Once, there had been a time when he had wished for nothing more than to meet his family. The idea that somewhere out there were people who belonged to him had accompanied him like a faint glimmer of hope. But early on, he had to learn that this hope was deceptive.
His family had not wanted him.
They had deemed him inadequate, discarded him like an old toy or a gift they had never wanted in the first place.
And all of it simply because of his appearance.
There was no other reason why he had ended up in the orphanage. On a cold December night, he had been left in a basket in front of its doors. The staff had had no choice but to take him in. No message, no clue about his origins—just a bundle of life that someone had quietly gotten rid of.
The circumstances of his arrival were unusual. Unlike the other children, he had not come there because of an accident or a tragedy. Some had lost their parents in accidents, others had been rescued from dangerous situations. But all of them had once had someone who wanted them.
No one had been deliberately abandoned.
No one—except Isaac.
So he differed from the others not only in his appearance, but also in the reason for his existence in the orphanage. As long as he could remember, he had simply "been there"—without a past, without roots.
His difference made him a target. The other children used him as an outlet for their own misery, their anger, and their insecurity. They kept their distance from him as if he were contagious, and mocked him for his striking, albino-like features.
They called him rat, ghost, or vermin—anything that was strange and unwanted.
Over time, he became the center of their cruelty. At first, it was only small pranks, seemingly harmless acts of meanness. But because he never fought back, because he remained silent and endured everything, the abuse grew worse and worse.
They cut his white hair unevenly or dyed it just to make fun of him. They forced him to do their chores under false promises to leave him alone afterward.
But those had always been lies.
It never stopped.
Perhaps the worst part was not even what they did to him, but what it made of him. At some point, Isaac began to believe that he deserved this treatment—that they were right, that there was something wrong with him.
Even the caretakers rarely intervened. They looked after him only as much as was necessary—nothing more.
Why would they? His parents had barely made more effort than giving him a name. That seemed to have been the extent of their duty.
Sometimes he hated them for leaving him behind.
Sometimes he imagined meeting them.
But most of the time, he felt indifferent toward them.
He didn't know their names, nor what they looked like. He didn't even know if either of them resembled him. They were strangers to him—strangers who had never given him the kind of love parents were supposed to have for their children.
And yet, that longing remained.
Why did he long for love when he had never experienced it?
Why did a part of him still hope that somewhere there was someone who would give him safety and warmth?
He wanted a friend.
He wanted a family.
He wanted to belong.
He wanted someone he could call his own—and he wanted to experience enough in life that he wouldn't have to fear being alone forever.
And yet, despite all his years in the orphanage, there had never been anyone he could call a friend. He was alone, and only the books in the library had been his companions. The books—and the small patch of earth behind the house where he would draw little pictures in the dirt with a stick.
There, he created a world in which he was not excluded. A world in which he was allowed to be someone.
But when night came and silence settled over the building, reality always caught up with him again. More than once, Isaac fell asleep with tears in his eyes—quietly, unnoticed, just like everything else in his life.
He couldn't even say why he did it.
He didn't need friends. At least, that's what he told himself.
He had learned to cope with his loneliness—more than that, he had begun to appreciate it. Every minute he was alone meant they left him in peace. That no one mocked him, no one touched him, no one pushed him to the ground or laughed at him.
Before long, he knew every corner of the orphanage—every creaking floorboard, every door that could be opened without a sound. He knew where the other children would be at any given time and moved among them like a shadow. Encounters became rarer, and so did conflicts.
And while other children formed friendships, Isaac made plans.
At the age of six, he decided that he would leave the orphanage as soon as he turned sixteen. He would find an apprenticeship and escape from there as quickly as possible.
What were ten more years in that bleak place if it meant finally being free afterward?
That thought became his anchor.
Isaac often dreamed of the world beyond the walls—of cities whose names he only knew from books, of vast landscapes, foreign languages, and people who didn't know him—and therefore wouldn't judge him.
He wanted to leave. Not just the orphanage, but this country, everything connected to his life so far. Surely, there had to be a place somewhere where he belonged.
At some point, he managed to create a kind of fragile peace for himself.
He consistently avoided the others. He woke earlier than everyone else, moved silently through the corridors, and withdrew before anyone could notice him. In the evenings, he waited until most were asleep before settling down himself.
His refuges were places no one else wanted to be: high up in the treetops of the garden, on narrow branches that bent softly under his weight, or in the dusty attics of the house, among old boxes and forgotten furniture.
Every unpopular, abandoned place became his personal oasis—a fragment of peace.
Of course, that didn't stop his tormentors from continuing to search for him. And although Isaac, by the age of six, had become almost as light-footed as a cat, he still walked into a trap and had to face the consequences he had avoided for so long.
They cornered him—ten children in total, three of them five years older than Isaac. They called him a freak, spat at him, and tore at his clothes when he tried to flee. They beat him, kicked him, and laughed at him. At some point, he stopped trying to fight back and let them wear themselves out until they lost interest.
How could he have escaped them? He might have been more agile than the others his age, but he was no match for the strength of the older children.
His misery only came to an end when, for the first time, someone came to his aid.
In Isaac's eyes, he shone as brightly as a ray of sunlight.
"Hey! What are you doing?!"
For a moment, everything froze.
A boy with blond hair and brown eyes charged toward the group. Without hesitation, he grabbed the one holding Isaac by the collar and shoved him aside with such force as if he weighed nothing.
The attacker stumbled back.
The boy stepped in front of Isaac, feet planted wide, steady—like a shield. The others actually took a step back, surprised, perhaps even unsure.
"Leave him alone," he said.
Stunned, Isaac scrambled to his feet. Mouth slightly open, he stared at the boy, wondering if he was hallucinating. No one had ever stood up for him. No one had ever protected him—certainly not hurt others just because they were hurting Isaac.
The boy was like a radiant hero.
And Isaac didn't know how to deal with that.
"Stay out of this!" one of the older boys snapped at him.
But the boy merely took a provocative step forward, which only made the others retreat another step.
"We can fight, if you want," the blond boy said flatly.
The older one grimaced, clearly annoyed. For a moment, he seemed to weigh his options, then let out a quiet snort.
"Nah. Not worth it."
He turned away as if he suddenly had something more important to do. The others looked just as irritated, but Isaac could see a faint trace of respect in their eyes—respect for the boy.
The boy snorted in satisfaction as the group walked off, then turned back to Isaac.
Isaac was certain he had never seen him before.
For a moment, they simply stood there, facing each other. Then the boy held out his hand.
Isaac stared at it, hesitating to take it. Maybe this was just another trick, another way to mock him. But the boy only looked at him kindly.
"I don't bite," he said with a grin.
Isaac hesitated a moment longer. Then he made his decision.
Slowly, he reached for the offered hand.
The boy pulled him to his feet with ease. Isaac tensed instinctively, ready to flinch back at any second—but nothing happened. No blow, no laughter, no trap.
Only silence.
"There you go," the boy said, satisfied.
To Isaac's surprise, he didn't let go of his hand right away but gave it a light shake, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
"I'm Levi. And you?"
Isaac froze for a moment. Then he pulled his hand back abruptly, almost as if he had burned himself. He looked at Levi with suspicion.
It was strange—someone speaking to him so casually, so normally.
"…Isaac," he muttered at last.
Levi's grin widened.
"Nice to meet you, Isaac. I'm sure we'll be good friends."
___
The dream slowly faded, leaving behind the bittersweet feeling of his first friendship.
The images dissolved one by one, replaced by a heaviness that held his entire body in an iron grip. He could neither move his limbs nor open his eyes. Not a sound passed his lips.
His mind felt dull, as if wrapped in dense cotton. Thoughts came only in fragments, falling apart before he could grasp them.
Something had happened.
But even that realization felt distant, unimportant—as if it didn't truly belong to him.
What had happened?
He simply lay there, trapped in his own body, which stubbornly refused to wake. He tried to move his fingers, but had no chance. They obeyed him just as little as the rest of his body.
Yet he felt something gently brush over his left hand. Someone was holding it, giving him warmth. The touch was so familiar, and Isaac longed for more of it.
He clung to it inwardly.
He wanted that warmth to fill him completely, to drive away the cold that seemed to enclose him from within.
Whoever was with him—he knew this person meant no harm.
Before long, his consciousness drifted away again, carrying him back into the bittersweet dream he had just left behind.
___
"Hey! What are you reading?" Levi suddenly asked from behind him.
Isaac flinched violently. The book snapped shut with a dull thud, and he nearly dropped it. In one fluid motion, he jumped to his feet, stepped back, and instinctively took a defensive stance—as if he had been attacked, not merely spoken to.
For a brief moment, he stared at the cover in his hands, as if that could hide what he had just been reading. Then he looked up and shot Levi a sharp, irritated glare.
"That's none of your business," he hissed.
Levi blinked in surprise, as if he had expected many things—just not that reaction. Then a grin spread across his face, and he let out a quiet laugh.
"When are you finally going to stop treating me like I'm the villain?" he asked, still amused.
Isaac's cheeks flushed instantly.
"When you stop sneaking up on me all the time!" he shot back.
Levi raised his hands in a placating gesture but didn't take a step back.
"I wouldn't have to sneak up on you if you didn't keep hiding from me."
Isaac exhaled slowly, his heart still pounding.
Three weeks had passed since he had become friends with Levi. Yet on that very same day, he had already started avoiding him again. The whole thing felt off to him, and he wasn't used to talking to others, playing, or even just spending time together.
So Isaac kept hiding and did what he had always done.
Being alone was easier. Safer.
But Levi had developed an almost unsettling talent for tracking him down. No matter how well Isaac thought he had hidden—sooner or later, Levi would be standing right beside him again, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
And slowly, Isaac was running out of both hiding places and excuses.
"I hide because you're annoying," Isaac muttered curtly without looking at Levi.
Levi smirked.
"I just want to get to know you better!"
Isaac gathered his things and walked toward the ladder leading down from the attic.
"There are plenty of others here you can get to know. Why are you bothering me of all people?" he snorted.
He heard footsteps behind him. Levi followed.
"Because I already know all of them," he replied, with a hint of pride in his voice that was hard to miss.
Isaac paused briefly. Had this guy seriously just bragged about how many friends he had—while Isaac didn't have a single one?
"Great. Then you've got plenty of people to cure your boredom," he shot back dryly, barely trying to hide his irritation.
"Oh, come on, Isaac!" Levi grinned carefree. "I just want to spend some time with you. At least tell me what you do all day."
But Isaac didn't answer and kept walking. The less he revealed about himself, the better. He still didn't know what Levi was after, and his instincts told him quite clearly that it was safer to stay alone.
His loneliness was his shield. It was the only thing he had in this orphanage.
"Hey, come on, wait up!"
The voice was suddenly right beside him. Levi had caught up effortlessly, his arms loosely folded behind his head, as if this were a casual stroll rather than a chase.
"Well?" Levi leaned forward slightly to look into Isaac's face. "What are we going to do?" A mischievous grin played on his lips. "We could go into town. I found a hole in the wall the other day—you can just slip out."
Isaac grimaced. "And what are we supposed to do in town?"
He immediately bit his tongue. He hadn't meant to respond at all.
He had no desire to meet more people who would look at him strangely.
Levi didn't answer right away. Instead, he pulled out a small pouch and let it jingle meaningfully. His grin widened.
"We could get cake!" he said enthusiastically. "Or ice cream! I've saved up enough pocket money, and there's this shop—I saw these amazing cakes in the window."
Isaac stopped before he could help himself.
Levi noticed immediately and seized the moment. "They've got strawberry cake and chocolate torte," he went on. "Really thick cream cakes. The strawberries are as big as your palm."
Without thinking, Isaac lifted his hand and stared at it. He had never seen strawberries that large—let alone eaten any. The thought alone made his mouth water.
He pressed his lips together, tore his gaze away, and started walking again.
"They also have hot chocolate," Levi added casually.
Isaac stopped once more.
He rarely got sweets. Either the others took them from him, or he avoided the dining hall until barely anything was left. It had been a long time since he had truly enjoyed something sweet. And now this strange boy—this Levi—was offering it to him just like that.
Slowly, Isaac turned around.
Levi was still standing there, that knowing, triumphant grin on his face, as if he had known exactly when Isaac would give in.
Isaac felt his ears grow hot. It was unfamiliar—this was the first time someone had genuinely been kind to him. He wanted to try. It definitely wasn't the promise of cake that was swaying him.
"Where's the hole?" he finally asked.
Levi's grin widened even further. "Follow me—but be discreet. This is supposed to stay our little secret."
He turned and set off, whistling as if it were nothing.
He whistled a cheerful tune while Isaac followed him. Isaac didn't have a good feeling about it, and it was the first time he had ever done something forbidden. But Levi made it look so easy that it wasn't hard to get carried along by his attitude.
Before long, his heart was pounding with excitement, and the uneasy feeling in his stomach began to fade.
___
When Isaac came to the next time, the pain hit him with full force.
It was overwhelming—burning, stabbing, all-consuming, so intense it stole his breath. A strained groan escaped his throat. Everything in him screamed for it to stop, to simply disappear.
He was freezing. His body trembled uncontrollably, even though he couldn't move. Every attempt to do so sent fresh waves of pain through him, pressing him deeper into the mattress.
Someone was speaking.
The voice was close—yet unreachable. Words formed but dissolved again, distorted and muffled, as if Isaac were drifting underwater. He couldn't grasp what was being said. Not even the direction the voice was coming from… or were there multiple voices?
He tried to open his eyes.
His eyelids felt heavy, as if an invisible weight pressed down on them. A narrow sliver of light broke through, blurred and flickering. Shapes dissolved within it, never taking form.
Then the pain subsided.
Not suddenly, but gradually. It ebbed away, grew duller, more distant, as if someone were slowly pulling it out of his body. The cold remained, but it lost its sharp edge.
A quiet, exhausted sigh slipped from his lips.
The tension left his limbs, and before he could even become aware of what was happening, he sank back into the darkness.
This time, sleep came as a relief.
___
Isaac sat among the branches of his tree, letting the mild morning sun warm him. The light filtered through the leaves in flickering patterns, dancing across his face. His book lay open in his lap, but his eyes were closed as he dozed lightly.
Up here, it was quiet. Safe. No one came up without reason, and the rustling leaves drowned out the voices from the yard.
"Hey, Isaac!" Levi called from below, his voice pulling him from his calm. "Coming down? I swiped some fresh bread from the kitchen!"
Isaac opened one eye, then the other. A faint smile flickered across his face. Without hesitation, he pushed the book aside and slid down from the branch. With practiced ease, he dropped to the ground, landing lightly on his feet—almost soundlessly, like a cat.
He had grown noticeably over the past few months, and climbing had become so natural to him that even the higher branches were no challenge anymore.
Reaching Levi, he brushed the dust from his clothes and looked at him expectantly, his head tilted slightly to the side.
"What kind of bread?" he asked curiously.
"Walnut bread," Levi said proudly. "I also managed to snag some cheese and sausage!"
Isaac had to laugh. "Madame Rose is going to scold you again if she finds out."
Levi just shrugged and dropped into the grass. "She'll have to catch me first," he replied with a hint of defiance. Then he held out half the bread to Isaac. "Want some?"
"Sure." Isaac sat down beside him and took it.
As he bit into it, he realized how familiar this moment felt.
It had been a year since he and Levi had become friends. Levi had fought hard for Isaac's trust. But despite all the skepticism Isaac had at the beginning, he had quickly found himself wrapped around Levi's finger. It was hard to keep Levi at a distance for long.
There was simply something about him that drew people in, and even when he got into trouble, the caretakers were never as strict with him as they were with the other children. Isaac had later learned there was a word for that—charisma. Levi would probably have no trouble finding his way in the world outside the orphanage.
Since their friendship began, many things had changed. The other children left him alone. No one dared to openly bully him anymore as long as Levi was nearby. And for the first time in his life, there were days that felt… light.
Carefree.
He was still afraid of the others, but he didn't hide nearly as often anymore. Though, aside from Levi, he still hadn't found any other friends. But that was okay. Levi was enough.
So they sat there, enjoying their stolen food while Levi shared the latest gossip from the orphanage. Isaac listened, laughing now and then. Levi was a good storyteller, and time passed quickly when Isaac simply listened to him.
Isaac was seven years old now, and his eighth birthday wasn't far away.
It was a day like any other, and usually it passed without anything special happening. But this year, he hoped to make it something different. With Levi by his side, they could do almost anything they wanted, and thanks to him, Isaac had discovered a sense of adventure.
Because of Levi, his world had grown larger, and he had tried far more than he ever would have on his own.
Only… could he just ask Levi?
He chewed thoughtfully on a piece of bread. He didn't really dare to. And if he thought about it, the day wasn't all that important anyway.
After they finished eating, they both lay back in the grass, gazing up at the clear blue sky. Clouds drifted slowly overhead.
"You've got your birthday next week, right?" Levi asked suddenly.
Isaac flinched slightly and turned his head toward him. "Yeah," he replied hesitantly.
Levi propped himself up on one elbow and studied him. "So? What do you want to do?"
Isaac hesitated. "Hmm… no idea," he said. Then a thought occurred to him. "Could we go get ice cream?"
Levi's face lit up immediately. "Sure. Why not?"
The answer came so naturally that Isaac blinked for a moment. Then he lay back down in the grass, a quiet, content smile on his lips.
It was still unfamiliar for him to think in terms of "we" instead of just himself.
For the first time, he was truly looking forward to his birthday.
Still, Isaac hoped he would be allowed to stay friends with Levi for a long time—and maybe even after the orphanage, too. Perhaps they would move to the same city, or even share an apartment while they saved money and built their own lives.
The thought had crossed his mind more than once, and by now he was certain of one thing: he would like it anywhere, as long as Levi was by his side.
___
Strange—why was he suddenly dreaming of Levi? He had buried that happy time deep within himself, locked it away so he would never have to think of it again.
And yet, it had returned.
Isaac opened his eyes—or at least tried to. His eyelids felt impossibly heavy, as if an immense weight pressed down on them, as though they were cast from lead. For a moment, he considered giving up and letting them fall shut again.
Sleep would be so much easier.
His thoughts dragged along sluggishly, thick as syrup. Everything felt muted, slowed, as if the world itself moved in slow motion. Pain spread through his body, dull and all-encompassing, as if it no longer truly belonged to him. Each breath was shallow, labored, as though he had to fight for every single one. He didn't know why.
But something had happened.
It would have been easy to surrender to sleep, but Isaac was not someone who simply gave up. He focused on opening his damn eyes. He wanted to know what had happened—why he was lying there, paralyzed in a bed.
His eyelids were heavy, and it felt as though they scraped against sandpaper. It was unpleasant, but not an obstacle he couldn't overcome. So he kept trying, no matter how much time passed. He had no idea what day it was, let alone the time.
It felt like a very long time since he had last been awake.
Finally, he managed it.
His gaze fell upon an unfamiliar ceiling. The light was dim, coming from a small lamp somewhere outside his direct field of vision. The room lay in half-darkness, quiet—almost eerily still. Nothing about it was familiar.
"…what…"
The word was barely more than a breath. His lips were dry, his throat rough, and his voice so weak he wasn't even sure whether he had imagined speaking at all.
It took a while for his eyes to adjust to the light. At least the ceiling lamp hadn't blinded him the moment he woke up.
But where was he?
His body felt heavy and drained, as if all strength had been pulled from it. The urge to sleep again was overwhelming—he wanted nothing more than to drift back into darkness.
But the thirst was stronger. And so was the need to find out where the hell he was.
Slowly, he let his gaze wander through the room. He noticed tubes running into his arms, though he couldn't quite make out what they were. Bandages and plasters covered parts of him, and he realized he was lying flat on his back in the bed.
Almost immediately, his back began to ache, and he wanted nothing more than to turn onto his side.
The attempt ended abruptly.
A sharp, stabbing pain shot through his right side—so sudden and intense it stole his breath.
"…ugh…"
A faint sound escaped him, barely controlled. His vision blurred for a moment as tears gathered in his eyes. He blinked them away, inhaled shallowly—and exhaled even more carefully, as if even breathing might reignite the pain.
Something was very, very wrong.
So he stayed still, as his body demanded. Any unnecessary movement seemed like a bad idea. Instead, he slowly turned his head toward the source of the light. Maybe there was a glass of water somewhere.
He would have taken even stale, cold coffee—anything was better than the burning dryness in his mouth.
However, his gaze caught on the person lying beside his bed. Black hair, slightly tousled. Fine, familiar features that had etched themselves into his memory beyond erasure. Noctis.
He was slumped halfway over the edge of Isaac's bed, his upper body supported at his side, as if he had simply run out of strength to stay upright at some point. He was asleep. Quiet—but not at ease. More like someone who had been awake far too long.
His hand held Isaac's firmly. The warmth hit him unexpectedly. Instinctively, his hand twitched slightly in his grasp.
"Noc…"
His voice was barely more than a broken breath. A lump immediately formed in his throat, heavy and tight.
Why did it feel so strange to see him? As if he had already said goodbye long ago—and it was surprising to see him again at all.
But Noctis didn't react.
Isaac wet his cracked lips, gathering just enough strength for another attempt.
"Noctis…"
This time a little louder. Just enough.
The reaction was immediate. A slight twitch ran through Noctis's hand, then he lifted his head. His eyes opened halfway—sleepy, searching—and in the next moment, fully awake.
His gaze locked onto Isaac.
"…Isaac?" he asked in disbelief. "Am I imagining this, or are you really awake?"
His voice trembled slightly.
Isaac blinked sluggishly. A faint smile flickered across his lips, more reflex than conscious gesture.
"Hey…"
It was all he managed.
Noctis was on his feet immediately. The chair—or whatever he had been sitting on—scraped softly against the floor as he stood up abruptly and leaned over Isaac.
"I'm not imagining this, am I?!"
His hand found Isaac's cheek. His fingers were warm, but trembled slightly as his thumb brushed gently over his skin—so careful, as if Isaac might be made of glass.
Tears ran down Noctis's face, so quietly that for a moment Isaac wondered if he was imagining them.
Then Noctis rested his forehead against his. The touch was soft, familiar—and at the same time overwhelming.
"Finally, you're awake…" His voice broke. "I knew you'd make it…"
He sounded relieved and utterly exhausted at once, as if he had held those words back for far too long. Isaac felt tears gather in his own eye. A single tear slipped free and trailed slowly down his temple.
Something terrible must have happened.
"What… happened…?"
Each word came haltingly, fought for with effort.
Noctis hesitated. "Do you remember anything?"
Isaac shook his head, barely. Even that small movement cost him more strength than it should have.
"Everything… so far… away."
His voice was unsteady, the words uneven, as if he had to shape them before they could leave his mouth. Speaking felt unfamiliar. Exhausting.
"You were shot, darling," Noctis said quietly. "I almost lost you."
The words sank in slowly. A distant memory of the heist flickered through his mind, but what had happened remained blurred and incomplete.
Nothing more came.
It didn't matter.
What mattered was that Noctis was here.
"Oh…?" Isaac managed weakly. His voice was barely audible, more breath than sound. Then his eyes drifted shut again. "…sorry…"
It took too much strength to keep them open.
"Don't apologize, Isaac," Noctis murmured softly. There was an exhausted sigh in his voice. His fingers brushed over Isaac's cheek again, slow, almost soothing. "Are you tired? Then sleep. I'll stay here."
Isaac wanted to protest.
He wanted to say so much more. He wanted to tell Noctis that he was just tired, that he only needed rest. He wanted to reach out, to touch him, to kiss him. But none of his muscles responded, and so he drifted back into sleep.
The last thing he heard was Noctis's quiet voice, telling him how much he loved him.