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    Summary

    The panic, which had been pushed to the side but not forgotten, reared its ugly head. It swept through him before he could get a handle on it and he began to beat against the dark boundary that held him. Each strike reverberated up his sore arms and he was yelling. He kicked his feat the best he could against the wall and, at one point, felt his foot go through the drywall. He glanced toward the general area he thought his foot was but no foot nor light was to be found.

    He was going to be trapped between the shadows and light forever.

    It was like a vice had closed over each lung. Breathing became a labor, each breath in painful as Fushiguro fought to inflate his lungs, and each breath released in a burst that went by too fast. The abyss had taken on a weight that was crushing him.

    If he died like this, would his upper half fall into the shadows while his lower half slid down the wall?

    Hands reappeared around this waist, though the touch was skin-to-skin. Itadori’s rough palms and heated skin was a sharp constraint to the nothingness of the shadows and Fushiguro gasped at the touch. It broke him from his doom spiral and anchored him back into the now.

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