Silence eventually falls, but still, you refuse to let go of Yuta. You can't. Your hands clutch at his shirt, crumpling the white fabric. Seconds pass. Or maybe hours. You don't know. Nothing exists, outside of your shaking, and the warmth of the boy in your arms.
You have to force yourself to keep breathing.
Somewhere in the haze of your fractured mind, it eventually registers that there are footsteps and voices swarming around you and Yuta. You lift your head and you realize that your eyes are squeezed shut so tight, your face hurts with the effort. Finally, you let yourself become aware of your surroundings, let the details sink in. One by one, you recognize the people you know and trust.
Gojo. Ieiri. Maki. Inumaki. Panda.
Safe. You're safe. Getou's gone.
And Yuta protected you, just as he said he would.
"Yu . . . Ta." Your voice is a croak, a whisper. "Yuta."
He glances at you over his shoulder, his jaw tight with concern. "[ NAME ]?"
"Thanks." The adrenaline crash carries you into an abyss and you notice then just how badly you're shaking, whether from the biting cold or fear, you don't really know. Slowly, you let go of Yuta, wincing as the blood and feeling rushes back into your protesting limbs. "I – Just now, you – Thank you."
It's amazing, really, how quickly the sound of your voice seems to lighten Yuta's eyes. Before, in Getou's presence, they had been dark and eerie and distant, almost devoid of life. But now, he's back. With you. And his voice is as soft and as gentle as it's ever been. "Are you okay?"
Your edges are fraying like a worn blanket, but you have to hold it together for just a little while longer. Everyone has enough to deal with at the moment, with the threat of a war looming. Now that the threat has been averted, the Shamans are already streaming back into the school to discuss the next course of action, Gojo among them. He suddenly looks much older than twenty-nine. He looks like a man who has seen too much of the world.
You don't think there's a right answer, or even a right path. People will die no matter what they decide on. And you and Ieiri will have to be there to pick up the pieces when that happens.
Yuta's question is echoed a beat later by Ieiri, still carefully keeping her distance. All patience, calm and deliberation. Almost as though she's approaching a wild animal caught in a trap. You've never seen her like this before, and you're puzzled. You don't bite. But then you remember the dark ferocity of Yuta's expression, and then you understand her reticence.
Ieiri's face is pale and pinched, and she looks more tired than you've ever seen her. "[ NAME ], you okay? Suguru grabbed you pretty hard, didn't he?"
"I'm fine." You wince. Not from pain, but rather, at the way Yuta's face closes and darkens. Clearly, any mention of Getou is still a taboo subject. Desperate to chase the shadows away from his expression, you point out Inumaki, Panda and Maki, waiting uncertainly by the school gates, unsure what to do. "Yuta, why don't you go ahead? I'll see you later."
It's a clear dismissal. You try to soften the rejection with a smile, but it feels weak and forced. Yuta gazes into your eyes, searching. At first, you think he'll protest, but after a moment, he nods and shuffles away. He's immediately accosted by the other second years. You suppose that they must have been worried about him – the edges and plains of Maki's face softens as Yuta talks, and the lines of worry in Inumaki's forehead smoothen out.
"What else hurts besides your wrist?" Ieiri asks. You flinch when she none too gently turns your hand over, assessing the damage with a critical eye. She makes a muffled, disapproving noise in the back of her throat. The skin of your wrist is already mottled black and blue, like the webs of a shadow. You can only pray that Yuta is still deep in conversation, that he's too preoccupied to notice the injury. "You're frowning."
