What Rules Cannot Hold (A Naekusaba story)

Summer Camp III

Heaviness in his head; comfort elsewhere, and a whistling wind stealthily nipping his face. Habit, more than anything else, led him to open his eyes; the greenery awoke, too, and shuffled with its leaves in a startlingly human fashion. But they were not waking up now - they have been awake this whole time, while he and Mukuro dozed off. The cause for their exhortatory rustling became clearer: it was night - likely gone far in its course already. 

Makoto lifted his head: numb, burdensome and dizzied from the pebble-pillows that served him for the past hours; he sought to stand up, but the body was weak and unwilling. Mukuro continued to sleep, though not as peacefully as before his pathetic attempts. She had to wake up, nonetheless, and they had to go back to their lodgings, lest their absence were to be noted or had been already. If this was a one-man mission, then, perhaps, an adequate response from the headmaster would follow - lenient and aware of adolescent shenanigans; but a two-man, boy and a girl mission would be treated much differently - criminally, even.

"Mukuro," he called and she awoke instantly.

"Huh?" She looked up at him and panicked, swiftly hopping back onto her feet. The heat was searing - raging within her. Was he angry at her for doing it?

"Sorry for that," he said, looking away: expression imperceptible in the confusing darkness. "B-But I think that we really need to hurry and get back to the camp. . . I wouldn't like you to get expelled because of me, after all."

"I wasn't vigilant like I should've been," she denied his blame promptly, making a few steps forward; facing him in, what she felt was, an unfinished manner.

"Let's not. . . worry about that," he waved with his hand and smiled. "At least that train had stopped," he added, looking over at the rail tracks.

As they passed the panoramic scenery of the beach, poorly lit by the half-faced moon, they entered the tunnel, carefully treading the gravelled rail side, holding each other's hand tightly.
That part of the journey felt overwhelming; whenever Makoto focused his gaze on the road ahead, hoping to discern some distant, foggy strikes of light, his mind would tumble and forehead ache, as if struck with a hammer. So he kept himself to the gravel without consulting sight, while checking on Mukuro who, he was convinced, was capable of passing any threat independently of him - but she held onto him; pretty tightly, too: a passive affection flowing through her grip. In his blind guiding, he mulled over everything that they did, assuming where Kazuichi's opinion would stand on his every move, but, even without that strange, internal dialogue, Makoto had a suspicion about Mukuro's feelings: they might've been reciprocal; however, was he to wait for a better moment?

"Sorry for dragging you into this. . ."

"What do you mean?"

"Let's say that I didn't anticipate any. . . c-complications when taking you here. . . It was reckless, you know?"

"I. . . I don't agree. . ."

"Why?"

"I liked it. . . I liked everything, and I don't think we'll get caught. At this time, the place must be empty."