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Just as the emotion threatened to pull me under again, a knock echoed from the door—a perfectly timed interruption, like the universe once again deciding to keep me from spiraling too far into the abyss.

“Okay, okay, you’re smashing me, Dad,” I half-laughed, sniffing as I gently pulled away and made my way toward the door, grateful for the small escape.

Joy and Shun.

Because of course they’d show up. Best friends, nosy gremlins that they are.

“Clark!” Joy’s voice rang out as the door opened without waiting for an answer. “I brought snacks and inappropriate humor!”

Shun gave a quiet nod behind her, holding a small box—probably something helpful and practical, because she’s Shun.

My mom smiled as they entered, as if Joy and Shun were her long-lost daughters. She greeted them with hugs, offered juice like this was some sitcom, and then waved them off toward my room.

They barged in like a storm dressed in hoodies and concern.

I was already sitting on my bed, legs pulled up, staring at nothing in particular.

Joy plopped beside me. “So. Ocean-boy Ethan, demon, and some light trauma. Sounds like a

Tuesday.”

I rolled my eyes. “Don’t.”

Shun sat cross-legged on the floor. “We can talk about something else. Or nothing.”

“No, it’s fine.” I rubbed my face. “He saved me. That’s the part I can’t stop thinking about.”

Joy tilted her head. “That, and the part where he said you’re his mate?”

I blinked at her. “You—how did—?”

“You talk in your sleep, apparently,” Shun said comically.

“You do?” Joy grinned, almost buying it. “God, I hope it’s dramatic. Like: ‘Ethan, my forbidden love, save me from my villainous trauma!’”

“Can we not?”

“I'm just kidding, you don't talk in your sleep. I overheard Ethan tell Max,” Shun uttered.

My gut formed knots.

Joy threw an arm around my shoulder. “Okay, okay, we’ll be serious. But just for the record, Ethan? Hot. Like… if Poseidon had a gym membership and daddy issues.”

I groaned. “Joy.”

“No, hear me out,” Joy interrupted. “He glowed. He tackled an evil demon. His hair probably still smells like sea salt and heroism. Just for you. And you… I see the way your voice changes when you talk about him.”

Shun nodded, deadpan. “You do sound softer. Like a narrator in a romance anime.”

“Why are you both like this?”

Joy poked my cheek. “Because if we didn’t tease you, you’d implode. And also—because you’re scared.”

I went quiet.

She leaned back on the bed, arms behind her head.

“Look, Clark. I get it. You’ve got every reason to hate demons. You’ve seen the worst of them. But if you let your past experiences decide your future, you’re basically giving your trauma the keys to your happiness.”

She turned to look at me, this time her tone more grounded.

“You can’t spend your life wearing a raincoat just because one storm nearly drowned you. Sometimes, it’s okay to step outside and see if the weather’s changed.”

Shun raised an eyebrow. “That was… surprisingly poetic.”

Joy shrugged. “I’m full of surprises. Also caffeine. But mostly surprises.”

I didn’t reply right away. But something about the metaphor stuck.

A raincoat.

Yeah. Maybe I’d been living in one since I was a kid—never letting anyone close, never trusting anything with teeth. And now… maybe the weather had changed.

Or maybe I just needed to see for myself.

“Thanks,” I said, quietly. “For showing up.”

Joy smiled. “Always.”

Shun gave a small smile of her own. “You’re not alone, Clark. No matter what glowy sea jocks try to claim you.”

I huffed a small laugh.

Before they left, Shun unboxed whatever she had brought me. Her fingers moved gently, as if the moment was fragile.

It was a mini notebook—its cover a soft, calming blue, like the sky on days that didn’t hurt.

She handed it to me without a word. No explanation. Just a look that said, “Here. I thought of you.”

I grinned warmly turning it over in my hands. I grazed my thumb along the spine. It wasn’t just paper—it was permission. A quiet invitation to write my way out, or back, or through.

And just like that, the storm inside my head quieted… if only for a while.

I couldn’t sleep.

Well—I lay down. Stared at the ceiling. Willed the fan to hypnotize me into unconsciousness. But the words wouldn’t stop circling.

“You can’t spend your life wearing a raincoat just because one storm nearly drowned you.”

It wasn't such a Joy thing to say but it stuck.

Around midnight, I started remembering.

Not the horrible things. Not the shadows or the raised voices or the scars that still ache sometimes.

No, I remembered Ethan.

Real Ethan. Unfiltered, chaotic, completely unaware of personal space Ethan.

Like the time he stole a bag of chips and made me run from a guard claiming that “I looked like I needed exercise.” Or when he dragged me outside after a storm just to show me the weird cloud that looked like a sea serpent.

It didn’t. It looked like a banana. But we argued for twenty minutes and laughed until I forgot what sadness felt like.

I remembered how he always snuck out with me almost every night.

The way he smirked when he was about to say something infuriating.

The way he looked at me that one time—like he saw me. Not as a nerd or a classmate. As Clark.

And then, of course, there was when he saved me. Glowing forehead, righteous rage, ocean-god swagger and all.

I smiled.

Actually, I just… lay there, staring at the ceiling, and smiled like a total idiot. If anyone had walked in, I would’ve faked a sneeze or something equally ridiculous.

But it was real. The first unforced smile in days. Maybe weeks.

The ceiling was still just the ceiling, but it didn’t look as heavy anymore.

By dawn, the sky was painted with that soft pink-blue hush that makes everything feel more possible. The birds were being annoyingly optimistic outside my window. I couldn’t take it anymore.

I picked up my phone and hit Joy’s contact.

She picked up after two rings, groggy but alert—like someone who has a sixth sense for chaos.

“Clark?” she mumbled. “Is this a panic attack or a food craving? Blink once for pizza.”

“I need a levitating bunny,” I said.

There was a pause.

Then: “Oh. Oh. You’re going full Clark.”

“Yes.”

“Give me thirty minutes and an energy drink,” she said, already more awake. “We’re gonna do something stupid and possibly emotional, aren’t we?”

“I think so.”

“Excellent. Meet me at the old bridge. Shun’s coming. I’m bringing glitter.”

“…Why glitter?”

“Why not glitter?”

I hung up, tossed the blankets aside, and stood up with more resolve than I’d felt in a while.

Maybe the storm wasn’t over yet.

But maybe—just maybe—it was finally safe to step outside.

So, I stepped outside—no coat, no shield. Just me and the sky, wide and waiting.