Chapter Text
“Faster, faster,” Shouyou yells, “he’ll catch us!”
He yells loud enough for Hitoka to hear as he drags her up the staircase. Probably loud enough for Filch to hear as well. Shouyou’s voice does not care much for limiting noise exposure.
Shouyou’s palm is clammy against hers, his grip tight as he zigzags her through the third floor. Rounding corner after corner, Hitoka’s head spins and whirls when they chance upon yet another staircase that Shouyou decides to climb. Her heartbeat thumps heavy in her ears and her lungs beat against her chest, heaving for all the air she’ll give them.
She stops counting steps - or the seconds that pass - and lets Shouyou guide her through a maze of narrow passageways and moving staircases that he knows like the back of his hand. Years of practice escaping the caretaker’s clutches finally put to work.
“Shouyou,” Hitoka says, trying to catch his attention.
A high archway looms before them, reaching up all the way to the floor ceiling. Hitoka’s mouth falls open; they’re on the seventh floor. Hitoka passes this archway every Tuesday morning on her way to Arithmancy. Enough is enough - Hitoka’s barely breathing.
She brakes to an abrupt stop halfway down the hallway, her feet squeaking slippery over the tiles. Shouyou whips his head back, eyebrows knit together in wonder. Hitoka’s hands press against her side where it stings. Her breathing comes in tiny squeaks and shallow breaths in and out.
“I think we’ve lost him now.”
On cue, and rubbing in the point that Hitoka is rarely right in the most dire of moments, they hear frantic footsteps stumbling over the steps from the stairs behind them.
“A hiding place!” Shouyou improvises, still not bothering with volume control.
He runs off to the other end of the hallway, disappears inside a classroom and flies back to her side. Again, he reaches for her hands. They’re clammier than before, but the warmth of them sticks to her own palms, relaxing her nerves.
“There’s a supply room in the classroom,” Shouyou says, laughter short and faltered as he guides her along the hallway, “it’ll be a tight fit but, well, you should fit.”
It is then that Hitoka notices the door handle, steps away from the classroom.
“Wait,” she says, turning towards the door and holding it open. It is a broom cupboard. A web hangs in the upper right corner and a pair of Comet 260s lie forgotten on the floor. The cupboard is small, but more spacious than any supplies room Hitoka’s seen in any classroom yet.
She glances back at Shouyou, turns her gaze on herself, then back to the cupboard and measures. Tugging on Shouyou’s hand, Hitoka grins. Shouyou meets it head on.
“We should fit!”
“That’s funny,” Shouyou hmms to himself as he follows Hitoka inside the cupboard, “I could’ve sworn there was nothing here when I passed by earlier.”