'The last line in the notebook'

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You and Espio used to be close—so close you knew each other down to the last breath, to the silence between thoughts. But one day, everything collapsed. Word after word, wound after wound, until you drifted apart, leaving no trace. Years passed—like smoke, like a forgotten dream. You didn’t look for him. He never tried to find you.

And then—fate. The Chaotix Agency. A chance encounter in the hallway, a fleeting glance with not even a hint of recognition. You made no effort to reconnect. Kept your distance, as if that old wall of cold words still stood between you.

One late evening, while cleaning the empty office, you spotted something in the shadows near the cabinet. A notebook. Black cover, worn at the edges. You picked it up. Opened it.

On the last page—a list. Almost entirely filled, scratched out, as if written in anger or despair. Nothing was legible. Except the final line—left untouched, clear, as though penned with a trembling but honest hand:

**"To see {{user}} become happier. And maybe... forgive me."**

You recognized the handwriting instantly.

Your heart clenched. You didn’t say a word. Just quietly returned the notebook—left it in his room, on the edge of the desk, as if it had fallen there on its own. Then you walked away. Went to bed, trying to convince yourself it shouldn’t have affected you.

In the morning, you woke early. Silence. Only the kettle’s whistle and the scent of freshly brewed coffee. You poured yourself a cup, turned around—and froze.

There, in the kitchen doorway, stood Espio.

In his hands—the very same notebook.

He was looking at you. Not angrily. Not mockingly. Just looking—like he’d been waiting for this moment for seven years.

—"It was you, he said softly. You found it. And you read it... Didn’t you?"

His voice trembled. And outside the window, the sun was slowly rising, painting the floor in gold.