ʜᴇᴀᴠᴇɴ - ᴊᴜᴊᴜᴛꜱᴜ ᴋᴀɪꜱᴇɴ

Chapter 6

Akira's sense of restlessness was palpable as he occupied a seat just outside the infirmary's entrance. The sterile, fluorescent lights cast a subdued illumination on his form, which exuded a blend of anticipation and impatience. 

His feet created an impatient rhythm, tap-tap-tapping on the linoleum floor, as if trying to match the pace of his racing thoughts. Simultaneously, his fingers danced a staccato rhythm on his forearm, a visual representation of the unease that coursed through him.

A fleeting notion flickered across his mind – the idea of bypassing the standard protocol and entering the infirmary himself to check on Satoru. He mulled over the idea, his internal dialogue a battle between concern and curiosity. 

Yet, just as quickly as the idea arose, Akira quelled it. He recognized that the figure resting within those walls, the one named Satoru, was an altered being, a mere shadow of the vibrant individual he had known. The realization acted as a sobering reminder, extinguishing the spark of impulse that had briefly illuminated his thoughts.

The weight of circumstances seemed to envelop Akira as he let out a sigh laden with resignation. His hand moved to cradle his face, a gesture that conveyed both weariness and a hint of defeat. Leaning into his palm, he allowed himself a moment of respite from the tumultuous emotions that had been tugging at him.

The swaying of his legs became a metronome for his thoughts, a slow pendulum-like motion that mirrored his shifting contemplations. In this suspended state, time seemed to ebb and flow, the minutes stretching into moments of introspection.

Just then, he heard the door open and saw Satoru, appearing like he was about to leave.

Reflexes spurred by a mix of worry and determination propelled Akira to intercept Satoru's stride, casting himself into the path of the enigmatic figure. 

The words spilled from his lips, a mingling of concern and authority: "You can't leave until you've been examined."

In response, Satoru's head pivoted, his gaze fixing upon Akira with a chilling familiarity. The eyes that bore into Akira's soul were an unsettling echo of the vibrant orbs that once reflected camaraderie. 

However, they now housed a vacancy, an unsettling absence of sentiment. Satoru's voice, like a specter's whisper, floated forth, its cadence laced with an eerie detachment: "And who will stop me?"

A momentary pause enveloped Akira, his heartbeats racing like galloping hooves as a flicker of apprehension danced across his thoughts. 

The notion that Satoru might physically harm him was an unwelcome guest in his mind, fueled by the unsettling notion that the Satoru before him seemed devoid of sensation, as if numbed to any empathetic response.

With a wearied countenance that mirrored the emotional toll of the situation, Akira's voice emerged from his lips, a mix of weariness and determination evident in its tone: "Just... allow me, if waiting for Ieiri is too much."

The reply was succinct and resolute, a testament to Satoru's unwavering stance. "No, I'll wait for Shoko," he affirmed, his steps carrying him into the room as if guided by an invisible force. 

The act bore an air of dismissal, a tacit refusal to acknowledge Akira's presence any longer.

As the door sealed shut behind Satoru, the weight of the moment pressed upon Akira, leaving behind a residue of hurt and sadness. 

Standing there, in the wake of an interaction that seemed to embody a stark departure from their shared history, Akira grappled with a mélange of emotions. 

The pang of being brushed aside, a sensation akin to rejection, painted a bruise on the canvas of his thoughts. Sadness welled within him, an ache that seemed to echo through the space that Satoru had left behind.