Enough

The knock on the door came again, a sudden, sharp sound that cut through the heavy silence of the apartment. It echoed in her ears, louder than it had any right to be, and Y/N's breath hitched in her chest. She stood frozen, her hand still clutching the kitchen counter, blood staining her skin, her clothes—her very soul. The remnants of the meal she had tried to swallow only moments ago clung to her body, a silent reminder that her efforts had failed. That nothing was working.

Her pulse quickened, her heart pounding against her ribcage like it was trying to escape. Her mind scrambled to make sense of the situation, to form a plan of action. But the more she tried to think, the more everything blurred, the more her thoughts dissolved into a mess of panic and confusion.

Aizawa’s voice echoed through the apartment again, piercing the fog of her mind.

“Y/N, I know you’re in there.”

Her heart stuttered in her chest, her thoughts spinning. Shit. Shit, shit, shit. 

She cursed under her breath, the harsh sound making her feel even more trapped, more suffocated. She wasn’t ready for this. She wasn’t ready for him to see her like this. Not like this—blood splattered on her clothes, the unmistakable signs of her unraveling all over her. The dark, festering marks on her skin—the remnants of his touch—still pulsing with that cold, rotten feeling that wouldn’t go away. 

Her body tensed. She couldn’t let him in. She couldn’t face him like this. Not now. Not when she was falling apart, unraveling in ways she couldn’t understand. She hadn’t even had the chance to clean up, to hide the evidence. The blood on her hands, her arms, her face—they were all signs of her failure. Her body’s failure. 

The knock came again, louder this time. It seemed to shake the very foundation of her apartment. She felt as if the walls were closing in on her, the air growing heavy, suffocating. “Y/N, I know you’re in there.”

She could hear the concern in his voice. The urgency. The need to help. But there was no helping her now, was there?

Her breath came in shallow bursts as she turned toward the door. The window. That was the only option left. She couldn’t let him in, not when she was like this. She couldn’t risk facing him. She needed time. Time to think. Time to breathe. 

But as her eyes scanned the room, her mind racing in circles, she realized with sudden horror that she had no time. No time to think. No time to prepare. No time to hide the mess she had made. 

Think, think, think. You can figure this out. You’ve always been able to.

But the more she thought, the more everything became jumbled, tangled in knots that she couldn’t untangle. The panic surged again, her breath catching in her throat as she rushed toward the window. But as she reached the frame, the reality of her situation hit her like a slap to the face. She couldn’t open the window. It was sealed shut. She couldn’t escape this way.

Her hand trembled as she pressed it against the glass. She could feel the panic crawling under her skin, squeezing her chest tighter, making it harder to breathe. Her mind, once sharp and focused, now felt like it was spinning out of control, each thought slipping further from her grasp.

No. No, she had to get out. She had to escape. She couldn’t let Aizawa see her like this. She couldn’t let him find out.

Without thinking, without considering the consequences, she clenched her fist and slammed it against the glass. The window shattered with a loud crack, the glass spraying across the floor like confetti. The sharp sound made her flinch, but she couldn’t afford to care. Not now. There was no time. No time for anything. She had to get out. 

With a shaky breath, she stepped over the broken glass, wincing at the sharpness as it crunched beneath her feet. Her legs felt unsteady, her body heavier than it had been a moment ago. But she forced herself to move, to climb through the window, her body trembling as she swung her leg over the ledge. 

Three stories. Three stories to the ground.

It felt like an eternity, standing on the edge, her breath catching in her throat as she stared down at the concrete below. But there was no time to think about it. No time to second-guess herself. She had to do this. She had to escape.

Without thinking, she pushed herself off the ledge, her body twisting in midair, her heart racing as she plummeted toward the ground. The world spun around her, and she could hear the wind rushing past her ears, but her mind was too far gone to process it. She was already falling, already committed to the jump. 

The landing was harder than she expected. Her feet hit the ground with a sickening thud, the impact jarring her bones, rattling her body. Pain shot through her legs, but she forced herself to stay on her feet. She had to. She couldn’t stop now. There was no time to stop. 

With her pulse roaring in her ears, she took off running, her legs moving faster than she thought they could. Her chest burned with every breath, each one coming in ragged gasps as she sprinted down the alley behind her building. Her body felt like it was made of lead, each step heavier than the last, but she didn’t slow down. She couldn’t.

Her mind was a whirlwind, but one thought continued to race through her head: *Get away. Get away from them. From him. From everything.* 

She could still hear Aizawa’s voice in her head, his words laced with concern and worry. “Y/N, I know you’re in there.” The more she ran, the more those words twisted in her mind, becoming a sick, twisted echo of everything she was running from. 

Her thoughts were no longer clear. Her movements were automatic now, her body responding without her input. She had lost control of her mind, her logic slipping through her fingers like sand. She wasn’t thinking about where she was going, or why she was running. She wasn’t thinking about anything anymore.

Just run. Just keep running.

Her surroundings blurred around her, the streets stretching into a dark, distorted landscape that didn’t make sense. The night was thick with shadows, with confusion, and with the gnawing feeling that she was being hunted. And it terrified her.

For the first time in a long time, Y/N didn’t feel safe. Her thoughts were disjointed, fragmented, but she couldn’t stop. She couldn’t go back.

The decay, the blood, the wounds that wouldn’t heal—they all felt like a distant nightmare, something she couldn’t escape. But the one thing she knew, the only thing that made sense anymore, was that she had to run.

And that terrified her more than anything else.

The sound of glass shattering was like a gunshot in the silence of the apartment complex. It cut through the narrow hallway, piercing the air and jolting both Yagi and Aizawa into action. For a moment, they stood frozen, the noise reverberating in their ears. Aizawa's sharp, calculating mind immediately went into overdrive, his thoughts racing through a thousand possibilities. Yagi, ever the optimist, simply remained still, waiting for the next move.

"She's gone," Aizawa muttered, his voice low and sharp, filled with a dangerous clarity. The knot in his stomach tightened, and he knew this was far more serious than he’d anticipated.

Yagi turned his head to look at him, his face hardening as he took in the implications. "Get the door," Aizawa continued, his tone commanding. "Now."

Without hesitation, Yagi stepped forward. His broad frame blocked out much of the hallway light as he approached the door. He twisted the doorknob, expecting the familiar give of an unlocked entry, but the door remained stubbornly shut. The lock had been engaged from the inside. There was no time to waste.

Yagi didn’t pause for a second. With a single, powerful kick, the door splintered under his weight, crashing open with a deafening bang. The frame cracked, and the door flung inward, revealing the dim interior of the apartment. The room was silent, unnervingly so, as though the air itself had been sucked out of the space. Both men entered cautiously, their footsteps quiet but purposeful as they made their way deeper into the apartment. Every muscle in Aizawa’s body was on high alert, each breath an anticipation of the unknown.

Aizawa’s sharp eyes quickly scanned the room, taking in every detail. The soft glow of the streetlamp outside filtered through the window, casting long shadows across the floor. Yagi, whose gaze was often more methodical, noticed the glass first. Shattered pieces lay scattered across the floor near the window, some glistening in the dim light like frozen tears. Whoever had been here was long gone. The window had been forced open, and the path of escape was clear. 

Yagi frowned as he stepped forward, studying the mess. "She’s not here," he muttered, his voice a low growl. His attention shifted to Aizawa, whose presence had become more imposing as the seconds stretched into eternity. 

Aizawa’s instincts had already led him toward the kitchen. His breath hitched as the overwhelming scent of blood invaded his senses. The unmistakable coppery scent filled the air, causing his stomach to twist in revulsion. He didn’t need to see more to know what he was walking into, but still, his eyes sought the counter, his gaze locking on the horror before him.

Blood was everywhere. On the counter, smeared across the sink, splattered across the walls, and pooling onto the floor in large, uneven splotches. The scene painted a brutal picture, the severity of it sinking deep into Aizawa’s bones. This wasn’t a normal struggle. This wasn’t an accident. The sheer volume of blood was a telltale sign that something far darker had occurred here. It was a grotesque tableau, one that made the pit of his stomach clench with dread.

"Damn it," Aizawa muttered under his breath, his voice hoarse as if the sight before him had stolen his ability to speak properly. His mind reeled with the implications. He looked back at Yagi, his eyes sharp with a dangerous edge. "There’s too much blood here. What the hell happened?"

Yagi’s expression hardened as he slowly moved toward Aizawa. He didn’t even need to ask. The weight of the situation was sinking in for both of them. This wasn’t just about finding Y/N anymore. It was about understanding the depth of what had been done to her. This wasn’t some petty conflict. This was torture. Whoever had done this had made sure of it.

"I’m not sure," Yagi said, his voice tight with worry, every word weighed down with fear. "But it’s clear something happened here. This isn’t just an escape, Aizawa." He paused, taking in the blood-smeared kitchen, the terror of it all crawling beneath his skin. "Where the hell is she?"

Aizawa clenched his fists, his jaw tightening with frustration. His mind was racing, trying to piece together the clues, but there was nothing concrete. All he had were the trails of blood, the shattered glass, and the knowledge that Y/N was out there, alone and in danger. 

"I don’t know," Aizawa said through gritted teeth. "But she’s not here." His voice cracked slightly, and the undercurrent of panic that was threatening to break through was undeniable. "Whoever did this… whoever she is, they’re gone."

Yagi’s gaze flickered toward the hallway, his mind already calculating their next steps. He could feel the tension in the room, the weight of their unspoken understanding. The urgency was suffocating, and neither of them could afford to waste any more time. They needed to find her. Now.

Aizawa crouched by the sink, his fingers lightly grazing the edge of the counter, where the blood had dried in thick, sticky streaks. His stomach churned as he traced the familiar lines of pain. It was clear from the splattering pattern that there had been a violent struggle here. Someone had been tortured. This wasn’t just a fight gone wrong—it was deliberate. Purposeful. Whoever had been here had wanted to hurt Y/N, to break her, to make her suffer.

"This doesn’t make sense," Aizawa murmured under his breath, his voice barely audible as he spoke to himself. "She’s the only student unaccounted for. And if she’s not here…" His words trailed off as the enormity of the situation settled heavily on his chest. "Then where?"

Yagi’s hand gripped the doorframe as he stood in the entryway, his eyes lingering on the bloodstained counter. The stillness of the apartment felt oppressive now, as though the air itself had been poisoned by what had occurred. His thoughts were scattered, but the one thing that had stuck with him since the beginning was a single, harrowing question: *What had happened to her?*

"We’ll find her," Yagi said, his voice tight with an unspoken promise. "We’ll track her down." He looked at Aizawa, his expression resolute. "But we need to be careful. Something’s off about this. It’s not just an escape. Someone's trying to cover their tracks. And I’m not buying it."

Aizawa stood slowly, his eyes never leaving the bloodstains on the counter. He knew Yagi was right. They couldn’t afford to rush. They needed to be tactical. They needed to think. 

"I don’t care what it takes," Aizawa said, his voice hard as steel, his resolve hardening with every passing second. "We’re getting her back."

The words were an order. An imperative. Yagi met his gaze, understanding everything without another word. They didn’t need to discuss their next move. It was clear. They had to find Y/N. She was still out there, somewhere, and whoever had done this to her would pay. 

With one last glance at the apartment, both men turned and moved toward the door. Aizawa’s eyes scanned the hallway with a practiced intensity, every sense on high alert. The quiet hum of the building around them felt wrong, like it was holding its breath, waiting for something.

They left the apartment, stepping into the darkened corridor, their footsteps echoing in the otherwise silent building. The air was thick with tension, the uncertainty of what was to come weighing heavily on their shoulders. Every second mattered. Time was slipping away. They had to act quickly.

Aizawa’s thoughts were a maelstrom of concern and calculation, but one thing was certain: Y/N was in danger, and they wouldn’t stop until they brought her back—no matter what the cost.

Y/N’s legs burned as she ran, each step heavier than the last. The exhaustion from the past few hours was catching up to her, but she couldn’t stop—not yet. Her lungs screamed for air, and the city’s streets blurred as she pushed forward, veering into the slums. It was the only place where she could be alone, where no one would dare follow her.

The stench of decay and rotting concrete mixed with the sharp tang of desperation, a bitter reminder of the life she had left behind before coming to U.A. Her clothes were soaked with blood, the cold, sticky patches growing heavier with every movement. She hadn’t had the time or the luxury to clean up. 

As she stumbled deeper into the shadows of the alleyways, the blood began to dry, but the smell lingered, a grim signature of something far darker. She had no plan, no direction—just the overwhelming need to escape. To hide. To run from everything, and everyone.

Then, she heard it: footsteps.

Y/N froze, her breath catching in her throat. 

“Well, well,” a voice drawled from behind her, sending a shiver down her spine. She spun around, eyes narrowing, her body tense and ready for whatever came next.

The man standing before her was hard to miss. He was the scarred one with the blue flames, the one who had once given her a liver, his gaze always predatory and cold. His eyes raked over her, a twisted smirk spreading across his face.

“You’re covered in blood,” he said, his tone casual but with an undercurrent of something darker, something dangerous.

Y/N didn’t respond, her mind racing. The blood wasn’t hers—not even from the organs she had consumed—but there was no need to explain. Not to him. 

The man stepped closer, his gaze sharpening as he took in her disheveled appearance. “Organ eater, huh? Been a while. You look like you’ve been having a good meal,” he mocked, amusement flickering in his eyes.

The nickname sent a tightness to her chest, but she didn’t flinch. He didn’t give her a chance to speak. Instead, his expression shifted just slightly—softer, though still dark. His head tilted slightly as he studied her more closely.

“I can help you, if you need it,” he offered, though there was a predatory edge to his voice. “You’re looking worse than usual. I know you won’t be eating your usual stuff anytime soon.” His eyes lingered on the bloodstains on her shirt. “You know... I’m always here to lend a hand when organ eaters like you need a little help.”

Y/N’s throat tightened. She didn’t have a choice. She had nothing left. No options, no way to stop the bleeding. She needed help, even if it meant dealing with him. She swallowed hard, studying him, trying to gauge his true intentions, but there was no way to be sure. The blue flames flickered faintly, casting eerie shadows across his face.

Dangerous. She knew he was dangerous. But right now, she had no other choice.

“Fine,” she said, her voice hoarse, and stepped forward. “Lead the way.”

His grin widened, dark and knowing, and without another word, he turned and led her down the alley. Y/N followed, each step heavier than the last, the feeling of walking deeper into a trap settling in her gut. There was no going back now. She was stepping into something she might never escape.

The water in Dabi’s shower was cold, biting against Y/N’s skin as it cascaded down in sharp, jagged streams. She stood in the cramped, rundown bathroom, surrounded by peeling walls and flickering, dim light. The room felt as if it had been abandoned by time, a stark contrast to the pristine U.A. facilities she’d once called home. But somehow, Y/N didn’t mind the dilapidated atmosphere. She was used to places like this—places where everything was worn down by neglect, where the grime and decay clung to the walls like old memories. In some twisted way, it felt safer, familiar even. 

Her body ached as the cold water ran over her, but it didn’t bring any relief. It was just cold. The chill of the water seemed to seep through her skin, but she barely noticed it. What mattered was the blood. The blood on her clothes, on her skin, swirling down the drain in slow, steady streams. It wasn’t her blood. Not really. But it was still a part of her now. It clung to her, staining her inside and out, a reminder of what she had become. She couldn’t escape it, no matter how much she consumed. 

The hunger never stopped. The gnawing, relentless craving that lingered inside her. The blood didn’t help. Nothing helped. And the wounds—those damn marks from his fingers—still throbbed beneath the surface. She’d hoped, even prayed, that they might heal, that the pain would fade, but it hadn’t. The burns from his touch were permanent. A reminder of how far she had fallen.

Her skin stung as the cold water hit the open wounds, but she didn’t flinch. She couldn’t. Instead, she let the freezing water wash over her, as if it could somehow erase the stains. It didn’t heal her, didn’t make her feel whole. It only made her more aware of how broken she was. The blood, the pain, the hunger—it was all too much. 

The memories of the last few hours flashed in her mind like a bad dream. The man’s fingers, leaving marks of decay on her skin, his unsettling touch as he called her "his cannibal." The powerlessness she had felt in that moment, the sickening realization that she had no control over what was happening to her. She tried to push the thoughts away as the blood drained down the pipes, but they lingered, clinging to her like a second skin.

Y/N closed her eyes and tilted her head back, letting the cold water hit her face. The coolness numbed her, dulled the edge of her emotions, even if only for a moment. She wasn’t hungry anymore—not for food. Not in the way she usually was. The hunger inside her wasn’t something that could be satisfied with blood or organs. It was something deeper, something darker, and it was the thing she feared most. 

The water didn’t fix anything. It didn’t make her feel better. But for a moment, she felt something like peace. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to make her forget, just for a little while.

When she finally stepped out of the shower, her skin tingled from the cold, but it was the least of her concerns. She wiped her face with a towel, staring at her reflection in the cracked mirror. Her face was gaunt, her eyes tired and hollow. Her body was covered in the marks from the decay, the evidence of a life she couldn’t escape. She didn’t recognize herself. How could she? 

She couldn’t even look at herself in the mirror. It wasn’t just the marks, though they were a constant reminder of what she had become. It was everything. The lies. The secrets. The hunger. The pain. It was all too much to face. 

Y/N had no answers. Not for herself, not for why she was still here, or why she was allowing herself to be dragged deeper into this mess. She didn’t know why she let herself get close to Dabi, why she accepted his help when he was the last person she should trust. But maybe, just maybe, it was because, for once, someone was offering something—anything—even if it wasn’t something she could count on. 

She dried herself off and wrapped herself in a threadbare towel before stepping out of the bathroom. The apartment was as grimy as the bathroom, but it felt strangely familiar now. Dabi was sitting on the couch, his body slouched in a way that made the couch seem to sink under his weight. The air was thick with the smell of stale smoke, a sharp contrast to the cold water still clinging to her skin. He didn’t say anything when she passed him, his eyes flicking toward her briefly as she moved to find clothes.

Her mind was heavy with confusion, the swirling thoughts she couldn’t shake. As she dug through a pile of discarded clothing, she realized something important—something she couldn’t ignore. She had no choice but to keep moving forward. She couldn’t stay stuck, not in the mess she’d made of her life. The hunger, the pain, the blood—they weren’t going to go away. She had to keep pushing, even if it meant walking down a darker path. There was no other option. 

Dabi’s voice broke through her thoughts, his tone mocking but not unkind. “You’re not gonna stay in there forever, are you?”

Y/N paused, her fingers brushing against a jacket. She turned to face him, meeting his cold, indifferent gaze. He was leaning back, his smirk barely visible in the dim light. The cigarette dangling from his mouth curled smoke lazily into the air.

Y/N didn’t respond immediately. The words felt stuck in her throat. Her mind was still reeling, trying to make sense of everything. Why was she still here? Why was she still with him? But she couldn’t afford to think about it right now. All she could do was keep moving, keep pushing forward. 

Finally, her voice was barely above a whisper. “I wasn’t planning on it.”

She pulled on the jacket, the rough fabric scraping against her skin, but she didn’t care. Nothing mattered right now, except surviving the night. Keeping her head above water. 

Dabi chuckled darkly, his eyes glinting with that ever-present coldness. “Well, don’t take too long. You’ve got a lot of blood left to spill.”

Y/N didn’t respond. She couldn’t. She didn’t even know what to say anymore. Her thoughts were fragmented, like pieces of a puzzle she couldn’t quite put together. All she could do was stand there and wait, wait for the next part of the story to unfold.

But one thing was clear—she wasn’t going back to U.A. tonight. Not with everything that had happened. The food wouldn’t fix anything, either. 

For now, all she could do was follow Dabi, wherever he led her.

Y/N’s fingers trembled ever so slightly as she stirred the instant coffee, the dark liquid swirling in the mug. The warmth from the cup offered a temporary comfort, grounding her in the moment. For a brief second, she focused on the simple act of mixing the powder into the water, as if it could provide a sense of normalcy in the midst of everything unraveling around her. She was so used to being alone, so used to doing everything for herself, that the idea of anyone—anyone at all—having knowledge about her, let alone broadcasting her disappearance to the world, sent a jolt through her chest. It unsettled her in a way she couldn’t quite explain.

She didn’t know why it bothered her so much. Maybe because it felt like one more thing she couldn’t control. One more part of her life slipping out of her grasp. The bloodstained past, the hunger that gnawed at her insides, the chaos that followed her everywhere—it was all too much to keep up with. And now this. The thought that people were searching for her, hoping to find her, made her stomach churn. She hadn’t wanted to be found. She didn’t want to be anyone’s puzzle to solve. To her, it was just one more layer of exposure she couldn’t afford.

But despite the confusion, despite the bitterness that lodged in her throat, there was something else, a nagging need that whispered through her thoughts. She didn’t want to be a part of the narrative being told by people who had no idea what she had been through. She wasn’t a victim to be saved or a story to be told. She was just... her. Just Y/N.

The mug in her hand felt heavier than it should have as she moved into the living room, where Dabi was lounging on the couch. He sat with his legs stretched out in front of him, the dark, smoky haze in the air settling around him. His eyes were fixed on the television, his gaze distant, almost as if he was watching something he had no real interest in. The sound of the broadcast reached her before she even saw it.

“…believed to have been missing for the past several hours, Y/N L/N, a student from U.A. High School, has yet to be found. Authorities are actively searching for her, with U.A. officials confirming she was last seen during an alarm drill this morning…” The voice of the news anchor buzzed through the room, and Y/N’s blood ran cold.

The grainy image on the screen was unmistakable—there she was, Y/N’s face, her name flashing across the screen as the broadcast showed a moment frozen in time. It was from the school, a scene she barely remembered: her wide, frightened eyes, the panic she’d felt as she ran away from the chaos that had been unfolding. The realization hit her like a cold wave, sinking deep into her chest. She was a missing person. A headline. An object of someone else’s story.

Y/N froze in the doorway, her heart suddenly pounding in her chest. The room felt smaller, the air thick with the weight of the news. She felt exposed, trapped in a version of herself she hadn’t agreed to. And that feeling was suffocating.

“So your name is Y/N,” Dabi’s voice cut through the tension, calm and steady. He didn’t even bother looking at her as he spoke, still lounging back in his spot on the couch, one hand holding a cigarette, the other resting on the arm of the couch. His gaze never shifted from the screen, his demeanor almost bored. “Name’s Dabi.”

Y/N’s eyes flicked to him in surprise. She hadn’t known his name before. She hadn’t even thought about it. But now, hearing it for the first time, it felt like a strange kind of acknowledgment, a shift in the dynamics of this awkward situation. She hadn’t exactly given much thought to anything since she’d met him. But now, as she processed his words, it became clear how little she actually knew about him, about this bizarre arrangement they had.

She opened her mouth to say something—anything—to ask him why he was helping her, why he hadn’t just left her to fend for herself like everyone else had. But the words were stuck in her throat, weighed down by the bitterness, the anger, the confusion. All of it churned inside her, making it impossible to focus on anything else. She wanted to understand. She needed to understand.

Her grip on the mug tightened, her knuckles white, and she took a deep breath. She had to regain some control. She had to center herself before her thoughts ran wild. “Dabi, huh?” she muttered under her breath, more to herself than to him, her gaze now fixed on the coffee swirling in her mug. The sound of her name, her face on the broadcast, was still echoing in her ears. “You know, I didn’t expect to end up here.”

Dabi didn’t respond right away, only raising an eyebrow at her comment. He let the silence stretch out between them, thick with unsaid words and unasked questions. There was something in his gaze—a challenge, maybe. But he didn’t press her. He let her have her moment.

After a few beats, Y/N broke the silence, her voice sharper now. “You got a plan, or are we just waiting around for things to get worse?”

Dabi’s smirk deepened, his eyes glinting with something dark and amused. “Maybe I’ll help you with that… or maybe I won’t. Guess it depends on how much you’re willing to cooperate.”

Y/N took a sip of her coffee, the bitter taste of it hitting her tongue like a familiar burn. The warmth from the liquid spread through her, but it did little to ease the gnawing emptiness inside her. She didn’t know what Dabi was after, or why he was helping her, but right now, she wasn’t in a position to turn down anything. She was desperate. She had no choice but to accept whatever help came her way.

“Cooperate?” she asked, half laughing, though there was no humor in her voice. Her chest tightened. “You want me to trust you?”

Dabi looked at her then, his expression unreadable, his gaze cold but steady. “You don’t have to trust me,” he said, his voice low and steady, almost too calm. “But you do need me. For now.”

The words hung in the air between them, heavy with their implications. Y/N didn’t respond. There was nothing more to say. She had learned long ago that trusting people didn’t get you anywhere. She couldn’t afford to trust him, or anyone. But she couldn’t afford to push him away, either. She had no choice but to play along, to follow the path laid out for her, wherever it might lead.

And so, she let the silence stretch out between them, thick and suffocating. The only sound in the room was the faint hum of the television, the occasional crackle of Dabi’s cigarette burning down to the filter. And in that moment, for the first time in what felt like forever, Y/N didn’t feel like she was running away from something.

Maybe she wasn’t running anymore. Maybe she was just waiting. Waiting for whatever came next.

Maybe that was all she could do now.