ManikMelodies @kiwasaji - Tumblr Blog

A FATHER ONCE MORE

summary: would you believe that the outstanding dr. ratio abandoned his teenage daughter under the hands of the gambler and disappeared without a trace? for two weeks of living under the gambler's roof, there were not once a spark of love and warmth, but hatred and unspoken rage of a broken little girl. surely, it will pass, right?

pairing: dr ratio. . . hsr (all pairs are strictly platonic)

genre: adoptive father x adoptive child trope, disgustingly angsty, reconnecting broken bonds, signs of depression from the reader (low energy, irritability, feeling sad or hopeless, loss of interest in goals or interests) reader pushing aven away :((, therapy talk, deepest regrets of each character, lots of crying.

note: here it is!! the alternate ending of 'AFINO', can't start it without attacking readers with heavy angst on the first part hehe. thank you for everyone who are looking forward to this fic!! it gives me a lot of motivation to work my hardest to give you the fic you wanted. enjoy reading and ready your tissues. <33

special mentions: @azreilrain @prettyrei-rei @nekojovichuu @pandaquick @reiluvr @r0s3ll3 @decaf-nosebleed @valssafeplace2 @nevulaa @primrosechronicles @sylockk-m0ndsch3in @gamekillera @reiluvr @cupidofhearts @cncreams @shidouera @chidouna @miis-insanity-notes @isisdotis @chibiduck @kyoukazumiis @starzeyquee @bladeimpregnantor @immahuman @gabileah @96jnie @vixlled @weebs6284 @moonlight6917 @cjafjatkstke @cubbieloves @nekojovichuu @moraxnomora @domainofincandescence @empress-ruby @justapersonalarchive @invidiia @keigoloveminty @viinlz @smolminimonnie @budijojo

masterlist

The weeks that followed were a blur of frustration and heartache for [Y/N]. Known for her quiet, gentle nature, she had always flown under the radar, rarely drawing attention to herself.

Her grades had never been a source of pride but rather a quiet disappointment, something she struggled with in silence. She had always felt burdened by the expectations placed upon her and the subtle pressures that seemed to come from all sides. Despite her best efforts, she was never quite enough—never the perfect student, never the shining example her father believed she was supposed to be.

And now, after everything, it felt like the weight of those expectations had finally crushed her.

Her absences from school began to pile up. Her teachers, who had always regarded her with a mixture of concern and unspoken expectation, started noticing the days she didn't show up. Her grades, already shaky, took a nosedive, falling further into the abyss of her self-doubt. They called and left messages, but each one went unanswered. It wasn't that she didn't hear them—it was that she couldn't bear to face them. The disappointment she imagined in their voices, the weight of their judgment, was too much to handle.

Even her best friend, Qianzhi, couldn't get through to her. Her phone was filled with missed calls and unread messages, all from the one person who had always been able to lift her spirits. But not even Qianzhi's familiar comfort could reach her now. [Y/N] felt trapped in her own grief and anger, too ashamed to face the world, too hurt to let anyone in.

At home, she retreated into herself, withdrawing from everyone, including Uncle Aventurine. The man who had once been a source of comfort and humor now seemed like a stranger, someone she couldn't trust. Whenever he tried to speak to her, she would either ignore him or snap back with an uncharacteristic sharpness that surprised even her.

One evening, Aventurine knocked on her bedroom door, his voice soft but insistent. "[Y/N], we need to talk. Please, just tell me what's going on."

She had been lying on her bed, staring at the ceiling, her eyes swollen and red from hours of crying. When she heard his voice, something in her snapped. She sat up, her body tense with anger and hurt, and stormed out of the room to confront him.

"What's going on?" she repeated bitterly, her voice cracking. "Like you don't know."

Aventurine blinked, taken aback by the intensity of her words. He had never seen her like this—so raw and full of emotion. "I'm just trying to help."

"Help?" she cut him off, her voice rising. "You think you're helping? You ruined everything!" Tears welled up in her eyes again, but this time, they were fueled by rage as much as by sadness. "You are the reason he left, and you know it!"

Aventurine opened his mouth to respond, but before he could say anything, [Y/N] continued, her voice shaking with the weight of her grief. "You made that stupid bet, didn't you?" You pushed him too far, and now he's gone because of you! I didn't even get the chance to fix things with him, and it's all your fault! " Her hands balled into fists, and she pounded weakly against Aventurine's chest, her anger spilling over into helpless frustration.

Aventurine stood there, frozen, each word she spoke cutting deeper than the last. He had known that one day she would find out the truth, but he had never imagined it would hurt this much. He had gambled with something far more precious than he had realized, and now it was too late to take it back.

"[Y/N], I—-" he started, but his voice faltered under the weight of her accusations.

"You what?" she cried, her voice barely above a whisper now. "You didn't mean to? You didn't think it would matter? Well, it does. It matters to me." Her tears flowed freely now, her face contorted in a mix of pain and fury. "I'll never forgive you for this."

With that, she turned away, her shoulders shaking as she cried, leaving Aventurine standing there, helpless to comfort her. He wanted to reach out, to hold her, to explain, but he knew that there was nothing he could say or do that would undo the damage that had been done.

In her mind, it was all clear; her father left her, and Aventurine was the reason. He had taken away her chance to make things right, to show her father that she wasn't a disappointment and that she was trying. And now it was too late. She would never be enough, and the one person who might have understood was gone.

All because of Aventurine.

Her anger and sadness consumed her, leaving her exhausted, but still, she couldn't let go of the feeling that she had been cheated—cheated out of her father's love, cheated out of the chance to fix what was broken. And all she had left was the suffocating silence of her own guilt and grief, the burden of expectations she had never been able to meet, and a bitter hatred for her uncle, who had destroyed everything.

Meanwhile, Aventurine sat in the quiet of the living room, the weight of everything crashing down on him. The silence in the house felt suffocating, and [Y/N]'s angry words echoed in his mind over and over again. Her accusations had cut through him like a blade, each word driving home a truth he had been too arrogant to see.

He had ruined everything.

He ran a shaky hand over his face, dragging it through his tousled blonde hair as if the physical action could somehow clear his thoughts. But it didn't. The sharp sting of regret was too deep, too raw. He muttered under his breath, barely coherent, as he tried to grapple with the enormity of what he had done.

"I thought I was doing the right thing," he whispered, almost pleading with himself for some kind of justification, some excuse. "I thought... I was helping."

But no matter how many times he repeated it, the words rang hollow. His intention had been cheeky, almost playful. He thought he was protecting [Y/N], keeping her from getting hurt by her father's coldness and the unhealthy dynamics that had always existed between them. Ratio was so distant, so wrapped up in his own world. Aventurine thought he could swoop in, make things better, and keep her away from the man who had never really known how to love her properly.

But he had been wrong—so painfully wrong.

What started as a game, a bet with Ratio that he thought was harmless, had spiraled into something far darker than he had ever intended. He had pushed her father too far, not realizing that in doing so, he was also pushing [Y/N] away from any chance of reconciliation. He thought he was shielding her, giving her space to grow without Ratio's suffocating presence, but instead, he had torn them apart.

He had gambled with their relationship, never truly considering the consequences. He had believed that by keeping her away from her father, he was giving her freedom. Instead, all he had done was take away her chance to heal, to fix things before it was too late. And now, all that was left was a broken girl with red, puffy eyes who had lost the one person she needed most.

"I ruined it," Aventurine muttered to himself, the realization hitting him like a punch to the gut. His heart felt heavy, gult gnawing at his insides. "I ruined her."

He had seen the way [Y/N] looked at him tonight, the way her normally gentle, quiet demeanor had been overtaken by anger and betrayal. And the worst part was that she was right. It was his fault. He had crossed a line he never should have, thinking he knew best, thinking he was protecting her. But all he had done was hurt her more than anyone else ever could.

He felt so incredibly stupid—stupid for making that bet, stupid for thinking he could fix things by pulling them apart. He thought he was being clever, that somehow his cheeky approach to their strained relationship would lighten things up and give her a better shot at happiness. But instead, it had backfired spectacularly.

Aventurine ran his hands through his hair again, his fingers trembling as he muttered to himself, "What the hell was I thinking?" His voice cracked under the weight of the realization. "I destroyed her. I destroyed them both."

He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, staring blankly at the floor. His heart felt heavy, burdened with the knowledge that no matter what he did now, he couldn't undo the damage. He couldn't take back the bet and couldn't change the way he had manipulated the situation. He had been selfish, thinking he was helping her, but in reality, he had been helping no one—least of all [Y/N].

And now she hated him for it. Rightfully so.

His stomach churned at the thought, a deep sense of shame settling in his chest. How could he ever look her in the eyes again, knowing that he had stolen the last chance she had to make things right with her father? He had taken that from her, and there was no way to give it back.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, though there was no one to hear it. No one to forgive him.

Aventurine sighed deeply, leaning back against the couch, his mind still swirling with regret. He could still see her tear-streaked face and hear her voice as she screamed at him, the pain and betrayal raw in every word. And no matter how many times he replayed the event in his mind, he couldn't find a way out. He had lost her trust, maybe forever.

The next morning, the house was eerily quiet as Aventurine moved through the hallway toward [Y/N]'s room. He hesitated at her door, heart heavy with guilt, and slowly pushed it open just enough to peek inside. His eyes softened as he saw her lying peacefully in bed, curled up beneath the blankets, her breathing steady and calm.

Relief washed over him, even though it was a temporary comfort. She was exhausted from days of tension and tears, but at least she was resting now. He took a deep breath, feeling the weight of his mistakes pressing on him, then quietly shut the door, careful not to disturb her.

As he left the house for work, the guilt remained, gnawing at him. The ride to the IPC did little to distract him, and by the time he arrived, Aventurine had already buried his vulnerabilities beneath the sly, confident persona he used for business.

Inside the boardroom, the atmosphere was thick with tension. Negotiators from a rival firm sat across from Aventurine, and he was in the middle of one of his usual routines—riling them up with his casual, sharp-tongued comments. His smile was easy and charming, but under the table, his left hand was trembling. He kept it hidden, his facade intact, but the unease of the morning, the weight of his choices with [Y/N], haunted him, bleeding into the edges of his professional life.

"Are we really going to sit here and pretend your offer is serious?" Aventurine said, leaning back in his chair with a smirk, his voice dripping with mockery. The negotiators shifted uncomfortably in their seats, eyes narrowing at his provocations, but he didn't care. He needed this—the distractions, the control. He thrived on these verbal sparring matches, using them to mask his inner turmoil.

What they didn't know, what they couldn't see, was how hard it was to keep his mask from slipping. His left hand clenched under the table, trying to stop the shaking. It wasn't from fear or nerves—not in the traditional sense, at least—but from the gnawing guilt that simmered just below the surface. The lingering image of [Y/N's] red and swollen eyes kept flashing through his mind, no matter how much he tried to push it away.

After the meeting, he walked out of the conference room, his usual swagger intact, though inside he felt hollow. That's when he ran into Topaz, his colleague and friend, who raised an eyebrow the moment she saw him.

"You look like hell," she commented, folding her arms across her chest, her gaze sharp as she studied him. "What’s up with you today?"

Aventurine scoffed, waving her off with a dismissive hand. "I’m fine," he said, his tone light, though it lacked his usual playfulness. "Just a rough morning. You know how it is."

Topaz wasn’t buying it, but she didn’t push. She knew Aventurine well enough to recognize when he wasn’t in the mood to talk. Still, she frowned, watching him carefully as he straightened his coat and flashed her a smirk.

"Sure, whatever you say," she replied, her voice tinged with skepticism. "But you’re not fooling anyone."

Aventurine chuckled, shaking his head. "I always fool everyone, Topaz. It's what I do." His words were smooth, but the cracks in his persona were showing, just enough for her to notice.

As Aventurine was about to walk away, Topaz’s voice stopped him in his tracks. "I heard about what happened with [Y/N]," she said, her tone disapproving. "That bet you made with Ratio. Really low move, Aventurine. I expected better from you."

Aventurine’s smile faltered, a shadow of guilt passing over his face. He opened his mouth to retort but found himself at a loss for words. Topaz’s words cut through his carefully crafted facade, leaving him momentarily speechless.

Topaz shook her head, clearly unimpressed, and turned on her heel. Her companion, a small, energetic trotter, Numby, skipped happily beside her as she walked away. Aventurine watched them go, his shoulders sagging under the weight of Topaz’s disapproval and his own simmering guilt.

Aventurine grunted his teeth and clenched his fists, feeling a mix of frustration and shame. Great, now he had more audience to meddle in his personal affairs.

He straightened his posture, his sly persona snapping back into place like armor, masking the vulnerability simmering beneath the surface.

As he walked through the halls, Aventurine mentally shrugged off Topaz's comment, convincing himself it didn't matter. "Who cares if they know?" he thought with forced indifference. "As long as they don't get in my way or try to use this mess against me, they're not worth worrying about." He smirked to himself, projecting an air of casual confidence as he moved forward, but deep down, the knot of guilt and shame only tightened.

Aventurine pulled out his phone, his fingers tapping rapidly across the screen as he contacted one of his underlings. "Start the ship, and make sure there's something sweet prepared by the time I get on board—cake, cupcakes, whatever," he barked into the phone, not even waiting for a response before hanging up abruptly.

He slipped the phone back into his pocket, sighing as he thought about his niece. Maybe sweets would soften her up, even just a little. He wasn't the sentimental type, but he figured a small gesture like this could help ease the tension between them. "She might not mind," he mused to himself, trying to convince his guilt-ridden conscience that it was a start—some way to make things a little better.

But deep down, he knew it wouldn't be enough.

Minutes later, the gambler strode through the bustling headquarters, his presence commanding attention. Several underlings acknowledged him with quick nods or muttered greetings, but he barely gave them a glance, his mood too sour for pleasantries. He sat down with a heavy sigh, running a hand through his hair as his thoughts drifted back to [Y/N].

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed one of the IPC workers standing awkwardly in front of him, nervously clutching a plastic bag. Aventurine's gaze drifted to the bag, noticing a cute pink box inside, and his eyebrows furrowed. "What the hell is that?" he demanded, his tone sharp.

The IPC worker flinched slightly but managed to stammer, "Sir, it's the. Uh, sweets you requested... for, um, the ship?" He gestured weakly to the bag, his face flushed with embarrassment.

Aventurine scoffed, unimpressed. "Right. The sweets." He jabbed his thumb lazily to the side. "Put it somewhere safe. And don't let anything happen to it, got it?"

The worker nodded obediently, his face a mixture of relief and fear, before scurrying off to find a secure spot for the pastry box. Aventurine leaned back in his seat, his mood only slightly lightened by the thought of surprising [Y/N]. But still, the weight of everything lingered.

Moments passed, and Avenurine sat in his chair, one arm draped lazily over the backrest, his fingers tapping rhythmically on the table as his assistant droned on about the list of meetings and events he was scheduled to attend. His eyes glazed over, boredom settling in like a heavy cloud. He glanced at his assistant, barely listening, and waved a hand dismissively.

"Cancel whatever you can," he muttered. "I'm done for the day."

The assistant stammered, clearly flustered. "But, sir, I wasn't finished—there are still important meetings that require your presence, and—-"

Aventurine cut them off with a sharp look, his patience already running thin. "I said, I'm done," he repeated firmly, getting up from his seat. He stretched, cracking his neck as he prepared to head home, leaving the assistant scrambling with a half-finished report and bewildered expression.

Without another word, Aventurine grabbed the pastry box from the IPC worker. The ship doors hissed open, and he stepped off, ready to head back to the place that held far more weight than any of the meetings he had just abandoned.

As Aventurine stepped inside the house, he was immediately taken aback. The lights were all on, a stark contrast to how things had been recently. Usually, only one light would be left on for [Y/N], and even then, she rarely ventured downstairs because of him, choosing instead to hide away in her room. He carefully closed the door behind him, his heart heavy with uncertainty as he tiptoed through the living room, quietly approaching the kitchen.

The dim light in the kitchen caught his eye, and as he moved closer, he froze. There, standing by the counter, was [Y/N}, clutching a knife in her hand in a way that instantly set off alarm bells in his head. Panic surged through him, and without thinking, Aventurine's voice thundered through the house.

"[Y/N]! Drop the knife!" he shouted, his voice raw with fear.

[Y/N] flinched violently at the sound of his shout, the knife slipping from her grip and clattering to the floor. Her face contorted in a mixture of confusion and annoyance, clearly taken aback by his overreaction.

"What are you doing?" Aventurine barked, his voice still edged with the remnants of panic. "Do you have any idea how dangerous that was? Holding a knife like that—what if you hurt yourself?"

[Y/N] scoffed, crossing her arms defensively and turning her head away from him, refusing to engage with his scolding. Her stubborn silence only fueled Aventurine's frustration, the tension thickening between them.

"Answer me!" he demanded, stepping closer. "Why were you holding that knife like that? What were you thinking? Were you—-" His voice dropped, his eyes narrowing with concern as an assumption took root in his mind. "Were you trying to hurt yourself?"

At those words, something in [Y/N] snapped. Her expression shifted, eyes widening in shock before flashing with anger. She turned toward him, her voice rising in furious shout.

"I was just cooking!" she yelled, her voice cracking. "I wasn't trying to hurt myself! Why would you even think that?"

Aventurine blinked, baffled by her response. He had been so sure that something was terribly wrong, and now, faced with the reality that she was simply cooking, he found himself speechless. The sight of her—eyes red and filled with hurt—only deepened his guilt, leaving him fumbling for words.

“I—" he started, but nothing coherent followed. He had made a colossal mistake, one that only seemed to push them further apart.

As Aventurine stood there, still processing her reaction, he realized he was still clutching the pastry box he had brought home. With a sigh, he set it down on the kitchen table, the soft thud breaking the tension momentarily. The pink box caught [Y/N]'s eye, and for a brief moment, curiosity flickered across her face.

"Look, even if you were just cooking, you should have been careful holding that knife," he said, trying to regain some composure. His voice softened slightly, but there was still a stern undertone.

[Y/N] rolled her eyes, clearly unimpressed with his concern. “You don’t have the right to boss me around,” she snapped, brushing past him without even glancing at the sweets he had brought. The thought of cooking a simple meal was left unfinished as she stormed out of the kitchen.

Aventurine watched her retreating figure, a mix of frustration and worry swirling within him. He furrowed his eyebrows, his hard stare following her as she left the kitchen.

Silence filled the space as he turned back to the counter, the pink box of cupcakes now feeling like a hollow gesture. He leaned against the countertop, staring at the box, grappling with the nagging feeling that his attempts to be a supportive uncle were falling flat. It felt like everything he tried to do for her was met with resistance, leaving him standing in the dim kitchen, surrounded by unspoken words and unresolved emotions.

Aventurine let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through his hair as he muttered to himself, "Ratio was right. Teenagers can be so rebellious." He shook his head, feeling a wave of exasperation wash over him. It was hard to remember that this was all part of growing up.

Aventurine clenched his jaw in frustration, the tension in the air thickening. His eyes narrowed at the untouched pink box on the table, and with a swift motion, he snatched it up. In a fit of spite, he tossed the box into the trash, the sound of it landing in the bin echoing louder than it should have.

"She should be grateful at least," he muttered under his breath, rubbing his face with both hands and sighing heavily. "That damn brat..."

He sighed heavily, his shoulders slumping as he leaned against the counter, feeling the weight of it all pressing down on him. Part of him just wanted to give up, to stop trying. [Y/N]'s coldness, her disrespect—it all made him question if there was even a point in trying to make amends. She wouldn’t let him in, no matter what he did.

But as he stood there, his mind racing with thoughts of walking away, he realized something that stopped him in his tracks: giving up would only repeat the cycle of hurt that had torn [Y/N] and Ratio apart. If he gave up now, he’d be no better than what had already happened between them. He'd only be pushing her further away, just like her father had.

Aventurine’s phone rang, interrupting his thoughts. He furrowed his eyebrows in skepticism as he pulled it from his pocket, seeing an unknown number flashing on the screen. Without much thought, he accepted the call and greeted the caller with a hostile tone, "Who is this?"

The voice on the other end remained calm, unfazed by his brusque greeting. “Good evening, Mr. Aventurine. I’m calling as [Y/N]’s adviser from school. I wanted to ask about her progress and well-being, as she hasn’t been herself for the past few weeks."

Aventurine’s confusion deepened, and his hostility shifted to a more defensive stance. “Her progress? Shouldn’t this call have been made to her father? Why are you calling me?”

There was a pause on the other end before the adviser responded carefully, "We’ve tried reaching out to Mr. Ratio several times, but unfortunately, he hasn't been reachable. Given that you are her current guardian, I thought it best to check in with you."

Aventurine's grip tightened around the phone as the reality of the situation set in. Ratio wasn’t around. The responsibility had fully shifted onto him. He swallowed his growing irritation, keeping his tone in check.

"She's... She's been quiet," he admitted. "I’ll look into things. Is there anything specific I should know?"

The adviser sighed, her voice tinged with concern. “Her grades have been slipping, and she’s missed a few assignments. She seems withdrawn from her peers, including her best friend. I just wanted to know if there’s anything that might be affecting her at home. Anything you think I should be aware of?”

Aventurine was at a loss. He didn’t know how to explain the mess between him and [Y/N]. All he knew was that whatever was happening wasn’t getting any better.

Aventurine fumbled for an excuse, his tone shifting into an air of nonchalance. "She's just been... tired lately. You know, teenagers. They go through these phases—probably just overwhelmed with schoolwork. I'll talk to her."

The adviser paused, clearly not convinced. Her voice was calm but firm when she replied, “Mr. Aventurine, while I understand that stress can sometimes be a factor, I’m concerned this could be more than just a phase. Teens like [Y/N] often exhibit signs of something deeper when they withdraw, especially from people they’re usually close to. The missed assignments, isolation, and the way she’s been disconnecting from her best friend—these could be signs of potential depression.”

Aventurine’s chest tightened at the mention of depression, and his mind raced back over the last few weeks. He recalled [Y/N]'s sudden drop in motivation, her red, puffy eyes, the way she lashed out at him, and how she had refused to talk to anyone, shutting herself off completely.

There was a heavy silence on his end as he hesitated to respond, his usual confidence wavering. “I guess,” he finally admitted, his voice quieter now. “She’s been... off. Snapping at me, not really talking, just keeping to herself. I thought it was just... normal stuff.”

The adviser hummed softly, sensing the shift in Aventurine’s tone. “It’s not uncommon for teenagers to struggle with their emotions, especially if there’s something going on at home. I think it might be helpful if [Y/N] spoke to someone—someone who isn’t family. Therapy could give her a safe space to talk these things out and process whatever she’s going through.”

Aventurine leaned against the counter, running a hand through his hair, the weight of her words sinking in. Therapy? He had never considered it. He wasn't one for therapists or counselors, and the idea of [Y/N] sitting in front of a stranger made him feel uneasy. But... what if this was something beyond his control? What if he had done more damage than he realized?

“I don’t know if she’ll want to,” Aventurine said, his voice almost resigned. "But... I’ll think about it."

"That's all I’m asking, Mr. Aventurine," the adviser replied gently. "Just think about what might be best for her. It could make a difference." There was a pause before she added, "And, if possible, I could try reaching out to Dr. Ratio. Perhaps it might open an opportunity for both father and daughter to witness the session. It could help bridge that gap."

Aventurine furrowed his eyebrows, confusion lacing his voice as he asked, "How do you even know about that? About Ratio and his... situation?"

The adviser chuckled softly, almost as if expecting the question. "Dr. Ratio and I are close friends. We were research partners for years. He trusted me enough to share those details."

Aventurine hummed, absorbing the revelation. It unsettled him, knowing someone else was privy to the intricacies of Ratio’s and [Y/N]’s fractured relationship. He wasn’t sure how he felt about involving Ratio again, especially in such a delicate situation. "I don’t know if that’s a good idea," he muttered. "It might be too much for [Y/N] to handle. They haven’t seen each other in... a while. Could stir up a lot of stuff."

The adviser, sensing his hesitation, offered a reassuring tone. "I understand your concern, but sometimes confronting these emotions—especially in a controlled environment—can be healing. If we approach it carefully, it might give them both the chance they need to reconnect. Of course, it’s important to go at [Y/N]’s pace. We won’t rush anything."

Aventurine sighed, rubbing his forehead. The thought of Ratio and [Y/N] in the same room made his gut twist, but a small part of him wondered if this could be the step [Y/N] needed. "I'll... think about it. But I’m not promising anything."

"That’s fair," the adviser agreed. "At the end of the day, it’s about what’s best for [Y/N]. You know her, and I trust you'll make the right decision."

Aventurine ended the call, the weight of the conversation sitting heavily on his chest. The idea of bringing Ratio back into [Y/N]’s life was unsettling, but if there was even a small chance that it could help heal the rift between them, he’d have to consider it. Even if it meant confronting his own mistakes.

For the next few days, Aventurine found himself paying closer attention to [Y/N]. His usual carefree demeanor was replaced by a more measured approach, his sharp eyes watching for any signs of how she was coping. He wasn't used to being so thoughtful, but the situation demanded it. Each morning, as he prepared for work, he'd linger by her room, hoping to catch a glimpse of some progress, some light returning to her.

Despite her stubborn silence, he noticed subtle changes. The way her footsteps shuffled less sluggishly. How she lingered a bit longer in the living room, flipping through channels. She still wasn’t talking much, especially not to him, but the absence of outright hostility was a sign, however small, that perhaps things were shifting.

Aventurine would check in with her adviser each evening, detailing [Y/N]’s progress, no matter how minor. He updated the adviser about her moods, her activities, and even her diet. Sometimes, he felt ridiculous reporting the mundane details of her life, but the adviser insisted that every little thing mattered.

"What do I even say to her?" Aventurine grumbled into the phone one evening, exasperation leaking through his voice. "She barely talks, and when she does, it's all one-word answers. I’m not exactly built for this sort of thing, you know?"

The adviser, always calm and understanding, replied with the same measured tone. "She’s processing, Mr. Aventurine. It’s not about what you say, it’s about being there, showing her that she’s not alone. Just keep observing, but don’t hover. Let her come to you when she’s ready."

Aventurine huffed. "I’m not good at waiting."

"You’re doing better than you think," she reassured him. "And about the next session, I think we should move forward with inviting Dr. Ratio, if he’s available. It could be an important turning point for [Y/N]."

At the mention of ratio, Aventurine’s stomach clenched. Could bringing Ratio back really help? Or would it just open old wounds for [Y/N] and make everything worse? Still, the adviser’s suggestion hung in the air, gnawing at him.

"It won’t. She needs this," the adviser interrupted gently. "And so does he."

In the days that followed, Aventurine made a quiet, deliberate effort to be more present without smothering her. He left small things for her—food, books, and little distractions she might enjoy. He even toned down his typically flippant remarks, though it killed him to bite his tongue. She didn’t respond much, but she didn’t reject the gestures either, and that, to Aventurine, was progress.

Each evening, he relayed the day’s events to the adviser, gradually crafting a plan for [Y/N]’s next therapy session. And the question of Ratio loomed larger in his mind. As much as he hated to admit it, this might be what she needed—a chance to face her father, to resolve whatever was festering inside her. Even if it meant confronting his own role in the mess.

The morning arrived, heavy with tension. [Y/N] had been in one of her silent moods again, refusing to leave her bedroom. Aventurine stood outside her door, his patience already wearing thin. He knocked, his voice gruff but trying to keep its edge at bay.

"[Y/N], come on, get up. We’ve got somewhere to be," he called out, leaning against the doorframe.

No response.

He knocked again, louder this time. "It’s important. I’m not joking."

Still, silence. He could almost feel her ignoring him, tucked under her blankets, probably rolling her eyes at his persistence. Aventurine groaned, rubbing the back of his neck as he wracked his brain for another approach. He wasn’t the kind of guy who could coax her out with sweet words or reassurance. That wasn’t their dynamic, and both of them knew it.

An idea struck him—one he knew would provoke her, but it was his best shot.

"I bet you’re too scared anyway," he said, his voice casual but laced with taunt. "Scared to face the real world, scared to even step outside. Guess it's easier to hide in your room than deal with things, huh?"

He heard a soft shuffle, but still no response. He leaned in closer, voice lowering. "Thought you were stronger than this, but maybe I was wrong."

The sound of sheets shifting was audible now, and he knew his taunt had struck a nerve. He smirked, finally getting the reaction he was looking for. Slowly, the door creaked open, revealing [Y/N] sitting up in bed, glaring at him with fiery eyes.

Aventurine grinned, leaning against the doorframe. "There you are. Thought I lost you for a second."

Her glare didn’t waver, but her silence spoke volumes. She was mad, sure—but she was coming along, even if out of sheer defiance. That was all he needed.

"Be ready in ten," Aventurine said, turning to leave. "We’re leaving whether you like it or not." He threw a smirk over his shoulder, knowing she’d hate it but also knowing it would get her out of bed.

As he closed the door behind him, he heard her shuffling around in frustration, likely muttering under her breath. But she was moving, and that was enough for now.

As the ship docked at the Intelligentsia Guild, [Y/N] felt a mix of apprehension and resignation wash over her. The familiar architecture of the guild loomed before them, a place that had once held promise but now felt like another reminder of her failures.

The moment they stepped off the ship, [Y/N]’s adviser approached them with open arms and a warm smile. “There you are! It’s so good to see you, [Y/N]. How have you been?” Her voice was filled with genuine concern, her eyes sparkling with kindness.

“Fine,” [Y/N] replied tersely, her tone flat. She barely met the adviser’s gaze, her body language stiff as she shifted slightly away from Aventurine.

The adviser’s smile faltered for just a moment before she masked it with understanding. She glanced at Aventurine, who stood nearby, arms crossed and a heavy sigh escaping his lips.

“Let’s find a quiet place to talk,” the adviser suggested gently, trying to bridge the gap between the two. “I want to hear how you’ve been feeling.”

As they walked through the guild’s halls, [Y/N] trailed behind, her mind racing with thoughts of doubt and frustration. She could feel Aventurine’s presence just a few steps away, but the warmth he’d once brought felt distant now. The bond they had seemed frayed, and each interaction only reminded her of the anger simmering beneath the surface.

The adviser led them to a cozy room filled with comfortable seating and soft lighting. It felt safe and welcoming, but [Y/N] still felt like an intruder. The adviser gestured for them to sit, and as they settled in, [Y/N] remained silent, arms crossed defensively.

“[Y/N], I know this isn’t easy,” the adviser began, her voice soothing. “But talking about what’s been going on is important. It can help you process everything.”

Aventurine glanced at [Y/N], hoping for a glimmer of openness, but all he received was a stony expression. He felt a knot tighten in his stomach. This was the moment he hoped would lead to healing, but [Y/N]’s reluctance to engage felt like a wall he couldn’t breach.

“Why don’t you start by telling us how school has been for you?” the adviser encouraged, keeping her tone light.

“It’s fine,” [Y/N] said again, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Just fine?” the adviser pressed gently. “I’ve heard from some of your teachers that they’re concerned. They’ve noticed some changes in you.”

“Yeah, well, they can’t make me care,” [Y/N] snapped, her frustration bubbling to the surface. She shot a quick glance at Aventurine, a mix of challenge and defiance in her eyes.

Aventurine shot her a warning glare, a mix of disappointment and worry flooding his expression. “I’m sorry,” he said to the adviser, a quiet apology for her brash behavior. The adviser shrugged it off, still focused on [Y/N].

“Look,” she continued, her voice steady. “I understand that it can feel overwhelming. It’s okay to feel frustrated. But expressing those feelings might help ease the burden.”

The silence thickened, the weight of unsaid words pressing down on them like a heavy fog. Aventurine shifted in his seat, his brow furrowing deeper in concern. “We’re here to help you, [Y/N]. But shutting everyone out won’t solve anything.” His voice was firm yet soft, each word a lifeline thrown into the tense atmosphere that surrounded them, a stark reflection of their fractured connection.

The adviser nodded in agreement, her expression serious yet compassionate. “You don’t have to face this alone. I’d like to introduce you to someone who can help you manage your feelings and find some clarity.”

[Y/N]’s expression hardened, her eyes flashing with defiance. “I don’t want to,” she said, her voice rising as she prepared to push herself up from the chair, the impulse to flee from the conversation clawing at her.

In a quick, gentle motion, Aventurine placed a hand on her shoulder, urging her back down. “Please, [Y/N],” he said, his tone filled with urgency and care. “Just hear her out. This isn’t just about you being in trouble; it’s about getting support when you need it the most."

“Just give it a chance,” Aventurine added softly, his voice steady. “You deserve to feel better, and I want to help you find a way.”

The adviser watched the exchange, sensing the fragile connection hanging in the balance, hoping [Y/N] would take the leap. The room seemed to hold its breath, waiting for her next move.

[Your Name] took a moment to gather her thoughts, the swirling emotions in her chest battling against her instincts to resist. She didn’t want to be here; she didn’t want to face yet another conversation that felt like it was pushing her deeper into a corner. But the more she denied their insistence, the more annoying it became, feeling as though she was being pinned down by both Aventurine and the adviser, their concern pressing in on her.

A wave of frustration washed over her, but beneath it lay a flicker of exhaustion. Maybe they were right; maybe she did need help. The idea gnawed at her, a bitter truth she was reluctant to swallow.

With a resigned sigh, she leaned back in her chair, arms still crossed but her posture softening slightly. “Fine,” she muttered, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll hear her out. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to like it.”

Aventurine’s expression shifted from concern to relief, a small smile breaking through the tension. The adviser nodded encouragingly, sensing the shift in [Y/N]’s resolve.

“Thank you,” she said gently. “That’s all I ask. Just a chance to explore some options together.”

As the tension began to ease, the adviser smiled warmly and said, “I’d like to introduce you to someone who can provide additional support.” She opened the door slightly, and a woman stepped inside, exuding a calm confidence.

“Hi there, [Y/N]. I’m Dr. Lira,” she said, her voice soothing and approachable. She had an air of warmth, her presence filling the room with an inviting energy. “I know it can feel intimidating to talk about what you’re going through, but I’m here to listen and help you find ways to cope.”

[Y/N] regarded her warily, the skepticism still simmering beneath her surface. “I don’t need a therapist,” she muttered, crossing her arms again, as if to shield herself from the unfamiliarity of the situation.

Dr. Lira maintained her gentle demeanor, her eyes warm and understanding. “I understand that it’s not easy to open up, especially when you’re feeling overwhelmed,” she began, her voice soothing like a balm. “But I’m not here to pressure you. I want to create a safe space where you can express yourself without judgment.”

She paused, sensing the thick atmosphere in the room, the tension still hanging like a heavy fog. “I think it might help if both Aventurine and the adviser wait outside for a bit. This way, you can have some time to breathe without their presence hovering over you.”

Aventurine’s brows furrowed momentarily, concern etching lines across his forehead. He hesitated but ultimately nodded, recognizing that this could be what [Y/N] needed. As he stood to leave, he leaned down slightly, giving her shoulder a gentle pat—a gesture of reassurance and affection.

“Take your time, kid,” he murmured, his voice low and steady. But [Y/N] shrugged him off, the action sharp and dismissive, as if to say she wasn’t ready for that kind of contact.

Aventurine’s expression shifted to one of disappointment, but he respected her boundary. With a heavy sigh, he stepped back, letting the door close behind him as he and the adviser exited. The moment the door clicked shut, the room seemed to exhale, the weight of their concern lifting, leaving behind a quieter, more tranquil space.

Dr. Lira settled into her chair, the soft lighting casting a warm glow around them. She maintained her steady gaze on [Y/N], creating an inviting atmosphere. “Now that it’s just us, how are you feeling?” she asked, her tone soft and encouraging.

"Fine," [Y/N] replied, her tone flat, almost robotic. She wasn’t going to give her anything. She was only here because she had no choice.

The therapist nodded, her face neutral, as if she expected the answer. "And your friends? Have you seen them much?"

"Not really."

The clock on the wall ticked softly, each second feeling like an eternity. [Y/N] shifted in her seat, her legs twitching with a need to be anywhere but here. The therapist’s calm gaze felt too probing, like she was trying to unravel her without asking the right questions.

"What about home? How are things with your uncle, Aventurine?"

That name. It caused a crack in her armor, a flash of bitterness crossing her face. Her lips pressed into a thin line. "Same as usual."

The therapist’s posture remained open, unfazed by [Y/N]’s icy responses. "I see. Do you want to talk about that?"

"No."

The air grew heavier with each word, a tension building that neither of them acknowledged out loud. But it was there. The therapist leaned forward, her voice a little softer but not intrusive. "I know it’s difficult, and maybe it feels like nothing makes sense right now. But I want to understand what’s going on in your mind."

"I said no," [Y/N] snapped, her voice sharp enough to cut through the thick air in the room. She looked up, her eyes burning with something raw, something she’d been hiding.

The therapist didn’t flinch. "That’s alright. You don’t have to say anything you’re not ready to. But it’s important to be honest with yourself about how you’re feeling. It seems like you’ve been carrying a lot of weight."

Weight. That word. She felt it, deep in her chest, crushing her lungs, making it hard to breathe. "I’m fine," she muttered, but it sounded more like she was trying to convince herself.

The therapist didn’t let up, her eyes searching [Y/N]’s face carefully. "Skipping school, isolating yourself from your friends... those aren’t signs that everything’s fine. Sometimes we don’t even realize how much we’re hurting until it feels too late."

[Y/N]’s jaw clenched. Her throat felt tight, like something was lodged there, preventing her from speaking properly. "I don’t want to talk about school."

The therapist watched her carefully. "Alright. We can leave that for now. But what about your dad? I was told that it's been almost three weeks since he last saw you. How are you feeling about that?"

That word again. Dad. It dug into her like a blade, reopening wounds that hadn’t even begun to heal. Her breathing became shallow. "I don’t care about him," she hissed, her voice trembling with restrained fury. "He’s not here. He’s never here."

"You miss him, don’t you?"

[Y/N] scoffed, the sound sharp and defensive. "No. I don’t." But even as she spoke, a flicker of vulnerability betrayed her, a truth barely concealed beneath layers of anger and hurt.

Dr. Lira pressed on, her voice calm yet probing. "It’s okay to admit that. Missing someone doesn’t make you weak; it makes you human. What do you think would happen if you acknowledged that feeling?"

[Y/N] felt the weight of Dr. Lira’s question pressing down on her, and anger surged within her like a wildfire. “Why would I miss someone like my father?” she spat, her voice sharp and laced with bitterness. “He abandoned me in the first place. He chose to leave.”

"It’s okay to feel that way, [Y/N]," the therapist said gently. "It’s okay to miss him and still be angry. Sometimes those feelings coexist, and it’s confusing, but it’s real."

"I don’t want to talk about him!" The words came out louder than she intended, her knuckles white as her fingers dug into her arms. She could feel the frustration, the helplessness, rising like a storm she had no control over.

The therapist didn’t raise her voice and didn’t react with anything other than calm patience, which only made the tension in the room feel heavier. "You’re allowed to be angry. And you’re allowed to miss him. But bottling it up—pushing it down—won’t make it disappear."

[Y/N]’s shoulders shook slightly, and her face turned away from the therapist as if that would hide the tears that threatened to spill. Her voice, when she finally spoke, was low, filled with a pain that felt too deep to surface. "It doesn’t matter. None of it matters anymore."

The therapist’s eyes softened. "It matters, [Y/N]. You matter. And your feelings—your pain—it all matters. You don’t have to go through this alone."

Silence stretched between them. [Y/N] couldn’t respond, the knot in her chest tightening, the weight of her unshed tears making it hard to breathe. She wasn’t fine, and deep down she knew it. But admitting it? That felt impossible.

The therapist’s gentle persistence didn’t break, but her words settled in the air between them, heavy and unyielding. "You don’t have to fight this alone, [Y/N]. And it’s okay to ask for help, even if it’s from people you don’t expect."

[Y/N] tightened her crossed arms, her jaw clenched, glaring at a random spot on the floor. She didn't want to hear any of it. All the talk about feelings, about what mattered—it felt like noise, pointless, heavy noise.

"I don’t need help," she snapped, her voice laced with venom, every syllable dripping with frustration. "I’m fine on my own."

The therapist’s calm demeanor didn’t waver, though the tension in the room was palpable. "It’s not weakness to—"

"I said I don’t need help!" [Y/N] interrupted, her voice sharp, her eyes flashing with anger as she met the therapist’s gaze. "Why does everyone keep saying that? Like I’m some charity case!"

The therapist held up her hands, palms facing [Y/N], a gesture of non-confrontation. "No one’s saying that you’re weak or a charity case, [Y/N]. But it seems like you’ve been carrying a lot by yourself, and—"

"And what? I’m supposed to just spill my guts because you’re sitting there with a notebook." Her voice was shaking now, anger barely masking the hurt behind it. "Like that’s going to fix anything? Like you even know what’s going on?"

The therapist leaned forward slightly, her eyes focused but soft. "I’m here to listen when you’re ready. Not to fix everything, but to help you figure out how to handle it."

[Y/N] rolled her eyes, huffing loudly in exasperation. "You don’t know anything about me. You don’t even know half of it."

"Then tell me," the therapist encouraged, her tone never rising above calm. "Help me understand. I’m not here to judge you."

Y/N clenched her fists in her lap, her nails digging into her palms. "There’s nothing to understand. It’s all just—" She trailed off, the words caught in her throat, anger bubbling beneath the surface. "I don’t need anyone to understand me."

The therapist watched her for a long moment before speaking again, her voice gentle but unyielding. "You’ve been through a lot, [Y/N]. And shutting everyone out... that’s only going to make things harder. You don’t have to fight everything on your own."

"I’m not shutting people out," [Y/N] retorted, her voice rising again. "Maybe people just don’t care enough to try and get it. Or maybe they’re too busy ruining everything!"'

Her chest heaved with anger, her breath coming in short bursts. Her thoughts flashed back to Aventurine, to her father, to the life she thought she could have had if everything wasn’t so messed up. The weight of it all seemed too much, pressing on her from all sides, and all she wanted to do was push it away.

The therapist was quiet for a beat, letting the silence settle between them, before speaking softly. "You’re right. I don’t know everything that’s happened. But I do know that holding onto all of that anger isn’t helping you."

"Whatever," [Y/N] spat, turning her head sharply away. "I don’t need this, and I don’t need you telling me how to feel."

The therapist sighed softly but didn’t push further. "We can take this at your pace, [Y/N]. When you’re ready to talk, I’ll be here. Just know that you don’t have to go through this alone."

[Y/N] didn’t respond; her arms crossed tighter, her body practically vibrating with pent-up frustration. The room felt suffocating again, the therapist’s calm words only adding to her irritation. She was tired of people telling her what she needed, what she should feel, and what was best for her. She was tired of all of it.

But deep down, beneath the layers of anger and pain, she couldn’t deny the smallest flicker of something else—a confusion, a hurt, an exhaustion from keeping everything bottled up for so long. She pushed it down, though, refusing to let it surface, refusing to let anyone—especially this therapist—see just how broken she felt inside.

In the adjoining room, Aventurine stood stiffly by the one-way mirror, his arms crossed over his chest as he watched [Y/N] in her session, her snappy responses echoing in his ears. His golden eyes narrowed with doubt, and a deep frown etched across his face.

"This isn't working," Aventurine muttered, almost to himself. His voice was low, laced with frustration and uncertainty. "Look at her—she’s shutting down even more. How’s this supposed to help?"

The adviser, who stood beside him, glanced at Aventurine before turning back to the session. Her expression remained calm, unshaken by [Y/N]’s visible resistance. "It’s a process, Mr. Aventurine. Kids like her—those who’ve gone through a lot, who’ve been carrying more than they should—they don’t open up overnight. This is normal."

Aventurine scoffed, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He hated seeing his niece like this, especially knowing he had a hand in pushing her to this breaking point. "Normal?" he repeated with a hint of sarcasm. "All I see is her biting back at everything. What if this just makes her worse?"

The adviser offered him a patient smile. "The therapist has handled countless cases like [Y/N]'s. She knows how to navigate these emotions, even if they come out in anger or silence. Right now, the important thing is that she’s in the room—she’s not running from the conversation, even if she’s fighting it."

Aventurine glanced back at [Y/N], his jaw tightening as he watched her rigid posture, her eyes cold and distant. He could feel the guilt gnawing at him again, the weight of his mistakes pressing down. He had thought that separating her from Ratio was the right move, that their dysfunctional relationship would only harm her more. But now... now he wasn’t so sure.

"You think it’s enough that she’s just there?" Aventurine’s voice was quieter now, tinged with doubt. "What if she never talks? What if this doesn’t get through to her?"

The adviser looked at him with a knowing gaze. "It’s not about forcing her to talk right away. It’s about giving her space to feel safe enough to do so when she’s ready. Right now, her anger is a shield, and the therapist knows that. It’s a matter of time and trust."

Aventurine sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "I still don’t know if this is the right approach," he muttered. "She’s too closed off. I don’t know how much more she can take before she breaks completely."

The adviser placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, her voice soft but firm. "You’re doing the best you can for her, Aventurine. Therapy is just one step in helping her navigate her feelings. It’s not going to be easy, and it’s not going to be quick. But it’s a start—and right now, that’s what she needs."

Aventurine remained silent for a moment, his gaze locked on [Y/N] through the glass. The girl looked so small, so lost in her own pain, and he couldn’t help but feel that ache of guilt tightening in his chest again. He had wanted to protect her, to shield her from more harm. But in trying to control things, he had only made them worse.

"Yeah," he muttered finally, though there was no conviction in his voice. "I hope you’re right.Back in the therapy room, the air was thick with tension, but something had shifted. [Y/N] sat stiffly, arms crossed over her chest, her gaze still defiant but no longer darting around the room. The therapist had been patiently guiding the conversation, her tone steady and nonjudgmental.

"[Y/N]," the therapist said softly, watching her carefully, "it seems like you’ve been holding a lot inside for a long time. I understand if it feels too hard to talk about right now. But sometimes, the things we don’t say weigh us down the most. What are you feeling right now?"

[Y/N] remained silent, her eyes dropping to the floor. Her fingers fidgeted with the hem of her sleeve, her usual sharp responses absent. For the first time since the session began, her mask cracked, and she shifted uncomfortably in her seat. The therapist waited, giving her the space she needed, knowing that silence often spoke louder than words.

After what felt like an eternity, [Y/N] finally exhaled shakily, her voice barely above a whisper. "I don’t know..." She bit her lip, frustration and vulnerability mingling in her expression. "I just... I feel... trapped."

The therapist leaned in slightly, her expression empathetic but not intrusive. "Trapped how?"

[Y/N] hesitated again, her fingers gripping her sleeve tighter. "Like, everyone expects me to be something I’m not. I don’t even know who I am anymore, and it’s like I’m always disappointing people. It’s like I’m never enough."

Her words hung in the air, heavy and raw, as if releasing them was both a relief and a burden. The therapist nodded gently, acknowledging the weight of what [Y/N] had just shared.

"That sounds really painful," the therapist said, her tone soft but serious. "It’s hard when you feel like you’re constantly failing at expectations—whether they’re from others or yourself. Sometimes those expectations aren’t even fair, but we carry them anyway. Do you think that’s part of what’s been making things so difficult for you lately?"

[Y/N] blinked rapidly, trying to keep the tears at bay, but her voice wavered as she spoke again. "It’s more than that. It’s not just school or people at school; it’s everything." Her shoulders trembled as she continued, the anger and resentment from earlier now giving way to sadness. "I don’t know why I even bother anymore. Dad’s gone, and now I’m stuck with... him. And it’s his fault. It’s his fault I never got to..." Her voice cracked, and she angrily wiped at her eyes.

The therapist leaned in further. "Got to what?"

[Y/N] swallowed hard, her eyes glossy with unshed tears. "I never got to fix things with my father. He left, and I didn’t even—" She stopped, her voice catching in her throat and her fists clenched in her lap. "And Aventurine... he just... made everything worse with his stupid bet. And now I’m supposed to be okay with everything? How am I supposed to be okay?"

The words came tumbling out in a rush, each one filled with pain and regret. [Y/N] had held onto so much, and now, with the therapist gently pressing, it all began to unravel.

"You’re not expected to be 'okay' right now, [Y/N]," the therapist reassured, her voice kind but firm. "No one is expecting you to just be fine after everything you’ve gone through. But you don’t have to carry all of this alone. This space is here for you to be honest about what you’re feeling—even if it’s messy or painful."

For the first time since the session started, [Y/N] looked up, her defenses wavering. "I just... I feel like I lost everything. And I don’t know how to get any of it back."

The therapist nodded again, a warm, understanding expression on her face. "It sounds like you’re grieving the loss of the relationship you wanted with your dad. And maybe even the idea of what you thought things were supposed to be like."

[Y/N] sniffled, wiping her eyes again, her voice softer now. "Yeah… maybe."

The therapist observed the slight shift in [Y/N]’s body language. Her earlier defiance was dissolving, replaced by the raw emotions she had been holding back for so long.

"Do you want to see your father?" the therapist asked gently, her tone free of any pressure.

[Y/N] stiffened at the question, her eyes widening slightly. She bit her lip, looking away, the earlier vulnerability creeping back in as she avoided the therapist’s gaze. Her fingers fidgeted again, twisting the hem of her sleeve as if trying to distract herself from the intensity of the moment.

There was a long pause, the weight of the question settling heavily in the room. At first, she didn’t respond, and the therapist let the silence linger, giving her the space to process.

After what felt like an eternity, [Y/N] gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. "I... I don’t know," she muttered, but the wavering in her voice gave her away.

The therapist didn’t push. Instead, she leaned forward slightly, her tone soft. "It’s okay if you’re not sure. But it sounds like there’s a part of you that does want to see him."

[Y/N] stayed quiet, her eyes fixed on the floor. Her hands were trembling now, and she quickly wiped at her face as if trying to hold it together. But the more the therapist’s words sank in, the harder it became to keep up the facade.

Finally, with a sharp, trembling breath, [Y/N] broke. "I... I do. I want to see him. I want to see him so bad!" Her voice cracked, and the floodgates opened as tears streamed down her face.

She brought her hands to her face, her shoulders shaking as she sobbed uncontrollably. "I miss him so much," she choked out, her voice muffled. "I didn’t even get to say goodbye. I didn’t get to... I didn’t."

The therapist remained calm, allowing [Y/N] to let it all out, offering her a box of tissues without interrupting her outpouring of emotion.

"I hate that he’s gone. And I hate that I didn’t fix things with him!" [Y/N] continued through her tears. "I just... I don’t know what to do anymore. I want to see him, but I’m scared... I’m scared he won’t want to see me."

Her voice trailed off into sobs, the weight of all her buried feelings crashing down on her. For so long, she had tried to stay strong, to push down her pain, but now, in this safe space, it all came spilling out. The therapist sat with her, allowing her to release the torrent of emotions without judgment.

Dr. Lira smiled softly, the warmth in her eyes radiating reassurance. “You’re doing the right thing by letting it out. It’s okay to feel all of this. You’re not alone.”

Then, with a tender smile, the therapist leaned in closer. “And, you know, he’s with us right now.” She pointed gently in front of [Y/N].

Curiosity mixed with disbelief coursed through her, and as [Y/N] turned to look, her breath caught in her throat. There, standing just beyond the doorway, was her father, a figure she hadn’t seen in three agonizing weeks. He looked different—more tired, his face drawn and haggard, shadows beneath his eyes hinting at sleepless nights and burdens too heavy to bear. Yet he was undeniably there, alive and present.

As [Y/N] stood frozen, the world around her faded into a blur, leaving only the sight of her father—thin and weary yet undeniably present. The air felt electric with unsaid words, and every heartbeat echoed the tumult of emotions within her. Her breath caught in her throat, a mixture of disbelief and longing swirling in her chest.

He took a tentative step forward, his eyes searching hers, a reflection of the pain and hope that mirrored her own. “I’m... I’m here,” he said, his voice cracking, a tremor of vulnerability breaking through the weight of the past.

A flood of memories crashed over [Y/N]—the laughter, the moments of warmth, and the sharp sting of abandonment that followed. She felt as if the ground beneath her was shifting, the old wounds reopening, but alongside them came an aching desire to bridge the chasm that had formed between them.

“I thought I’d lost you,” he murmured, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I’m so sorry for everything. For not being there when you needed me most.”

At the sound of his apology, the dam inside [Y/N] burst open. “You were never there!” she cried, her voice a mixture of pain and relief. “You left! You chose to go, and I didn’t even get to say goodbye.” Her heart raced, the anger intermingling with the deep-seated love she still felt for him.

His face fell, the weight of her words crashing over him like a wave. “I know. I made terrible choices. I thought I was protecting you, but I only made things worse. I’m so sorry, [Y/N]. I’ve thought about you every day.”

He sighed deeply, the sound heavy with regret and longing. In that moment, he wished he could turn back time and choose a different path—one that didn’t lead to this painful separation. He had thought he was making the right decision when he took that bet, believing it would secure a better future for both of them. Instead, it had driven a wedge between them, and now the reality of his choices weighs heavily on his heart.

“I thought I could handle it,” he continued, his voice shaking. “But I underestimated how much I would lose in the process. I never wanted to hurt you, [Y/N]. I wanted to give you everything, but instead, I left you with nothing.”

Her eyes filled with tears, reflecting the turmoil that had defined their relationship for so long. She could see the guilt etched into his features, the deep lines of weariness that spoke of sleepless nights and endless regrets. For a moment, she felt a flicker of empathy for the man before her, the father she had both loved and resented.

“Every day without you felt like a punishment,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I thought I was doing what was best for you, but I see now how wrong I was. I should have been there. I should have fought for you.”

The sincerity in his voice resonated within her, and though the hurt still lingered, the walls around her heart began to crack. She took a deep breath, the tears flowing freely now, each sob releasing a fraction of the pain that had built up over the years.

“I wanted you to come back,” she confessed, her voice trembling. “I thought maybe... maybe you didn’t love me anymore.”

A look of anguish crossed his face, as if her words pierced him deeper than any physical blow. “How could you think that?” he asked, a mix of disbelief and sorrow in his eyes. “I’ve always loved you, [Y/N]. No matter how far away I was, you were always in my heart.”

With those words, something shifted within her. It was as if a thread connecting them had been tugged, drawing her closer despite the hurt. The raw honesty in his confession was disarming, and for the first time, she felt the weight of her anger lift just a little.

“I wanted to hate you,” she admitted, her voice breaking. “It was easier than facing how much I missed you.”

“I was so angry at you for leaving, for thinking you could just walk away like it didn’t matter! Every time I thought of you, I felt this surge of rage because it hurt too much to miss you.” Her breaths were quickening, fueled by the intensity of her feelings. “I had to pretend I was fine, that I didn’t care, but inside, it was like I was screaming. You just... abandoned me when I needed you the most!”

Her father stood there, heart heavy with her words, but he didn’t flinch. Instead, he opened his arms slightly, a silent invitation for her to let it all out. He knew she needed to vent, to let the anger and hurt flow without fear of judgment. “I’m here,” he said softly, his eyes filled with understanding. “You can say everything you need to.”

“I tried to be strong! I thought if I didn’t think about you, it would hurt less. But it didn’t work! I was left alone, feeling like I didn’t matter. You made your choice, and it felt like I wasn’t worth fighting for!” Each accusation hit like a sharp stone, and she saw the pain flicker across his face, but that only fueled her determination to express everything that had been held back.

“I wanted to scream at you, to tell you how much I hated you for leaving! But deep down, I was just a scared little girl who wanted her dad. How could you think that was okay?” Tears streamed down her cheeks as her voice rose, laced with both fury and sorrow. “You could’ve called; you could’ve tried harder! But you just... vanished!”

As her voice broke, her father stepped closer, his heart aching for her pain. “I know I failed you,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I can’t change the past, and I can’t take away your pain. But I want to be here now, to listen to everything you’re feeling.”

[Y/N] hesitated, feeling the warmth of his presence wrap around her like a comforting blanket. “How can you say that after everything?” she whispered, her voice trembling. “You think you can just show up and fix things?”

“I don’t expect to fix everything overnight,” he replied gently. “I know I have to earn back your trust, but I’m willing to do whatever it takes. I just want a chance to be the father you deserve.”

The sincerity in his words broke through some of her anger, and she felt the conflict within her surge again. She wanted to push him away, to hold onto her anger as a shield, but at the same time, she craved the connection that had once brought her comfort.

“I don’t know if I can forgive you,” she admitted, her voice softening slightly, but the hurt still lingered in her eyes. “It feels too big, too impossible.”

“I don’t want you to forgive me right away,” he said, his voice steady. “I just want you to know that I’m here, ready to listen to everything you have to say. I want to understand how you feel, even if it hurts.”

His willingness to face her pain opened a door within her, and as the anger slowly began to ebb, she felt something else stir—an ember of hope. She took a shaky breath, unsure of where this new path would lead them but willing to explore it. “I just... I don’t want to feel this way anymore,” she confessed, the fight leaving her voice. “I want to heal, but I don’t know how.”

He stepped forward, gently placing a hand on her shoulder, offering a steady presence. “We’ll figure it out together, one step at a time. I’m not going anywhere this time. You have my word.”

As those words hung in the air, Ratio felt the weight of his own biggest regret pressing down on him. He had failed to be the father [Y/N] needed, allowing her to bear the burden of expectations alone. Instead of being a guiding light, he had let her struggle under the pressure of academics, comparing her to others instead of celebrating her unique strengths. He had watched her become more withdrawn, spiraling into self-doubt, and he had done nothing to stop it.

In that moment, he was painfully aware of the scars he had left on her spirits. He had let her believe that she wasn’t good enough and that she had to conform to the standards set by others. The realization stung—he had missed countless opportunities to encourage her and to lift her up when she needed it most.

“I’m so sorry for not being the example you needed,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I let my own expectations and desires overshadow what should have been my role in your life. I should have been there to support you, to tell you that you are enough just as you are.”

[Y/N] looked up at him, her eyes searching his face for sincerity. She could see the pain etched into his features, the depth of his remorse palpable. “It felt like I was never good enough,” she replied quietly, her voice trembling. “I was always trying to be perfect, to make you proud, but I just ended up feeling more lost.”

In that moment of vulnerability, Ratio felt a surge of emotion welling up within him. He reached out, gently caressing his daughter's cheek, his thumb brushing against her skin as if trying to wipe away the remnants of her pain. “My sweet, strong girl,” he murmured, his voice thick with affection and regret.

The warmth of his touch surprised [Y/N]. It was a gesture so tender, so filled with love, that it sent a wave of conflicting emotions crashing over her. She felt the walls around her heart tremble as she met his gaze, seeing not just the man who had made mistakes but the father who truly wanted to change.

And then it happened. All the pent-up emotions she had tried so hard to suppress surged forth, overwhelming her in a flood of sorrow and relief. Without thinking, she threw her arms around her father, embracing him tightly as if she were the same fourteen-year-old girl who had once cried for his presence.

Ratio instinctively wrapped his arms around her, holding her close, the warmth of her small frame anchoring him in that moment. He felt the tremors of her sobs echo through their embrace, and his heart ached with both sorrow and love. It was as if the years of distance melted away, leaving only the raw bond of a father and daughter yearning for connection.

He glanced toward the therapist, who watched the scene with a gentle smile, her eyes shining with understanding and empathy. Ratio gave her a grateful nod, silently acknowledging the role she had played in guiding them to this moment. She had provided the safe space they needed to confront their pain, and now witnessing their reunion felt like a victory.

As [Y/N] buried her face in his shoulder, she let the tears flow freely, releasing the weight of all her unresolved feelings. “I missed you so much,” she choked out, her voice muffled against him. “I didn’t know how to handle it, and I was so angry.”

“I missed you too,” Ratio murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “Every day without you was a reminder of my mistakes. I’m so sorry for everything, [Y/N]. I want to be here for you now, to help you heal.”

From the other room, Aventurine leaned against the wall, a sense of relief washing over him as he watched the reunion unfold. His heart swelled as he observed the moment he had longed for—the two of them, once so fractured, now standing together, the distance between them slowly dissolving.

He could see the way [Y/N]’s shoulders relaxed, the tension in her body easing as she allowed herself to be vulnerable. The warmth in her father’s gaze spoke volumes, filled with a mix of remorse and unwavering love. Aventurine’s chest tightened with emotion; he had worried for both of them, fearing they might never find their way back to each other.

The sounds of muffled sobs and whispered apologies filled the air, and he felt a lump form in his throat. For too long, both had been trapped in their own pain, the silence between them echoing louder than any words they could say. But now, here they were, reaching for each other, opening the door to healing.

Aventurine allowed himself a small smile, a flicker of hope igniting in his heart. He had watched [Y/N] struggle with her feelings of abandonment and confusion, and now, seeing her finally confront the man who had once been her whole world filled him with a profound sense of gratitude.

He remembered the countless nights he had spent worrying about her, the way her laughter had dimmed and her spirit had seemed to wither. But now, as he watched her father hold her close, the beginnings of something new blossoming between them, he felt the heavy weight of despair lift.

“Thank you,” he whispered under his breath, not just to the universe but to the journey that had brought them to this moment. There was still a long way to go, but witnessing this breakthrough filled him with optimism.

Even though the process was messy and uncertain, at least things had finally started to move in the right direction.

He smiled sadly, his gaze lingering on the pair before turning away. Even though his niece might not be able to forgive him again, seeing her happy and making progress was all that matters to him now.

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