DELIRIA - YANDERE!CHUUYA NAKAHARA

Twenty four: Tears of the Lonely.

They carry your body to the back of the car where your head's resting on Chuuya's lap, his gloved hand cooling down the heat on your traumatised cheek. He tuts when he sees you open your mouth and have a gap where a molar should be, ordering one of his subordinates to go find the tooth so they can have it re-attached. You weakly smile at him.

"I did a good job," You say, your voice ragged and weighed from exhaustion. "I made it out alive."

"Did they do anything to you?" He asks, buttoning up your dress shirt carefully, making sure he didn't graze or touch your bare skin. He doesn't want to breach sacred territories; not until he's had your vocal consent. And now was not the time to ask.

"They unbuttoned my shirt," You say. Your throat is still gurgling with blood, and you turn your head to the side to spit out a wad of spit and blood onto the car floor. A thin trail of blood drips down the corner of your split lip, to which Chuuya wipes away firmly with his gloved finger. "But that's all."

"I'm glad we got to you before...Well," Chuuya's voice trails off at the glare you're sending him. Daring him to finish the sentence, say the 'R' word. But your glare is wavering with the glossiness that overcomes your eyes, like you're sinking underwater, bubbles foaming at the corner of your lips. There was a kind of sadness in your eyes, that looked almost blind, as if sick of sight, moving Chuuya's heart. "You know."

He clears his throat and looks out the maelstrom of colours whirling outside the window, the ride back to HQ silent.

"I was so scared," You quietly admit, and that makes Chuuya's heart race. Your voice was carved from shame, a hollowness that reflects in on itself like an echo chamber. "I was afraid I would go back to the past."

He laves a hand over your hair, bloodied by the blood trickling down your temple and into your hair, acting like some sort of gel. You bury your head into his thigh, away from his prying face, and he can feel your hot tears sink and dot his pants. You've muffled your sobs by biting down on your bottom lip, shoulders shuddering at the sheer strength of holding them back.

"Cry all you want princess," He says, soothingly. His voice takes that on a tender note, plucking at your heart strings. It sounds like he himself is about to cry. He tucks a piece of your hair behind your ear. "It's okay. No one's watching."

You dissolve into your own tears as though you were a candle succumbing to its own heat. "Oh god," You say, lamenting for what could have happened, and you were choking up; everything you had done to life, everything you had ever been through, and you were choking up helplessly. You're glad you have Chuuya's lap to cry against because had you fallen to empty space, your body would have collapsed into the air and fallen forever. It is when you hit the ground that you would break into pieces.

He carefully covers your crying face with his hands as his subordinates exits the car, having arrived at HQ. He sits quietly with your sobbing hanging in the air like black satin, your tears like pearls embroidered into it. He doesn't get out of the car when his subordinates rap their knuckles against the tinted windows. He doesn't move an inch when your sobbing turns into choking, as if there was a kernal of the past lodged in your throat. He doesn't move an inch when the silence past your crying becomes heavy, leaden with salty tears and echoes of the primal past. There is a hint of embarrassment in this situation: An embarrassment that came with vulnerability. But that embarrassment stemmed from showing your true colours, the little girl that was always so afraid and alone in this cruel world.

Once your tears subside and you have it in you to sit up, Chuuya wipes the blood off your forehead. It smears across your skin, but you appreciate the gesture nonetheless.

"I'm going to the infirmary," You murmur, avoiding eye contact with him. He watches you exit the car clumsily, your movements jagged and unco-ordinated from the heaviness of your head. You almost seemed to then glide across the pavement like a ghost, as if you had given yourself up to whatever was within you to take over your body, like benign automata. The door slams in his face.