Chapter Text
Teru watched as glass-like shards fell away in his vision—the supernatural he had just been fighting had simply shattered.
The unnatural sight made his blood run cold. Having exorcised many supernaturals—he had the experience to know that it was never so easy. He knew with a sudden, instinctual certainty that something was wrong. Something was deeply, fundamentally wrong.
“Pres…?”
Before he could fully process the implications, his attention snapped to the person lying on the floor beside him—Akane, slumped and barely holding himself upright on his elbows, his breathing ragged as he stared at Teru with confused brown eyes.
Teru moved without thinking.
“Stand up, Aoi.” His voice was sharp, urgent. He reached down, grabbing Akane by the back of his jacket and yanking him forward with no room for argument.
Akane choked out a pained sound, a wet gasp leaving his lips. Akane sputtered as he was quite literally dragged, trying to scramble to his feet, “hey! What just hap—“
Teru cut him off before he could finish his sentence, too focused on the path ahead to entertain anything else, “We have to get you healed right away. Which means we’d better go see the Clock Keepers.”
Akane stiffened slightly at that. His dull eyes flicked up to try and meet Teru’s—to no avail as the exorcist was stubbornly trying to drag him across the old wood floors.
“Aoi, onto your feet.”
Akane was once again not given a choice and yanked to his unsteady feet with one strong tug. Although, he nearly collapsed again the moment Teru pulled him.
But hands instinctively gripped the fabric of Akane’s clothes, bracing him before he could crumple entirely. Only then did Teru register how heavy he was, how unsteady, how wrong. His breathing was uneven, coming out in labored, shallow bursts, and when Teru finally glanced down—really looked at him—he saw the deep red staining Akane’s clothes, trailing from his stomach, dripping from his lips. He hoisted Akane into a more steady position, pulling Akane’s arm around his shoulders to let his weight fall on Teru.
Teru ignored the discomfort pooling in his stomach and kept moving, half-dragging, half-guiding him forward. “Come on. We might not have much time.”
Akane huffed weakly, leaning nearly his entire weight on Teru, unable to shake the oddity of the exorcist’s reaction.
“I didn’t think you’d be so desperate to keep me alive, Pres. Especially not enough to get involved with supernaturals.”
Teru clicked his tongue, his expression unreadable. “Don’t flatter yourself. I wouldn’t let anyone die on my watch.”
It was a lie. Akane Aoi was one of the most frustrating people he had ever met—he was reckless, insufferable at times, and dangerously entangled in things he had no business being involved in. But none of that meant Teru wanted him dead. The opposite was the most true, really, Teru could feel at ease more with Akane than anyone else, since the boy already knew Teru was an exorcist it was freeing in a way to be able to be himself around him.
And yet, with every step they took, the seconds stretched thin with an urgency Teru couldn’t quite swallow.
He was uncharacteristically silent as they moved. His mind was locked on one goal—find the Clock Keepers. Get Akane healed. And potentially fix this mess before it was too late.
However, Akane was already struggling, and Teru was acutely aware that if he pushed too hard, he might just make things worse.
But the second they stepped into the next hall, Teru realized he had a problem.
The school layout was a familiar maze in his mind—he could find any room in the building without thinking. But the Clock Keepers’ boundary? That wasn’t something he had ever needed to find before. He only knew they existed, knew that time itself bent to their authority, and that was enough. Teru had just blindly begun walking—stupidly guided by panic rather than reason, he slowed to collect his thoughts.
Teru inhaled sharply through his nose, forcing himself to focus.
Akane barely reacted, his sluggish gaze shifting up toward Teru with faint confusion. “…Hah?”
“Their boundary,” Teru said, voice clipped. “Where is it?”
For a second, Akane just blinked at him, his brows drawing together like he was trying to process something absurd. Then, a hazy, amused glint flickered behind his gaze.
“…You don’t know?”
Teru’s irritation spiked. He had no patience for this. “Aoi.”
Akane exhaled weakly, his breath uneven—but despite the blood trailing from his lips, there was an infuriating smirk tugging faintly at the corner of his mouth, blood loss made him a little loopy clearly.
“…Old auditorium... big clock…”
Teru’s breath stilled.
That was on the opposite end of the campus.
Across a school filled with supernaturals—supernaturals that were steadily disappearing one by one into iridescent shards. Who was to say that fate hadn’t reached the clockkeepers too?
This was getting too risky.
Teru had been timing the severance, even if they cut straight though the courtyard—straight through the hordes of fading supernaturals, they still might not get there in time.
As he was thinking, Teru felt Akane begin to slip, his arm losing strength around Teru’s neck as his knees began to buckle.
Teru adjusted his grip instinctively as Akane swayed, barely managing to keep himself upright. The weight of him was uneven, dragging, and a cough wracked Akane for a few moments, blood spewing from his mouth with each sputter.
His fingers weakly curled into Teru’s sleeve, and when he finally managed to lift his head, there was a faint, hazy scowl on his face.
“…Pres?” His voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper. “This isn’t the way, idiot…”
Teru didn’t answer.
He couldn’t answer—not without letting something slip that he wasn’t prepared to admit.
Instead, he gripped Akane’s arm tighter and kept moving, forcing the other to stumble along with him. “Less talking, more walking, Aoi.”
Akane exhaled weakly, his breathing unsteady. He made a noise of vague protest, but whatever words he wanted to say dissolved into a hoarse sigh. Still, even in his half-conscious state, he wasn’t completely oblivious.
“…Pres,” he murmured again, blinking sluggishly up at him. “Why—”
“We’re going to the infirmary,” Teru interrupted, voice firm.
Akane blinked again, his dazed expression briefly flickering with something confused. “…Hah?”
“You’re not going to make it to the Clock Keepers,” Teru said, his tone sharper than necessary. He didn’t want to deal with questions. He didn’t want to deal with why this mattered so much. “Your body’s already losing strength. If I push you any further, you’re going to pass out, and even if I’d get there in time with your deadweight, how am I supposed to get into the clockkeepers’ boundary without your powers?”
Akane blinked sluggishly at that, processing the words through the haze of blood loss.
“…That’s… a fair point…” he muttered.
Teru huffed through his nose, feigning an insufferable smirk. “Glad you agree.” He said, as if Akane had a choice in the matter—he didn’t. Teru wasn’t giving him any choice over if he lived or died.
It was harder to walk now—Akane’s steps were sluggish, barely coordinated, and Teru had to keep pulling him forward to stop him from slumping. Every few seconds, Akane’s balance wavered dangerously, and Teru would have to tighten his hold, worry masked by irritation crackling in his chest.
Even near-unconscious, Akane was difficult and Teru was unwaveringly weak to him in his state.
Still, the nurse’s office was closer. If Teru could just get him there—if he could keep him awake long enough—then at the very least, he could keep him from bleeding out entirely.
Minutes stretched too long, but finally Teru shoved open the nurse’s office door with his shoulder, hauling Akane inside. The room was dark, empty, and the faint scent of antiseptic lingered in the air.
The moment they crossed the threshold, Akane’s legs buckled again, and Teru barely managed to maneuver him onto the nearest cot before he collapsed entirely.
The second Akane hit the mattress, he let out a sharp, pained breath, his head lolling slightly to the side.
Teru was on him instantly.
His hands moved automatically—pressing against Akane’s stomach, assessing the wound, calculating how much time he had left before blood loss took full effect.
Too much. He had lost way too much, especially now that his supernatural strength was dwindling.
Teru exhaled through his nose, intense fear crackling beneath his skin. Just stay awake, don’t close your eyes, it’s not your time.
“Aoi,” he said sharply, tapping the side of Akane’s face. “Stay awake.”
Akane barely reacted, his face a grimace already, eyes dull with pain.
Teru clicked his tongue and turned, yanking open the nearest medical supply cabinet. He scanned the contents with precise efficiency—gauze, antiseptics, bandages—not enough, but better than nothing. His fingers curled around a roll of gauze as he turned back to Akane.
The other was watching him now, his gaze hazy, unfocused—but not entirely unaware.
Teru frowned.
He didn’t waste time. Without warning, he pressed the gauze firmly against Akane’s stomach, applying steady pressure to the wound.
Akane hissed in response, however too weak and sensible enough to not protest.
“Hold this,” Teru ordered, guiding Akane’s hand to press against the bandages himself.
Akane groaned in animosity, his voice hoarse. “Feels awful.”
Teru let out a dry huff, high-strung and too preoccupied with keeping Akane’s heart beating to react to Akane’s complaints as he normally would. “Yeah? That’s called ‘staying alive,’ Aoi. Do try to cooperate.”
Akane’s fingers twitched against the gauze but didn’t move away. It was barely a response, but it was enough for now.
“I don’t know why you bother,” he croaked, eyes not meeting Teru’s but instead gazing off into some other space only Akane’s hazy mind could see.
Teru’s fingers stilled—just for a second as he tried to not dwell too much on what Akane was trying to imply. That at this moment he’d rather Teru let him die than save him—no doubt driven by grief over Aoi.
Jaw tightening, Teru pulled away, his movements quick but methodical as he reached for the disinfectant. He soaked another layer of gauze with it before pressing it down over the first, not missing the way Akane winced to show he was still there.
His hands moved with practiced efficiency—not because he had ever trained for this, but because he had needed to learn.
Since his mother’s death, there was no one else to patch him up when he came home injured from exorcist work. No one else to tend to the wounds he collected in battle, the cuts and bruises that littered his body after fights that no one outside of the Minamoto clan even knew he was fighting.
Instead he learned how to wrap his own wounds one-handed, how to stitch up cuts when they were too deep to leave alone, how to keep pressure on a bleeding injury even when his hands were trembling with exhaustion.
It was just another responsibility. Another thing that no one else would do, so he had to.
And now—his hands worked just as efficiently over Akane’s wounds as they did over his own.
Another gauze layer. Another firm wrap of bandages, tight enough to slow the bleeding but not enough to cut off circulation.
Akane flinched. “Ow—! That’s too tight, asshole—“
“Don’t be so dramatic, Aoi, I’m almost finished.” Teru muttered, silencing him as he adjusted the pressure slightly even so. He was trying to keep the worry out of his voice despite the tremor that hung on every word.
Akane scoffed bleakly, eyes barely open as he scanned Teru’s face, which gave way to much more emotion than his voice would, “Minamoto, I’m literally—” His voice faltered as another cough wracked his body, blood speckling his lips. He swallowed thickly, his eyelids fluttering. “…dying.”
Teru’s fingers paused for half a second.
Then, with deliberate focus, he resumed wrapping the bandages.
“You’re not dying,” he reinforced the statement in a steady voice, as if trying to convince Akane not to give up.
Akane made a vague noise—something unreadable. He blinked slowly, gaze slipping half-lidded, “You say that as if I should be relieved…” he croaked in a rasping tone.
Teru’s hands stilled again.
The room felt colder.
“…Aoi.” His voice was quiet, too even.
Akane barely reacted. “What?”
Teru pulled the bandage tighter—just a bit too firm, pressing just hard enough against the wound to keep him here.
“You’re not dying,” Teru repeated, finishing the wrap with a firm knot. He met Akane’s dull stare with unwavering certainty. “So just—keep breathing. Don’t make me repeat myself.”
Akane blinked at him sluggishly, something almost thoughtful behind his exhaustion.
Then—
“…cocky bastard,” he muttered. Not teasing. Just stating it, as if it were a simple fact.
Teru exhaled slowly, ignoring the way his fingers were still pressing too firmly against the gauze. “That’s President to you, Aoi.”
Akane huffed something that could have been a laugh, but it was too quiet to tell.
As Teru began to finish up, cleaning up the mess of blood and used gauze, he would periodically check on Akane again, not leaving his side for long. He noticed with a pang that Akane wasn’t quite looking at Teru anymore—not at anything in particular. His eyes were half-lidded, distant, as though he were staring at something far beyond the small, dimly lit nurse’s office.
Teru didn’t like that look.
He didn’t like the eerie stillness of it, the way Akane’s body had stopped trembling despite how much blood he’d lost. It wasn’t relief, and it sure as hell wasn’t comfort. It was the kind of quiet that only came with slipping too far into exhaustion, into the cold pull of unconsciousness.
Teru reached out before he could think better of it, tapping the side of Akane’s face with more force than before. “Hey—Aoi.”
Akane barely reacted. His eyes flickered toward Teru, but they were sluggish, unfocused.
Not good.
Teru clicked his tongue, pressing his fingers against Akane’s wrist to check his pulse. It was still there—weak, unsteady, but there.
“You’re getting awfully quiet,” Teru muttered to fill the silence and keep Akane awake, still holding onto his wrist like a lifeline. “That’s not like you.”
Akane hummed vaguely, but it was barely a sound at all.
“Stay awake,” Teru ordered, panic making him switch tactics to try and force the delirious boy to listen to him. “Don’t close your eyes.”
A slow blink. Another sluggish exhale.
Teru’s heart sank.
His mind raced, searching for something, anything to pull Akane back—something to keep him here for just a little longer. He wasn’t good at this part. Keeping someone alive, yes, he could swing the physical aspects of that—but talking, comforting—
Teru was not the type of person Akane should have relied on for that, he was good at telling things as they were, giving fake, charming advice to make normal students swoon or give his siblings reassurance…
But right now, there was no one else.
So, against his better judgment, he spoke.
“…What would Akane-san think?” The words slipped out before he could second-guess them.
Akane’s breath hitched—so subtly that if Teru hadn’t been watching for it, he might’ve missed it entirely.
His unfocused gaze flickered, but he didn’t say anything.
Teru exhaled through his nose, fingers still resting against Akane’s pulse point. “You think she’d want you to give up?”
Akane made a faint sound—something bitter, something like a scoff, but the pain behind it was too heavy to be casual.
“She’d want me to be with her.” His voice was barely a whisper.
Teru’s grip unconsciously tightened.
“And what about here?” he shot back. “You think she’d want you to just leave everything behind?” Something in his tone had shifted—more personal feelings held in every word—feelings that were dangerous if Teru let them slip too far.
It stirred something in Akane however, as he blinked once more, slowly inhaling as he spoke,
“…She wouldn’t have wanted to leave me behind either,” Akane murmured.
Teru had nothing to say to that, his heart already a dead weight as he thought of Aoi, left in the far shore despite Teru having given them both a false sense of hope.
A heavy silence stretched between them, tense and suffocating.
Akane’s breathing was slowing again, and this time, Teru knew he couldn’t stop it. He could keep him stable, could make sure he didn’t bleed out—but consciousness was slipping, fading from Akane’s grasp as his body forced itself into rest.
“…m' Tired,” Akane finally muttered.
Teru’s jaw tightened. He exhaled sharply through his nose, shoulders going limp.
“…I know,” he admitted. His voice had softened to a much gentler, sympathetic tone.
Teru sat there for a long moment, watching as Akane’s breathing slowly evened out, his chest rising and falling in shallow but steady motions.
For now.
Teru let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. His shoulders sagged even more—just for a second—before he forced himself upright again.
He couldn’t relax yet.
The bleeding had slowed, but it hadn’t stopped completely. His pulse was weak, but stable. And the severance was still happening. The supernatural presence in the school was fading fast, and there was still no telling what would happen to Akane when his supernatural contract was fully severed.
Despite this, Teru still knew the worst seemed to be over, and yet he stayed.
His hands had stopped moving, but he still felt them pressed against Akane’s skin, ghosting over the bandages. His fingers twitched slightly, but he forced them still, curling them into loose fists against his thighs.
He should have left by now.
He wasn’t needed here. The first aid was done. The bleeding was controlled. He had no more use in this room, beside this cot, beside him.
And yet—
Teru exhaled slowly, pressing his knuckles to his temple.
He could admit to himself that he didn’t like seeing Akane like this. Weak, unconscious, bloodied—it wasn’t right. It wasn’t him. Akane was stubborn at times, insufferable too when he was around Aoi, and worst of all a supernatural cockroach.
He was frustrating. He was reckless. He was a liability.
Teru should have hated him.
It would’ve been easier.
If he could reduce Akane Aoi to just another foolish supernatural-affiliated idiot, if he could write him off as nothing more than an obstacle, an annoyance—then this? This sick feeling twisting in his chest wouldn’t exist.
But Teru had never hated him.
Not even close.
A bitter breath left his lips.
He had always known it. That deep, unspoken thing coiled in his stomach, the thing he refused to name, the thing he couldn’t name because it was meaningless, pointless—
He cared.
For him.
Much more than just what could be expected of classmates, or colleagues, or even friends, which, if not for circumstance, Teru was sure they would have the closeness of none. No—it wasn’t like that at all.
Teru loved him.
The thought alone made his jaw tighten. Because it wasn’t just the helplessness of Akane bleeding out in his arms that rattled something inside him. It wasn’t just the sight of him stumbling through the halls, wavering between life and death.
But—this had started long before tonight.
Teru had known, in some capacity, for a while now. He had always been careful with the feeling, always kept it at arm’s length, but it had never really gone away. It lingered, refused to be ignored, settled under his skin like a persistent ache.
And it was stupid.
Because Akane only had room in his heart for one person, and it wasn’t him.
Teru had watched it unfold over the years—watched how Akane followed Akane-san with the kind of devotion that was too much, too consuming, too desperate.
He had always thought it was pathetic.
Not because Akane loved someone he couldn’t have—Teru had no right to judge anyone for that especially as he was now.
But because Akane was reckless with it. He threw himself into the supernatural world for Akane-san without hesitation, without a second thought for the consequences. And Teru hated that.
He hated watching it. Hated seeing that blind devotion, hated seeing Akane risk himself for a person he could never save.
And maybe, if he were a crueler person, he would’ve resented her for it.
But that wasn’t the problem.
Because the truth was—if Teru had been in Akane’s position, if it were his person, his feelings—
Would he have done anything differently?
He inhaled slowly, pressing his knuckles harder against his temple.
It didn’t matter. It wasn’t something he could dwell on.
Because even if he could act on something like this—he wouldn’t.
There was no place for it.
Not in the Minamoto clan. Not as an exorcist.
Not when the weight of his family’s expectations had rested on his shoulders for as long as he could remember.
Teru didn’t care about appearances—he had no patience for that kind of superficiality. He hated his own reputation, hated the way people looked at him, expected things from him, admired him for things they didn’t understand.
But his siblings mattered.
And as long as they depended on him, as long as he was the one holding everything together—then he had to be that person. The perfect son. The perfect exorcist.
And that person had no room for stupid, unspoken things.
Things like this.
Teru dragged a hand down his face, letting out a quiet breath.
It didn’t matter.
Akane would wake up soon.
And when he did, things would go back to normal.
They had to.
Teru leaned back slightly in his chair, eyes flickering to the gauze-wrapped wound on Akane’s stomach. His hand twitched, as if on instinct—like some part of him still needed to fix something.
But he ignored it.
Instead, he exhaled slowly, crossed his arms over his chest, and stayed exactly where he was.
Just for now to make sure Akane didn’t slip while he was unconscious and then once the severance was over, he could drop Akane off at a hospital and let the real doctors deal with him.
That was all.