cried for this panel, enjoy!

Matsukawa leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his fingers laced together. He exhaled sharply, as if finally allowing himself to voice the thoughts that had been eating away at him for days.

“Alam niyo ba,” he started, his voice low but steady, “ilang araw ko na ’to pinag-iisipan, eh.” His gaze flickered to each of them, gauging their reactions, but no one interrupted. They were all listening.

He let out a quiet chuckle—tired, resigned. “Sa tingin niyo… mapapatawad niyo si Berry?”

Silence hung between them like a thick fog.

Matsukawa tilted his head back, staring at the ceiling as if the answer were written there. “Ako kasi… oo.”

That made Kiyoomi shift slightly, Hanamaki and Suna exchanging looks. It was Suna who finally asked, “Bakit naman?”

Matsukawa sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Kasi alam kong hindi madali para sa kanya ’to. Alam kong sinira niya tayo, tinulak niya tayo sa ganitong sitwasyon. Pero nakita niyo ba siya kanina?” His voice softened, something almost wistful laced within it.

“Nakita niyo kung paano siya bumigay? Paano niya tinanggal lahat ng depensa niya sa harap ng lahat ng tao na ’yon?”

No one spoke. Because they had seen it.

Matsukawa shook his head, a small, bitter smile tugging at his lips. “Hindi ko siya nakitang ganyan kahit kailan. Hindi siya takot magpatalo sa harap natin, hindi siya takot umiyak sa harap ng mundo… pero hindi siya kailanman naging kasing-totoo ng kanina.”

He leaned back, exhaling deeply. “At kung hindi ’yon sapat na dahilan para bigyan siya ng isa pang pagkakataon… ewan ko na lang.”

Hanamaki let out a quiet sigh, running a hand through his hair. He had been quiet for most of the conversation, but now, he finally spoke, his voice low, almost tired.

“Kung Diyos nga ay mapagpatawad sa mga kasalanan ng mga tao… tayo pa kayang mortal lang?”

His words hung in the air, heavy, sinking into their bones.

Matsukawa turned to look at him, brows slightly furrowed. Kiyoomi and Suna said nothing, but they were listening. Even Iwaizumi, who had kept his eyes trained on the floor for most of their talk, shifted ever so slightly.

Hanamaki let out a dry laugh, shaking his head. “Alam kong nasaktan kayo. Lahat tayo.” He swallowed hard, his fingers clenching into fists against his knees.

“Pero gusto kong malaman niyo… gusto kong aminin sa sarili ko na ako rin, apektado. Hindi dahil sa ginawa niya. Hindi lang dahil sa traydor siya sa paningin ng iba o sa paningin natin.”

His voice cracked, just a little, when he finally said it.

“Apektado ako kasi si Berry ‘yon.”

He sucked in a sharp breath, composing himself before continuing. “Si Berry, na tinanggap ko bilang kapatid mula nung dinala siya ni Iwaizumi sa atin. Si Berry, na naging pamilya natin, kahit na hindi natin hiningi.”

Hanamaki lifted his gaze, looking at each of them, searching for any sign of resistance. “Mahirap siyang patawarin. Alam ko. Pero mas mahirap mawala siya.”

Silence followed, thick and suffocating.

And maybe, just maybe, it was because they all knew he was right.

Suna leaned back against the cold cement wall, arms crossed over his chest, gaze distant. He had been silent for a while, processing everything—Oikawa’s betrayal, his suffering, and now, the possibility of forgiveness. The air in the cell was heavy, thick with unspoken emotions, but Hanamaki’s words clung to him, refusing to let go.

“Mahirap siyang patawarin. Pero mas mahirap mawala siya.”

Suna exhaled sharply through his nose. “Putangina,” he muttered under his breath, rubbing his temple. “Ayoko na ngang isipin ‘to, pero tangina, hindi ko rin naman matanggal sa utak ko.”

Matsukawa and Hanamaki turned their attention to him, waiting. Even Iwaizumi, who had barely moved since they got back, tilted his head slightly.

Suna clicked his tongue, shaking his head. “Alam niyo, ang dami kong pwedeng sabihin ngayon. Pwede kong sabihin na gago siya, na tinapon niya tayo, na ginawa niya ‘to sa sarili niya.” He scoffed, a bitter chuckle escaping his lips. “Pero nakita niyo siya kanina? Doon sa korte?”

They didn’t answer, but they didn’t have to.

“Putcha, hindi ‘yun yung Oikawa na kilala natin. Hindi ‘yun yung kupal na nagmamayabang pag nanalo sa race. Hindi ‘yun yung Berry na hihirit ng strawberry pocky at strawberry mogu mogu na dinadamihan natin ng stocks sa shop.” His fingers curled into fists. “Yung nakita ko kanina? Putangina, para siyang multo na.”

No one spoke.

Suna let out a long, slow breath before shaking his head again. “Hindi ko pa alam kung kaya ko siyang patawarin. Pero kung totoo yung sinabi ni Hanamaki… kung mas mahirap siyang mawala—” He sighed, shutting his eyes briefly before opening them again. “Siguro… ayoko siyang mawala.”

And that, in itself, was enough to crack something inside him.

Kiyoomi had been quiet the entire time, his fingers idly shuffling the deck of cards in his hands. He wasn’t playing—he just needed something to do, something to keep his hands busy while his mind raced.

The weight of the conversation hung thick in the air. Forgiveness. That was what they were talking about. Forgiving Oikawa.

Kiyoomi scoffed, though there was no real bite to it. “You’re all acting like we have a choice,” he muttered, eyes locked on the cards as he shuffled them over and over again.

Hanamaki raised a brow. “Anong ibig mong sabihin?”

Kiyoomi let the cards slip through his fingers, watching as they scattered across the floor. He stared at them for a moment before looking up, meeting their gazes one by one. “Let’s be real. We’ve already forgiven him.”

Matsukawa tilted his head, skeptical. “And how the hell did you figure that out?”

Kiyoomi sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. “If we truly hated him—if we actually meant it when we called him a traitor—then why the fuck are we still talking about him like this?” His voice was sharper than he intended, but it was the truth.

“Why are we still holding onto every goddamn thing he does? Why do we care that he looked dead in court? Why does it still hurt?”

Silence.

Kiyoomi leaned back against the wall, exhaling. “Because deep down, we’ve already forgiven him. We just don’t know how to admit it to ourselves.”

He picked up a single card from the floor—a joker—and stared at it. “The real question isn’t if we can forgive him,” he murmured. “It’s if he’ll ever forgive himself.”

Iwaizumi had been silent the whole time, sitting with his elbows resting on his knees, head bowed, fingers interlaced so tightly his knuckles turned white. He listened to them—Hanamaki, Matsukawa, Suna, Kiyoomi—each of them spilling thoughts he hadn’t allowed himself to process yet.

Forgiveness.

It felt like a cruel joke. How could they talk about forgiveness like it was that easy? Like it was something they could just decide on and move forward?

How could he forgive Oikawa for betraying them? For turning them in? For making him feel like an idiot for trusting him?

But, god—how could he not?

He exhaled, tilting his head back against the wall, staring at the ceiling like it held the answers.

“Do you remember that night?” His voice was hoarse, rough around the edges. “The night I brought him to you guys?”

They all turned to look at him.

Hanamaki swallowed. “Yeah.”

Iwaizumi clenched his jaw. “He was desperate to run. He didn’t ask me where we were going. He just followed. And the moment he saw you guys, he smiled—like he belonged there.” His fists tightened. “Like he finally found something worth holding onto.”

Matsukawa sighed. “We were his family.”

Iwaizumi nodded. “And we still are.” He ran a hand through his hair, eyes dark with exhaustion. “I want to hate him,” he admitted. “I really, really fucking do.” His voice cracked, and for the first time since all of this happened, it sounded like something inside of him broke. “But I can’t.”

He leaned forward, gripping his hands together like he was trying to ground himself. “He didn’t do this because he wanted to,” he murmured. “He did this because he thought he had no other choice.”

Silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken emotions.

Then Iwaizumi looked up, his gaze sharp, unwavering. “If we get out of here, if we win this case, I don’t give a shit what happens to me.” He exhaled, steadying himself. “But I’m not letting him suffer alone.”

They all stared at him.

“Because no matter what he’s done,” Iwaizumi muttered, voice thick, “he’s still mine.”

Hanamaki laughed—at first a small, breathless chuckle, like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. But then it grew, bubbling up from his chest until it cracked at the edges, until it wasn’t laughter anymore but something raw, something painful.

And then he cried.

Matsukawa was already pulling him close, one hand steady on the back of his head, the other gripping his shoulder like he was holding him together.

“Tangina, Berry naman,” Hanamaki choked out, burying his face in Matsukawa’s shirt, his shoulders trembling. “Putangina mo, Berry.”

Matsukawa didn’t say anything—just held him tighter, his own eyes burning, his throat thick with everything he couldn’t say.

Suna looked away, blinking rapidly, jaw clenching as he exhaled through his nose. Kiyoomi, silent as ever, tilted his head down, fingers digging into his arms as if bracing himself. Neither of them cried—because fuck, they didn’t cry—but god, their eyes stung, and their chests ached, and it felt like something was clawing at their throats.

Even Matsukawa, who had always been the strong one, the one who never let anything shake him, felt the weight of it all pressing down on his ribs like an unbearable pressure.

Because at the end of the day, no matter what happened, no matter the betrayals, the pain, the mess they’d all been thrown into—

Tooru was still Tooru.

Berry was still Berry.

And they were still the ride or die.

For fuck’s sake.

Hanamaki’s sobs were quiet, but they shook through all of them like an earthquake. Matsukawa didn’t let go, his grip steady, grounding, as if holding Hanamaki together meant holding all of them together.

Suna exhaled sharply, his fingers tapping restlessly against his knee. Kiyoomi rubbed a hand down his face, inhaling deep like he was trying to get rid of the lump in his throat. No one spoke, but the silence between them wasn’t empty—it was heavy, filled with the weight of everything they had been through.

Because fuck, no matter how much it hurt, no matter how deep the wound, Tooru was still Tooru. The same Tooru who had stumbled into their lives, all sharp edges and desperate smiles, begging for a place to belong. The same Tooru who had laughed with them, fought with them, raced beside them like the world didn’t matter.

Their Berry.

And yeah, maybe they were still angry. Maybe the betrayal still stung. Maybe the scars of what he had done hadn’t fully healed.

But at the end of the day, it was never a question.

They were the ride or die.

Always.