#sushang

“You can’t keep doing this,” he said, his voice uncharacteristically sharp. “You’re running yourself into the ground, and for what? To keep everyone else happy while you crumble?”

“I’m fine,” you snapped, crossing your arms defensively. “I’ve always handled things this way. I don’t need your pity, Aventurine.”

His jaw tightened. For a man known for his charm and unshakable composure, the frustration flickering in his gaze was rare. “This isn’t about pity,” he said. “It’s about the fact that I care about you. Why is that so hard for you to accept?”

The conversation escalated, each word cutting deeper until something inside you snapped. “Because I don’t know how!” you yelled, your voice cracking. The dam you had built so carefully burst, and tears streamed down your face. “I don’t know how to let anyone care about me, okay? I don’t even know how to care about myself.”

For a moment, silence hung in the air. You turned away, ashamed, wiping furiously at your tears. “I’m sorry,” you mumbled, your voice barely audible. “I didn’t mean to—”

Before you could finish, Aventurine was by your side, his hands resting gently on your shoulders. “No,” he interrupted softly. “Don’t apologize. Not for this.”

His touch was steady, grounding, as he turned you to face him. His ever-present smile was gone, replaced by an expression of quiet sincerity. “You don’t have to carry everything alone,” he said, his voice low but firm. “I know it’s terrifying to let someone in, but you’re not weak for feeling. You’re human. And you’re allowed to break sometimes.”

You hesitated, the weight of his words sinking in. Aventurine’s eyes searched yours, not for weakness, but for understanding. Slowly, he reached up to wipe away your tears, his touch gentle and unhurried. “We’ll figure it out together,” he said. “But you need to let me in. Just a little.”

His words, so simple yet so profound, felt like a lifeline. For the first time in a long time, you allowed yourself to lean into someone else’s strength, even if just for a moment. Aventurine held you as you cried, his presence a quiet reminder that vulnerability wasn’t something to be ashamed of—it was a bridge to something deeper.

The sweet scent of lavender lingered in the air as Robin adjusted the hem of her gown, her eyes full of concern as she watched you pace back and forth. She had tried to gently bring up your habit of bottling things up, but her delicate approach had only seemed to irritate you.

“You can’t keep ignoring your feelings,” she said softly, her voice like a melody. “You’re important too, you know.”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” you replied curtly, avoiding her gaze. “There’s too much to do, and it doesn’t matter how I feel.”

Robin frowned, a rare show of frustration crossing her usually serene face. “It does matter,” she insisted, her tone firmer now. “You matter to me. I can’t just stand by and watch you hurt yourself like this.”

Her words hit a nerve, and before you knew it, the argument escalated. The more she pushed, the more defensive you became, until the emotions you had been suppressing finally erupted. Tears blurred your vision as you sank into a nearby chair, covering your face with trembling hands. “I’m sorry,” you choked out, ashamed of breaking down in front of her. “I—I didn’t mean to…”

Robin was by your side in an instant, her soft hands gently prying yours away from your face. “Shh,” she murmured, her voice soothing. “It’s okay. Let it out.”

She knelt in front of you, her eyes shimmering with compassion. “You don’t have to hide from me,” she said, her voice trembling with emotion. “You’ve been so strong for everyone else, but you don’t have to be strong for me. I want to be your strength when you need it.”

Her words broke through the wall of shame you had built around yourself, and for the first time, you let her see the depth of your pain. Robin wrapped her arms around you, holding you close as you cried into her shoulder. She hummed softly, the familiar sound of her voice grounding you in the moment.

When your tears finally subsided, she pulled back just enough to look at you, a small, reassuring smile on her face. “Thank you for trusting me,” she said. “It’s okay to feel, to cry, to let go. You’re not alone, and you never will be as long as I’m here.”

[Header credits]

The forest was quiet, save for the rustling of leaves and the distant chirping of birds. Lumine stood with her arms crossed, her eyes fixed on you with a mix of concern and frustration. She had tried to talk to you countless times about your habit of ignoring your own needs, but this time, she wasn’t backing down.

“You’re going to burn yourself out,” she said, her tone calm but firm. “You keep taking on everything for everyone else, but who’s taking care of you?”

“I don’t need anyone to take care of me,” you replied, your voice tense. “I’ve handled things on my own just fine.”

“No, you haven’t,” Lumine shot back, surprising you with her bluntness. “You’re barely holding it together, and you know it.”

The argument quickly escalated, her persistent concern clashing with your stubborn refusal to admit weakness. Finally, her words struck a chord, and the floodgates opened. “Fine!” you shouted, tears streaming down your face. “You’re right, okay? I can’t handle it anymore. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

The raw emotion in your voice caught Lumine off guard, but she recovered quickly, stepping closer to you. “No,” she said softly. “I didn’t want to hear that. I wanted you to tell me before it got this bad.”

You turned away, ashamed of your outburst, but Lumine gently took your hand, her grip steady and reassuring. “Hey,” she said, her voice softer now. “It’s okay. You don’t have to hide how you feel. Not from me.”

Her eyes were filled with understanding as she guided you to sit on a nearby log. “Crying doesn’t make you weak,” she continued. “It makes you human. And you don’t have to go through this alone.”

Lumine stayed by your side as you let out everything you had been holding in, her quiet presence a source of comfort. When your tears finally slowed, she reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, her touch gentle. “You’re not a burden,” she said firmly. “You’re someone I care about deeply. And I’m going to be here for you, no matter what.”

Her words were a balm to your weary soul, and for the first time, you allowed yourself to believe them.

Sushang’s soft bells jingled as she entered the room, a look of concern etched on her face. You sat by the window, staring into the distance, the usual cheer in your eyes dulled by exhaustion.

“You’ve been running yourself ragged lately,” she began hesitantly. “I’ve noticed… you’re always taking care of everyone else, but what about you?”

“I’m fine, Sushang,” you replied, the words automatic and clipped. “There’s no need to worry about me.”

“But I am worried!” she insisted, her voice rising. “You can’t keep pretending everything is okay when it’s not. You’re only human.”

The tension in the room thickened, her words striking a nerve. “I said I’m fine!” you snapped, your hands clenched into fists. “I don’t need you to tell me how to live my life.”

Her usually bright demeanor faltered, replaced by a rare seriousness. “You’re not fine! And it hurts me to see you like this, acting like your feelings don’t matter.”

The dam broke. Tears welled in your eyes and spilled over, a torrent of emotions you’d held back for far too long. You turned away, ashamed of your outburst and your vulnerability.

Sushang was at your side in an instant, her arms wrapping around you tightly. “It’s okay,” she murmured, her voice gentle. “You don’t have to hide from me. I’m here for you, no matter what.”

“But I—” you choked, unable to finish.

She pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, her own shimmering with empathy. “You’re always so strong for everyone else. Let me be strong for you this time. Please.”

Her sincerity broke through your walls, and you collapsed into her embrace, sobbing openly. Sushang held you as if to shield you from the world, her soothing words a balm to your battered heart.

The crackling of the campfire was the only sound as Kinich sat across from you, his amber eyes flickering with concern. “You’ve been quiet lately,” he said, his tone careful but firm. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” you replied, avoiding his gaze. “I’m just tired, that’s all.”

He frowned, his usually warm expression shadowed with worry. “You’ve been saying that for weeks. You think I can’t see the toll it’s taking on you?”

“I don’t need this right now,” you muttered, standing to leave.

But Kinich was faster, his hand catching yours. “You do,” he said firmly. “You can’t keep bottling this up. It’s okay to let someone in.”

“Why do you care so much?” you snapped, pulling your hand away. “I’m fine, Kinich! Just leave it alone!”

His eyes narrowed, frustration clear in his posture. “Because I care about you! And it hurts to see you hurting yourself like this.”

The words hit harder than you expected, and before you could stop yourself, the tears came. You crumpled to the ground, hands covering your face as sobs wracked your body.

Kinich was at your side instantly, his arms wrapping around you like the warmth of a fire. “Let it out,” he whispered, his voice steady and calming. “I’ve got you.”

“I’m sorry,” you hiccupped, ashamed of your outburst.

“Don’t apologize,” he said firmly, tilting your chin to meet his gaze. “You don’t have to carry this alone. Let me help you, even if it’s just holding you like this.”

The sincerity in his voice melted your defenses, and you leaned into his embrace, the weight of your burdens finally easing.

The argument had spiraled out of control. Kaveh paced the room, his passionate words cutting through the air. “You’re always putting everyone else first, but what about you? Don’t you see how much it’s hurting you?”

“I don’t need you lecturing me, Kaveh!” you retorted, your voice shaking. “I’m doing what needs to be done.”

“And at what cost?” Ratio interjected, his calm yet cutting tone adding to the weight of the conversation. “You’re eroding yourself in the process, and for what? To prove something to yourself?”

You flinched, the weight of their combined concern overwhelming. “You don’t understand,” you muttered, tears pricking at your eyes. “I don’t have a choice.”

“There’s always a choice,” Ratio replied, stepping closer. “But you’ve convinced yourself there isn’t because you’re afraid to ask for help.”

The dam broke. The tears came unbidden, and you sank into the nearest chair, covering your face. “I can’t do this anymore,” you whispered, the shame of breaking down in front of them hitting you like a wave.

Kaveh was the first to move, kneeling in front of you and taking your hands in his. “Hey, it’s okay,” he said softly, his passionate tone replaced by tender concern. “You don’t have to be perfect. You’re allowed to feel.”

Ratio placed a hand on your shoulder, his usual analytical demeanor softened. “Vulnerability isn’t weakness. It’s strength in its own way. Let us share your burden.”

Their words, so different yet equally sincere, wrapped around you like a safety net. You leaned into their combined support, the weight on your heart finally lifting.

The forest was quiet as Ororon watched you from the shadows. “You’re not yourself,” he said, his voice soft and cryptic. “You’ve been carrying something heavy.”

“I’m fine,” you replied automatically, your voice flat. “There’s nothing to worry about.”

“You say that,” he mused, stepping closer, “but even the strongest trees bend under the weight of a storm.”

“I’m not a tree, Ororon,” you snapped, frustration bubbling to the surface. “I’m fine!”

He tilted his head, his eyes studying you. “If you were fine, you wouldn’t be snapping at me.”

The truth in his words broke through your defenses, and the tears came, sudden and uncontrollable. You turned away, ashamed to let him see you like this.

Ororon’s arms wrapped around you like a cocoon, his presence grounding. “Let the storm pass,” he whispered. “Even the night wind has moments of calm.”

“I’m sorry,” you hiccupped, the weight of your emotions crashing over you.

“Don’t be,” he replied, his voice steady. “Tears are a language of the soul. I’ll listen to every word, even the ones you don’t say.”

His words soothed you, and you let yourself lean into his embrace, the weight of your burdens finally easing in his quiet understanding.

I tried to catch all of them, but unfortunately, since there wasn’t a counter or anything like that… it was a little difficult.

I definitely missed a few, like Yukong or Misha, but I tried so many combinations and still never got anything… which is strange. I was expecting something between Yukong and Fugue, for example.

Well! I hope some of you can add them in the reblogs of this post or share links to other posts in the comments.