unlucky charms (yuji x reader)

ch. 9 ~ what remains

The sky outside is a bleak, colorless stretch of gray as we step out of the dorms, the muted light dulling everything it touches. The clouds hang low and thick, pressing down on the landscape like they're trying to smother every last hint of color and light. It matches the quiet turmoil inside me—a storm that's settled into a slow, grinding ache, like a wound too deep to heal but too old to bleed.

Each step I take feels like I'm dragging my legs through water, my body numb and sluggish. Toru's arm is slung around my waist, his touch steady and warm, but it feels like I'm leaning on a wall rather than a person. He's holding me up, both of us knowing I'd probably collapse if he let go. And somehow, that thought—how weak I've become, how much I'm relying on him—makes the bitterness in my chest spread, gnawing at me from the inside out. I don't want to need him like this, to lean on him so heavily, to feel like I'm using his strength because I don't have any of my own. I hate myself for needing him at all. And yet, I can't stop. I can't bear the thought of letting go, of facing even one step alone. The thought of walking forward under my own power feels impossible.

Gumi's hand is still threaded through mine, his grip gentle but unrelenting. I feel the warmth of his fingers wrapped around mine, the quiet reassurance that he's there, that he's not going to let go, but it's like touching something through a fogged-up window. I know he's close, yet I can't reach him. I can't feel anything but the rawness inside me, the silent scream that I'm holding back. Gumi's silence mirrors my own, and in that silence, I sense his pain, his confusion—a shared grief that neither of us know how to express.

As we reach the car, Toru's grip on the suitcase tightens, his knuckles whitening around the handle. It's a small thing, easy to overlook, but I see it. I see the way his jaw clenches, the way his eyes flicker as he glances at me, his face carved into a mask of forced calm. He's keeping it together for me, holding himself in check like he's afraid that one wrong word, one wrong look, will shatter me completely. But behind that strength, I can feel the cracks—his quiet, desperate fear that he'll lose me. That this darkness I'm carrying will pull me under, no matter how tightly he tries to hold on.

The school's black car waits for us by the curb, a stark, sleek shape against the gray. The driver nods politely, his expression neutral, as if he can't see the mess we're bringing with us. He opens the door for us, but even his presence feels like too much. Another person who's aware, who's seen the cracks I've tried to hide. Another witness to my failure.

Gumi climbs in first, his hand reluctantly slipping from mine as he scoots over to make room. Toru's hand lingers on the small of my back as I step into the car. I sink into the seat beside Gumi, and he immediately reaches for my hand again, lacing his fingers through mine like he's afraid I might drift away. Toru slides in last, closing the door with a quiet click that seems to seal us into a little world of silence and shadows.

The car starts moving, a gentle hum beneath us as we pull away from the school. None of us speak. The silence in the car is thick, almost suffocating, pressing down on me in a way that feels both comforting and unbearable. I lean my head against Toru's shoulder, closing my eyes as I listen to the steady rhythm of his breathing, the only sound breaking the stillness. His hand rests on my knee, his thumb tracing slow, soothing circles, a silent attempt to calm the storm he knows is raging inside me. But I'm not sure anything can soothe this. Not really.

I open my eyes and stare out the window, watching the world slide by in streaks of grey and black, trees and buildings blending into one another like they're part of some endless, desolate landscape. It feels like the entire world has dimmed, like every color has been drained away, leaving only this monotonous, washed-out blur. All of it feels unreal, like I'm drifting through a world that I don't belong to anymore. A world that I tried to leave, but even that . . . even that, I couldn't get right.