his muscles tense. Michael freezes, startled by the sudden shift, while Jessica and Max exchange worried glances.

“Ash, it’s okay.” Jessica says softly, her voice careful, soothing.

Ash forces himself to sit back down, his hands trembling. “Yeah… yeah, I know.” But he doesn’t meet their eyes.

And then there’s the wound on his stomach, a constant reminder of how close he came to not being here at all. The ache is dull but ever-present, flaring up when he moves too suddenly or forgets to take his medication.

He catches himself running his fingers lightly over the bandages sometimes, as if to convince himself it’s real.

That night, long after everyone has gone to bed, Ash lies awake on the couch, staring up at the ceiling. The house is quiet except for the faint hum of the heater and the occasional wind outside.

He knows he should feel safe here. Jessica and Max have done everything they can to make him feel welcome, to give him a space where he doesn’t have to constantly look over his shoulder. But safety is an illusion, a lie he can’t let himself believe.

His mind races with thoughts he can’t push away. Of Dino. Of the gang he left behind. Of Eiji, safe in Japan, probably wondering if Ash is even still alive.

Ash clenches his fists, his nails biting into his palms. The warmth and comfort of this home feels like a cruel joke, a brief respite before the inevitable crash. Because people like him don’t get happy endings. People like him ruin everything they touch.

The sound of soft footsteps pulls him from his spiral. He sits up quickly, his heart pounding, but it’s only Michael, rubbing his eyes as he shuffles into the room.

“Can’t sleep?” Ash asks, his voice hoarse.

Michael shakes his head, climbing up onto the couch next to him. He looks at Ash for a long moment, his young face serious in a way that makes Ash’s chest ache.

“Are you okay?” Michael asks quietly.

Ash blinks, caught off guard by the question. He doesn’t know how to answer, so he settles for a half-smile. “Yeah, kid. I’m fine.”

Michael doesn’t look convinced, but he doesn’t push. Instead, he curls up beside Ash, resting his head against his shoulder.

Ash freezes, unsure of what to do. Then Michael sighs, a soft, content sound, and something inside Ash softens. He leans back against the couch, letting the boy stay where he is.

For the first time that night, the thoughts in his head quiet, just a little. It’s not peace, not really. But it’s something.

***

The thing that hurts Ash the most, more than the flashbacks, more than the wounds that still ache, is the gaping void left by Eiji.

Or rather, the void he refuses to let Eiji fill.

He knows all too well that Eiji wants to hear from him. Wants to know if he’s okay. Because Eiji is so good, too good.

Ash has overheard Max talking to Ibe on the phone more than once. Max always keeps his word, revealing only the bare minimum about Ash’s condition. But still, Ibe keeps asking, pressing, gently but insistently, on Eiji’s behalf.

Ash doesn’t blame him. He knows Eiji. He can picture him clearly, sitting somewhere in Izumo, clutching his phone, waiting for any scrap of information. The thought should comfort him, but it doesn’t. It just makes the ache in his chest worse.

One day, though, it’s not Ibe’s voice on the other end of the line.

Ash is lying on the couch, feigning disinterest while Max takes yet another call. He doesn’t pay much attention at first, until he hears a familiar voice through the speaker.

Eiji’s voice.

It’s faint, distant, distorted by the phone, but it’s unmistakable. The gentle cadence, the soft lilt of his accent. It cuts through Ash like a knife.

He’s on his feet before he even realizes it, his heart pounding in his chest. He doesn’t know where he’s going, only that he needs to get away.

He ducks into the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind him, and presses his back against the wall. His breaths come in shallow, uneven gasps, and he presses a hand to his chest, trying to calm the storm inside him.

He misses Eiji. He misses him more than he can put into words, more than he’ll ever admit, even to himself.

But he can’t allow him in his life again.

Ash knows he’s avoiding Eiji not just to protect him, but as a form of punishment. For what, he isn’t entirely sure. For being alive when so many others aren’t? For all the pain he’s caused, all the blood on his hands?

Maybe it’s because he knows Eiji would forgive him for all of it, and Ash doesn’t believe he deserves that kind of absolution.

The self-imposed punishment doesn’t stop there.

Ash has started eating less, picking at his food during meals until Jessica gently scolds him. He skips doses of his painkillers, too, enduring the sharp, gnawing ache in his abdomen as if it’s something he has to endure.

He doesn’t tell anyone, of course. When Max notices and confronts him about it, Ash brushes it off with a forced smile.

“I’m fine.” He says. “I’ve handled worse.”

But he’s not fine. Not really.

Every step forward feels like dragging himself through quicksand, and the harder he tries to move on, the more he feels himself sinking. And in the quiet moments, when the house is still and the world outside is dark, the only thing Ash can think about is Eiji.

He wonders if Eiji is thinking about him, too. If he’s sitting by his window, staring up at the same stars and wishing Ash was there with him.

Ash doesn’t let himself dwell on it for too long. He can’t. Because no matter how much he wants to reach out, to hear Eiji’s voice, to tell him he’s sorry, he knows he won’t.

He can’t let himself.

***

Ash lies on the bed, the soft glow of his phone illuminating his face. It’s quiet, save for the distant murmur of Michael’s laughter from downstairs.

The guest room feels foreign to him, even though it’s been carefully prepared: clean sheets, a warm blanket, and a lamp on the bedside table.

He stares at his phone, scrolling aimlessly through the settings. It’s new, and the only contacts he has are Jessica’s and Max’s. Social media doesn’t interest him, and he’s avoided downloading any messaging apps. There’s no one he’s willing to talk to right now, no one he feels he has the right to contact.

A knock at the door pulls him from his thoughts.

“Come in.” Ash says automatically, his voice flat.

Max steps into the room, pausing in the doorway. “Hey, you decent?”

Ash raises an eyebrow. “It’s your house, Max. You don’t need to ask.”

Max leans against the doorframe, arms crossed. “It’s your room.” He counters lightly, but his tone shifts. “Get ready. We’re going to the doctor.”

That makes Ash sit up. “What for?” He asks, his voice sharp with suspicion.

Max tilts his head, his expression a mix of patience and determination. “To check on your stitches and make sure everything’s healing right. Plus, you need a full check-up. And before you ask, yes, Jessica and I noticed you haven’t been eating properly or taking your meds like you should.”

Ash groans, running a hand through his hair. “I didn’t think you’d catch on.”

Max snorts, stepping fully into the room. “You think you’re that sneaky? Kid, we’ve been watching you like hawks. You’re not as invisible as you think.”

Ash rubs the back of his neck, reluctant but knowing there’s no point in arguing. He pulls on a hoodie from the chair near the bed, soft and clean, clearly something Jessica picked out for him. His old clothes are gone, left behind in the chaos of New York. Most of them were too damaged or bloodstained to keep anyway.

As he stands, he moves slowly, careful not to strain his healing wound. The pull in his abdomen is uncomfortable, but he grits his teeth and follows Max out of the room.

“Do I really have to do this?” Ash mutters as they make their way downstairs.

“Yes.” Max replies firmly. “You’ve got people who care about you now, Ash. That means taking care of yourself, whether you like it or not.”

Ash doesn’t respond. He isn’t sure how to.

Max leads Ash down the stairs, careful not to move too fast in case Ash’s steps falter. The younger man clenches the railing tightly, his jaw set in frustration. He hates this, feeling weak, needing help. By the time they reach the living room, Jessica is waiting near the door, holding a jacket for Ash.

“I figured you’d try to walk out without one.” She says, handing it to him. “It’s cold out there, and I don’t want you catching something on top of everything else.”

Ash rolls his eyes but takes the jacket, muttering a quiet Thanks under his breath.

“You ready?” Max asks, grabbing the car keys from the hook by the door.

Ash nods reluctantly. “Let’s just get this over with.”

The drive to the doctor’s office is uneventful, but Ash’s thoughts churn. He stares out the window, watching the city blur past, his mind wandering to places he doesn’t want it to go.

When they arrive, the check-up is routine but thorough.

The doctor, an older, short woman with kind eyes, greets them warmly. Her demeanor is gentle, the way someone might address a skittish animal or a child. Ash can’t decide if it bothers him or if it’s oddly comforting.

“Hi, Aslan. I’m Dr. Garcia.” She says, gesturing toward the examination table and the array of medical instruments neatly arranged around her office.

Ash stiffens at the use of his full name but mumbles Hi in return. He wonders if she knows who he really is or if she’s just treating him like any other patient.

Dr. Garcia puts on her stethoscope, nodding for him to sit on the table. “I need you to take off your hoodie, please.”

Ash hesitates for a moment before pulling off his hoodie and then his tank top, leaving him bare-chested. Scars litter his torso, some old and faded, others newer and more jagged. He catches Max glancing at them but quickly looks away.

The doctor doesn’t react, maintaining her professional calm. She places the stethoscope against his chest. “Take a deep breath.” She instructs. He complies. “Now out. Good. Cough for me.”

The exam continues systematically. She checks his pulse, measures his blood pressure, and listens to his heartbeat.

“Lie down, please. I need to check your stitches.” She says, gesturing to the examination bed.

Ash lays back, staring at the ceiling as she examines the wound on his stomach. Her touch is firm but careful.

“You’ve got some inflammation here.” Dr. Garcia remarks, frowning slightly. “You need to rest more, and you absolutely cannot skip your medications. They’re prescribed for a reason.”

Ash doesn’t respond, but his lips press into a tight line.

Dr. Garcia straightens and pulls out a scale from beneath the table. “One last thing, and then you’re done.” She says.

Ash’s stomach churns uneasily as he steps onto the scale. He keeps his head down, his bangs falling into his eyes as if that might shield him from the weight of Max’s gaze, which feels heavy enough to press him further into the ground.

The doctor adjusts her glasses, leaning slightly to read the display. Her lips press into a thin line. “124 pounds.” She announces, her tone measured but firm. She glances up at Ash, then at Max. “At your age and height, you should weigh at least 135, likely closer to 140. This is concerning.”

Ash clenches his jaw, his fingers twitching at his sides. He knows what’s coming next.

“Has he been eating regularly?” Dr. Garcia asks, directing her question to Max.

Max shakes his head without hesitation, his tone sharp. “No. He’s barely eating at all.”

“Max.” Ash mutters, his voice quiet but defensive.

“No.” Max says firmly, cutting him off. “You need to hear this, Ash. Skipping meals isn’t just bad for your recovery, it’s dangerous. You’re making yourself weaker when you should be getting stronger.”

Dr. Garcia sighs, her gaze softening as she looks at Ash. “Max is right. With the injuries you’ve sustained, your body needs extra fuel to heal properly. Calories, protein, vitamins, all of it. Eating too little is only going to prolong the recovery process and leave you more vulnerable to infections or complications. This isn’t just about weight, it’s about survival.”

Ash feels like a child being scolded, the shame curling hot in his chest. “I’m not trying to starve myself.” He says quietly, but his voice doesn’t sound convincing, even to him.

Dr. Garcia doesn’t miss a beat. “Maybe not intentionally, but it doesn’t change the effect. Your appetite might be low because of the stress or the pain, but that’s where you need to push yourself. You have people who care about you, let them help make sure you’re eating enough.”

Ash doesn’t respond, his hands fidgeting with the hem of his hoodie.

Dr. Garcia scribbles a note on her pad. “I’m prescribing some vitamin supplements. They’re not a replacement for real meals, but they’ll help in the meantime. You need to focus on consistent meals, though. At least three a day, with snacks in between. And water. No skipping.”

She pauses, her voice softening. “I know it’s hard. Sometimes when people have been through trauma, taking care of themselves feels impossible. But this isn’t something you can afford to ignore. If you can’t do it for yourself yet, do it for the people who are trying to help you.”

Ash swallows hard, the knot in his throat making it impossible to speak.

Max, noticing his discomfort, steps in. “We’ll keep an eye on him.” He says, his tone a mix of reassurance and determination.

Dr. Garcia nods, satisfied for now. “Good. Keep encouraging him. Ash, I’ll check in on your progress in a few weeks. Don’t make me have to call you out on this again.”

Ash only manages a faint nod as he steps back from the scale, grabbing his hoodie and quickly pulling it back on.

The weight of the conversation lingers as they leave the office.

Once they’re back in the car, Max breaks the silence. “By the way, Jenkins called this morning. He wanted me to tell you something.”

Ash stiffens slightly but doesn’t look away from the window. “What?”

“After New Year’s, the legal process to formally clear your name will start.” Max says. “He said the initial steps are already in motion, but it’s going to take time.”

Ash scoffs, crossing his arms. “Clear my name. Right.”

“It’s true, Ash. Jenkins and the others have enough evidence to prove you were a victim, not a criminal. You’ll probably need to talk to some lawyers and advocates, and the detective also said that for now as long as Jessica or I are with you, you’re free to move around.”

Ash lets out a bitter laugh. “Free. That’s a funny word.”

Max frowns. “It’s a start.” He says gently.

Ash shakes his head. “It doesn’t change anything. On paper, maybe I’ll be ‘innocent,’ but you can’t erase what I’ve done. What I’ve been.”

Max glances at him through the rearview mirror. “You were a kid in impossible situations, Ash. You can’t hold yourself to the same standards as someone who’s lived a normal life.”

Ash’s hands clench into fists, his knuckles white. “You don’t get it.” He says quietly.

“No.” Max agrees. “I don’t. But I know this: you deserve a chance to live without looking over your shoulder every second. And that’s what we’re fighting for.”

Ash doesn’t respond. He turns his gaze back to the window, watching the city roll by, but Max’s words linger.

Chapter Text

Eiji arrives in Japan after a grueling 15-hour flight. He and Ibe land at Narita Airport in Tokyo, where his family waits anxiously for him just past customs. The bright lights of the terminal feel harsh, and the noise of the bustling crowd is overwhelming.

Eiji clutches his stomach lightly as he’s wheeled forward in his chair, the dull ache from the gunshot wound serving as a constant reminder of what happened in America.

He spots them immediately, his sister Yoshiko standing beside their parents, scanning the crowd with wide, eager eyes.

Yoshiko has grown up in the two years he’s been away. Her once childish bowl cut is gone, replaced with shoulder-length hair that makes her look so much older. Still, the spark of excitement in her face hasn’t changed. The moment she sees him, her face lights up, and she breaks into a run.

“Eiji!” She cries, her voice trembling with emotion as she rushes toward him.

Behind her, their parents walk at a steadier pace, their faces a mix of joy and worry. Eiji shifts uncomfortably in his chair, gripping the armrests tightly. He knows they’re happy to see him, but he can’t help feeling self-conscious. His time in America has changed him beyond recognition, and he wonders if they will notice.

Ibe, standing behind him, gently pushes the wheelchair forward to meet them. “There they are.” Ibe says softly, giving Eiji a reassuring pat on the shoulder.

Yoshiko reaches him first, stopping just in front of the chair. Her eyes flicker over him, taking him, then she kneels beside him, her expression warm and full of love. “Welcome home, Eiji.” She says softly.

“Yoshiko…” His voice wavers, and for a moment, he can’t find the words.

Their mother steps forward next, tears already streaming down her cheeks. She crouches beside Yoshiko and places trembling hands on Eiji’s face. “Eiji… my Eiji…” She whispers, her voice breaking.

Eiji’s throat tightens, and he blinks back his own tears. “Mom…” He murmurs, his voice barely audible.

Behind them, their father stands stiffly, his expression serious but his eyes betraying a deep well of emotion. “You must have been through a lot…” He says in a low, steady voice. “But you’re home now. That’s all that matters. We will have time to talk.”

Eiji nods, swallowing hard. “Yeah. There’s a lot to discuss.” He says, his voice almost a whisper.

Ibe, standing slightly off to the side, clears his throat gently. “It’s good to see you all again.” He says, bowing politely.

Fuyumi, Eiji’s mother, narrows her eyes, her expression darkening. “Ibe.” She says in a sharp tone. “Two weeks. You said you would only stay in New York for two weeks!”

Ibe visibly wilts under her gaze, looking every bit like a scolded dog with its tail between its legs. He bows again, more deeply this time. “I know, Fuyumi.” He says apologetically, before glancing at Eiji’s father. “Daisuke.” He adds with a nod. “I’m really sorry.”

Eiji shifts uncomfortably in his chair, his face flushing with embarrassment. “It was my decision to stay longer, Mom.” He interjects quickly. “It’s not Ibe’s fault.”

Fuyumi crosses her arms, clearly unconvinced, but Daisuke places a steady hand on her shoulder, his expression softening as he exhales a long sigh. “What matters is that you’re home now.” He says, his voice calm but firm.

Eiji glances between them, guilt bubbling in his chest. He knows they must have worried about him endlessly, and his extended absence didn’t make things any easier. But he can’t regret staying longer in New York, not when Ash needed him. He avoids their gazes, staring at his hands resting in his lap.

***

Eiji and his family board the train bound for Izumo, leaving Ibe behind in Tokyo, where he lives. The train is quiet, the rhythmic clatter of wheels on rails providing a steady backdrop to their journey.

Eiji sits beside Yoshiko, who is busy scrolling through her phone, her hair swaying gently as the train moves. Across from them, their parents are seated together, their postures slightly stiff with the unspoken tension of long-separated family members trying to reconnect.

“So.” Fuyumi begins, clearing her throat as she folds her hands in her lap. “In these two years, you’ve barely kept in touch. What have you been up to?” Her tone is light, almost teasing, but there’s a flicker of unease behind her words, a mother’s instinct sensing what isn’t being said.

Eiji pauses, his fingers curling slightly against his thigh as he considers her question. His mind spins, navigating the vast chasm between what he can tell her and what he absolutely cannot.

He can tell her that he went to New York to assist Ibe with a photojournalism project about gang culture, which she already knows.

He can explain how the project became more complex than they expected, leading to his extended stay. He can tell her that he felt his work there had meaning.

But he absolutely cannot tell her about his role in uncovering and dismantling one of the largest criminal empires in New York’s recent history.

He cannot tell her about the sleepless nights spent dodging death, or the gunshot that tore through his stomach and nearly killed him.

And most of all, he cannot, he will not, tell her about Ash. Not the way he wants to.

Fuyumi watches him closely, waiting for his answer. Daisuke sits beside her, his arms crossed, his silence heavy with expectation. Even Yoshiko glances up from her phone, curiosity lighting her face.

Eiji swallows hard. “I was working.” He says finally, his voice calm but deliberately vague. “Helping Ibe. Things got… complicated, and it took longer than we thought.”

“Complicated?” Fuyumi presses, her brow furrowing.

Eiji forces a smile, his hands tightening into fists against his legs to keep them steady. “You know how photojournalism can be. We had to dig deeper than we planned, and I felt it was important to see it through.”

His mother doesn’t look entirely convinced, but she doesn’t push further. Instead, she sighs softly and leans back in her seat. “Well, as long as you’re safe now…” She says, though her tone suggests she’s not entirely reassured.

Yoshiko nudges him lightly with her elbow. “Must have been exciting, though.” She says with a grin. “Traveling around, chasing stories. You’ll have to show us some photos! Did you meet anyone interesting?”

Eiji’s heart skips a beat. He feels Ash’s presence in his mind as vividly as if the blond were sitting beside him. He sees the sharp green eyes, the weary smirk, the way Ash would look at him like he was the only safe thing in the world.

“Yeah.” Eiji says softly, his gaze dropping to the floor. “I met some… unforgettable people.”

Yoshiko’s grin spreads across her face, and her eyes gleam with mischief. “I bet you met some hot American girl.” She leans forward, her teasing tone amplified by the boldness of her teenage years. “That’s probably why you stayed so long, huh? Couldn’t leave her behind?”

Eiji groans, already regretting his choice of words. “No, Yoshi. I didn’t meet anybody.”

But Yoshiko isn’t deterred. She giggles and nudges him playfully. “You’re blushing!” She exclaims triumphantly. “That means I’m right, Eiji has a secret American girlfriend!”

Eiji rolls his eyes, heat rising to his cheeks despite himself. “I told you, there’s no girlfriend!” He insists, though his defensiveness only fuels her amusement.

Their mother chuckles softly at the exchange, a lightness in her demeanor as she watches her children bicker. But Daisuke doesn’t share her mirth.

“Eiji.” He says suddenly, his deep voice cutting through the moment like a blade. His expression is serious, his gaze fixed firmly on his son. “How did you get shot, son?”

The air shifts, the playful energy evaporating in an instant.

The family falls into an uneasy silence, Yoshiko’s grin fading as she glances between their father and Eiji.

Eiji’s hands clench in his lap, his fingers gripping the fabric of his pants as he struggles to meet his father’s eyes. “Uhm…” he starts, his voice barely above a whisper. He looks at Yoshiko for a brief moment, her wide-eyed concern only deepening his guilt, before quickly looking away.

“Well.” He says finally, his throat dry. “I was working… closely with gangsters and criminals. A fight broke out, and I… I got caught in the middle.”

His words hang in the air, heavy and inadequate.

Fuyumi’s hand flies to her mouth, her eyes wide with shock. “Gangsters?” She echoes, her voice trembling. “Eiji, what were you doing with people like that?”

“I was trying to help!”  Eiji says quickly, his tone defensive but pleading. “It was for the story, getting close to them was the only way to understand what was really happening.”

Daisuke’s brow furrows, his hands resting heavily on his knees as he leans forward. “That doesn’t explain why they shot you.” He says pointedly. “Were you just in the wrong place, or were you involved in something you shouldn’t have been?”

“I wasn’t involved in anything illegal!” Eiji protests, his voice rising slightly. “I was just… there when things went bad.”

His father doesn’t look convinced. “And you thought it was worth risking your life for some photos?”

Eiji swallows hard, guilt and frustration warring within him. “It wasn’t just about the photos.” He admits quietly. “It was about… helping people.”

“Helping who?” Yoshiko asks, her voice small and tentative.

Eiji hesitates, his mind immediately flashing to Ash.

“People who didn’t have anyone else.” Eiji says finally, his voice trembling with emotion.

Fuyumi reaches out, her hand covering his in a gesture of comfort. “Eiji.” She says softly, “We’re glad you’re home. But you need to promise us you won’t put yourself in danger like that again.”

He nods, though the promise feels hollow in his chest. He can’t explain it to them, not fully, not in a way they would understand.

Because the truth is, if he had to do it all over again, he would.

For Ash.

***

Eiji finally returns home and spends Christmas with his family. He’s immensely happy to be back, to see his parents and Yoshiko again, to sleep in his own bed after so long. But despite the joy of reuniting with everyone, a certain blond boy is always in his thoughts.

He can’t stand not knowing how Ash is doing. Every day, he calls Ibe, pleading with him to reach out to Max and find out something, anything, about Ash. But no news ever comes. Ibe tells him to be patient, to trust that Ash is safe, but patience has never been Eiji’s strong suit, and his heart feels heavier with each passing day of silence.

And it’s not as if he has a way to distract himself. The doctors were clear: given his gunshot wound, he won’t be able to walk again until after New Year’s. So he’s stuck at home, confined to his wheelchair and his endless, swirling thoughts.

He wishes he could talk about it with someone, anyone , but his family isn’t exactly equipped for conversations about emotions, much less ones about love and grief, and certainly not ones involving an ex-gang leader from New York.

His parents have definitely noticed that something is bothering him. His mother’s soft, worried glances and his father’s occasional, pointed silences make that clear enough. But true to their nature, they don’t press him. Instead, they hover in their own quiet, well-meaning way, offering cups of tea and unspoken concern.

And then there’s Yoshiko, who knows something is up but has latched onto the idea that Eiji has a secret American girlfriend.

Eiji sighs, thinking about the absurdity of it all. He can almost hear Yoshiko’s teasing voice in his head. “You’re always daydreaming! I bet you’re thinking about your mystery girlfriend, aren’t you?”

She’s not entirely wrong, but she’s not even close to the truth, either.

Because the person he’s thinking about isn’t a girlfriend.

It’s Ash.