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Yuji has access to Satoru’s house on the campus—seeing as he spent a month in his basement for training.
So, it wasn’t a surprise when all of them were done with dealing with the first stages of the aftermath; after being sentenced to a campus arrest as soon as he’s healed by Ieiri; and finally, after checking in on anyone that weren’t hostile to him, he retires to his sensei’s house.
No one really stopped him, not after they found out just how close they really are and what really went on with his encounter with the imposter. His sensei lived alone with a house-keeper that came once a week (that he became acquainted with, naturally). The house-keeper found out what happened, of course. The sealing of the country’s strongest shaman would be the talk of the society for a while… maybe forever if they can’t find a way to save him.
The kind person takes one look at him and understands, leaving the house without so much as a word and Yuji doesn’t even have the energy to even thank them for it nor have the energy to worry about his impending and rushed execution. He’s just so tired and so alone.
They’re not even doing anything, won’t even let him lead Satoru’s retrieval—forcing him to stay on campus until they finally decide on what to do with him. How can they all idly go about their selfish days despite panicking about his Sensei’s sealing? They should be regrouping and brainstorming by now, but they’re not. It’s so unfair.
"So unfair…" Yuji murmurs to himself.
He’s been sitting on his sensei’s favorite chair for a while now, it’s the only thing in the house that felt and seemed used by Satoru the most. Yuji can somehow feel the soft crease of where Satoru sat the most on the cushion.
Finally feeling the exhaustion, he makes the most selfish decision he’s ever done and makes a beeline to Satoru’s bedroom. Yuji knows the older man rarely used his bedroom, but it’s still the room that should smell like him the most.
It’s the place where the house-keeper can’t enter, but the bed’s neatly made, very telling to Yuji already that Satoru didn’t even try to sleep before he ventured to Shibuya station by himself.
The overwhelming scent of his sensei would have been enough, but he pushes the urge to let go. Not yet. He can’t settle yet.
Yuji ventures further, sliding the door to his walk-in closet open. He feels his lip quiver as he strips his tattered uniform and changes to whatever shirt he could grab first, one of the white and expensive shirts he seems to love—identical to the one they accidentally ruined. Feeling a little more greedy, he grabs one of the parka Satoru uses when he’s working.
Satisfied with just that, he launches himself on the king-sized bed… that seems far more larger than usual. The thought makes him clutch the parka to himself, burying his nose in the soft fabric. The lingering scent was far too potent and so him, the only thing missing would be the older’s warm chest and arms to hold him. It smells too much like coming home with no one to welcome him home.
“Ah this is so unfair.” He chokes out. Tears he’s been holding in finally spill, tightening of his throat worsening, and the hollowness of his whole being excruciating. “Sensei...”
He’s wholly aware that he shouldn’t be losing hope. This isn’t like his grandfather’s passing, his sensei is still alive… somewhere, trapped. But the chances of him not seeing the older again before he’s gone seem higher than the others making an effort to rescue him. And it’s choking.
Each sob wracks his whole body, each mistake of that night remembered manifests another tear falling down his cheek, and each second that passes without his sensei by side eats away at his soul.
What is the point? What’s the point of caring about the remaining fingers terrorizing humanity when they’re rushing him to his death instead of going through with the plan laid out by his sensei? When they’re so dead set on refusing the protection Yuji and Satoru offers? What good would it do to him protecting the very society that doesn’t seem to want the both of them in it?
Yuji could almost feel the phantom hand on head. No, he shouldn’t remember that day, that moment. It’s too much and rather impossible now. The same fear that washed over him seeing an enraged Jogo somewhat similar to the fear he’s slowly sinking into right now.
‘Don’t worry. Just stay close.’
“How can I stay close when I couldn’t even stay by your side?”
How cruel.
“Maybe, back then, I should’ve accepted your first offer. Then, I wouldn’t have been cursed by how much I love you, sensei… I’m sorry.”