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The night is cool, the steady pitter-patter of rain against Akane’s window nearly drowning out the sound of his pencil scritching against his notebook. Textbooks of various colours litter the surface of his desk. His other hand traces the words in one of them—his language textbook, which also happened to be his worst subject—gliding just under phrases to keep his position when he pauses to copy over their meanings.
His efforts aren’t focused on any one class in particular, nor were they in preparation for some big, upcoming exam. It’s just that recently, his student council duties had been taking up most of his free time after school. When it wasn’t that, it was the Clock Keepers insisting that every single clock in their boundary should be polished to perfection, rewinding time over and over just to prove that he had no choice in the matter. And as a result, he’d been neglecting his usual small, daily study sessions for longer than he was comfortable with.
He never liked cram studying. Or rather, he didn’t see the logic behind it. Knowledge is honed through deliberate, dedicated practice, not sporadic efforts whenever the need and motivation arises. There was no point in trying to learn everything the night before the test, because you’re bound to forget most of it by the time you sit in class the next day. This method of studying was something he definitely didn’t want to turn into a habit.
The forecast predicting rain this afternoon was his one saving grace, a proper reason outside of his control for why he absolutely had to go home early, just this once—a clever lie about forgetting to bring his umbrella in spite of knowing it was going to rain, with all the recent stress he was under.
In all honesty Akane didn’t think it would work. Why would a supernatural who had manipulated him into a contract and was now hellbent on using him until his bone ached suddenly care about him getting a little wet while walking home? But surprisingly, Kako and Mirai agreed without even putting up a fight.
Mirai herself mentioned it being a reward for his “good behavior” recently, with Kako slowly nodding in agreement. Whatever that meant. He didn’t question it, he couldn’t risk them changing their minds by trying.
Maybe, he reasons, they saw it as some kind of bargaining chip for the future. A reason for them to be allowed to keep him for longer some other time, to leverage this one instance of grace against him. It would be weird, as time-controlling supernaturals who always had the ability to simply rewind time until he gave up trying to protest, but he didn’t think it would be above them.
Or, maybe they saw it as an investment they were making in his health, so that he could continue serving them without issue. He can’t clean clocks while ill after all, that was the one thing rewinding time couldn’t solve. Perhaps to them, letting him go home for one day was worth avoiding him underperforming for multiple.
Akane breathes out through his nose when he realizes he’s getting distracted. Whatever their reason, it wasn’t something he needs to be worried about right now.
He leans back in his chair, flexing his right shoulder in circles. It wasn’t sore, at least not yet, just a little stiff from sitting in the same position and repeating the same movements for too long. Akane links his hands together and cranes them over his head, stretching out his whole body.
He considers taking a break, getting up and grabbing something to drink, or just calling it quits for the night altogether. He glances at the clock that had been pushed further and further into the corner of his desk as he studied, the time half-obscured by a sticky note that he haphazardly placed on its face hours ago that he forgot to remove. He peels it back, crumpling it into a ball before dropping it into the trash can beside him.
It was already late at night when he started, and it was now inching into early morning. He knew sacrificing his sleep for a few extra hours of studying wasn’t good, for the same reason cram studying never worked—sleep is important to integrate information—but he also didn’t quite feel like he touched on everything he wanted to go over.
He looks up at the ceiling in thought, his head suddenly feeling heavier now that he wasn’t focused on his work anymore. Interlinking wooden beams stare back at him, a layer of dust peeking out from its edges. Apparently, he’d been neglecting to clean his room as well.
You’ll make yourself sick if you study too hard, why don’t you rest and come back to it in the morning? It wasn’t hard imagining Aoi’s response to his dilemma. Even though they had already shared their goodnights hours before, a smile creeps onto his face just at the thought of her.
She’s right, he reasons with himself as he rises from his seat. Pushing himself too hard now would only burn himself out. Besides, there’ll be plenty of time to study tomorrow. Going asleep now was just an investment for his future self. He nods, and is just about to start writing a list of topics he hadn’t had the chance to review when a sound catches his attention.
No, that can’t be right. Akane looks at the clock again, confirming the time; an absolutely ungodly hour for anyone to be ringing his doorbell. He touches a hand to his forehead. Maybe he was more tired than he realized. Surely he just imagined it.
But then it rings again, its distinct two tones echoing through the halls of his home, loud and unmistakable. His brows furrow as his hand lowers to message the bridge of his nose. There was no denying it, someone was at his door.
Akane is already making his way downstairs by the third ring, clicking his tongue in annoyance. All of the lights in his house were off, save for the lamp in his room, but even that was obscured from the outside with a closed curtain. He wasn’t being loud either, if anything he preferred studying in silence and did his utmost to keep his house quiet, so it wasn’t like his neighbors had any reason to be at his door this late at night. So was it someone he knew?
He slips his phone out of his pocket and taps the screen brighter, looking for a message from someone asking to be let in. His mind jumps to Aoi first. She would be the only person he’d welcome coming to his house unannounced, but the idea makes his stomach sink with worry. As much as they were both no stranger to each others’ houses, they always planned these things. Her showing up without warning would mean something was going on out of her control, and he knew what that meant for her.
It probably wasn’t Lemon. He knew better than to come by his house this late, and he also likely wasn’t the person he’d go to if he were having some kind of emergency. Was it Nene then? He’d seen her come over to Aoi’s house a few times a month, so it wasn’t strange that she also knew where he lived as well. Was something happening with the Seven Mysteries that needed his immediate attention? On his one day off?
Instead, he finds nothing, just an empty tray of notifications where he expected a message to be. He frowns, finally opting to check his doorbell camera, clicking the screen to life.
The grainy sound of rain comes through the speaker first, his eyes struggling to focus on the figure standing on the other side of his door—tall, with short hair that dipped downwards with the weight of water, expression unreadable against the darkness of night. Akane’s eyes widen with realization, his breath getting caught in his chest, as though his whole body was struggling to understand it.
Teru was the one ringing his doorbell.
…but why was he at his door? At this hour? In this weather? Did something happen? Surely something must’ve, if he’s here in the middle of the night like this in the pouring rain.
Cause he knew the president of the student council, and he knew that he hated relying on others. If he can take the blow by himself, he will. If he can do something entirely alone, he will. Even if it meant abandoning the things that no longer serve him. The one thing he wouldn’t do was involve other people in his life unless it was absolutely necessary.
Akane is in the middle of trying to make sense of all these thoughts when he sees the image of his front porch shift on the screen in front of him, taking a step back, then another and another. And suddenly trying to make sense of the situation doesn’t matter anymore. He practically races to the door, unlocking it with a hasty click and swinging it open with enough force to injure someone if they were unfortunate enough to have been standing in the way.
“President!” It comes out more desperate than he wanted it to, but his voice is nearly drowned out by the rain all the same. Akane takes a step out onto the raised concrete of his front porch, hanging onto the doorframe so that it wouldn’t close on him. He forces his tone to be more level as he speaks again. “Pres… what are you doing here?”
The blonde turns around slowly. The curl of his posture made him seem smaller than Akane knew he was, one arm warped around the other as if he was struggling to stay warm. His yukata hangs heavily off his frame, dirt and debris discolouring what should’ve been completely white fabric. His eyes, Akane notices, are darker than usual, their typical icy blue replaced with something more distant. As if, even while holding Akane’s gaze, Teru was looking through him, not at him.
He lets out a soft chuckle instead of answering his question, something that would’ve ordinarily made Akane’s eyes narrow in annoyance. But there was something different about it this time; breathy and hollow. Defeated, was perhaps a better way to describe it. Not laughing because there was any humor to be found in the situation, but because he wanted to lighten the weight of it nonetheless. It evokes something more sympathetic in Akane. Sighing, he runs a hand through his hair.
“Nevermind just- come in, you’ll get sick if you keep standing out here.” Akane doesn’t wait for Teru to respond before stepping aside and holding the door open for him. He doesn’t need to. Teru’s body, though slow and seemingly hesitant, moves in unison with his, geta clicking on the concrete below as he enters Akane’s home.
“Wait there,” Akane instructs, closing the door behind them and rising onto the hardwood floor of his home. “I don’t need you tracking water everywhere.” He turns into the bathroom, quickly grabbing a spare hand towel before returning to him.
“Dry yourself with this and wait in the living room when you’re done, first one on your left.” He thrusts the towel in his direction. “I’ll get you something to change into.” He moves quickly, and with purpose, padding up the stairs to his room with too much of it, for the situation.
Akane was always good at performing under pressure. It was an asset he leveraged as a member of the student council, the reason why he was seen as dependable by so many of the other students, and likely a key factor in the Clock Keepers’ decision to force him into being their student representative. He didn’t falter in the face of stress, he used it as a motivator to keep going.
It was, objectively, a good trait to have, he just couldn’t understand why he was feeling the same sense of urgency now; a sort of gnawing feeling deep in his chest that only began to settle when making sure Teru was okay, and the ease in making decisions that came with it.
Obviously, it was because he was the only person that could. Right now anyway, all responsibility falls on him. It wasn’t like he could just send him on his way after seeing him like that. What kind of person would that make him? And so it was only natural that he was this worried, that he dropped everything just to make sure he was okay without so much as a second thought.
So it was normal that he was feeling this way. Surely.
He opens the door to his closet and surveys its contents. Their builds were similar, both lean with broad shoulders and fairly unassuming legs, but Teru was about half a head taller than he was. Akane liked his clothes to be properly fitted to his body, which would mean anything from his normal rotation of clothes would run just a bit too tight for comfort.
Ironically, his pajamas, mismatched t-shirts and pants that were a size too big for him, might fit Teru perfectly. He isn’t sure how to feel about letting Teru wear something of his like that. He isn’t sure if how he feels about it truly matters right now. He pulls a set out from a folded pile, the shirt an off-white and the pants plain blank, and exits his room.
His eyes narrow at the darkness coming from down the hall. It seemed like, for some reason, Teru hadn’t bothered to turn on any lights downstairs. Akane tilts his head as he makes his way down the stairs. He couldn’t imagine someone like him wanting to save electricity, and he couldn’t imagine someone unlike him to feel the need to do so when it was pitch black. Regardless of how terrible he was in the kitchen, it didn’t mean he couldn’t at least locate a light switch.
He lands on the ground floor and turns into the living room, raising his free arm to click the light on. “You could at least turn the-”
Teru freezes mid-motion as the light flickers to life, his yukata hanging from the crook of his arms, one side pulled lower than the other, revealing the juban underneath. Properly lit up now, Akane realizes what he couldn’t see before: it wasn’t dirt that was staining the fabric of his clothing, it was blood; a slow stream of crimson dripping down from an open wound on his upper arm.
Teru wasn’t cold, he was hurting. Akane curses himself for not realizing it sooner.
“It’ll heal in no time.” Teru speaks first, perhaps noticing the shock on his face. His tone is casual, too casual, like it was something he’d said dozens of times before. He averts his gaze as he pulls the lowered sleeve back up and over his shoulder, but Akane can’t help but notice the blood grow thicker as he moved.
“Let me see that.” Akane hisses, closing the distance between them in an instant, discarding the clothes he’d brought onto the couch beside them. He reaches out for Teru’s forearm, clasping a hand firmly around his wrist while using the other to pull the fabric aside.
Akane reveals a gash, rough and messy around the edges, less like the smooth cut of a blade and more akin to that of a large claw. It had already begun to clot over, dark clusters of sticky blood lining the flesh’s perimeter, cracks of lighter red where too much movement had torn the wound open again, trickling down the length of his arm and staining Akane’s own fingertips.
The state of it makes him feel sick. Not just the injury, but all the debris caught within it. It wouldn’t heal like this, not well at least. His eyes narrow, and he has to fight to keep his grip on Teru’s arm from tightening.
“Come with me.” He instructs, releasing his hands. His voice is still low, spoken more like a command than a request. “We need to get that cleaned.”
“You don’t have to do anything.” Akane is already halfway out of the room when Teru responds, his voice eerily flat. “It’ll be back to normal by morning.”
He whirls around. Akane isn’t sure if he’s telling the truth, he doesn’t have enough knowledge of the other’s physical condition to determine something like that. The last time he had gotten injured was during their fight with Lord 6, but when that happened Teru was fine by the time he woke
He whirls around. Akane isn’t sure if he’s telling the truth, he doesn’t have the knowledge to determine something like that. The last time Teru had gotten injured was during their fight with Lord 6, but he was, miraculously, already fine by the time he himself woke in the school nurse’s office. But that doesn’t matter, not to him, and especially not right now.
“But you’re bleeding now.” He wants to lie, to add a little quip about not wanting his carpet stained with blood, to pretend like his concern comes from a place other than a genuine worry over Teru’s well-being. But the words get caught in his throat, and the moment passes before he can speak them.
Teru’s gaze rises to meet his, eyes widening slightly, like Akane’s insistence surprised him. He looks down at his arm, then back at him, before slowly padding over.
Akane snatches the clothes he’d brought before leading them to the bathroom, clicking on the light and setting them aside on top of the dryer. Looking at the sink, he realizes immediately that it would be too small and awkward for both of them to use at the same time, and he couldn’t trust Teru to clean his wound himself, so he moves into the wet room instead. He turns the shower on, running the water over his own arm while testing the temperature.
He catches Teru removing his yukata out of the corner of his eye, gingerly laying it over the edge of the open washing machine to dry. His juban is worse than his yukata, the white undergarment’s sleeve stained almost entirely red. It was surviving its purpose, Akane supposes, though this isn’t the way he wanted to see that be demonstrated.
His focus lingers on him until the moment Teru turns to enter with him. Akane looks away quickly, too quickly for it to be considered natural. A heat creeps up towards his ears. From the water, and the steam that’s trapped in this room, he reasons, even though what was running against his skin could be described as lukewarm at most.
“Arm.” He says, holding out his hand, and Teru places it into Akane’s grasp. “This is going to hurt, deal with it okay?”
He starts with the showerhead over his forearm, letting the other get used to the temperature before dousing the wound. The tiles below them almost immediately stain crimson, the smell of iron filling the air so thickly Akane it felt like he was drowning in it. What bothers him more than that though, is that Teru doesn’t seem to react at all to the water running over his exposed flesh.
Akane isn’t a monster. Despite what he said, he didn’t want to put Teru through more pain than was absolutely necessary. He searched for any signs of pain or discomfort from the moment he started. Subtly at first, in hopes that he could adjust the angle and pressure to make it as tolerable as possible. But throughout the several minutes spent washing out the wound, he doesn’t flinch, doesn’t wince, doesn’t even so much as change his expression in spite of the pain that Akane knew, logically, he had to be in.
It had to hurt right? Or did what he said really make him think that he wasn’t allowed to express being in pain? Surely not… right? He takes a moment to wash the bloody water out from the tiles below them. Surely not.
He hangs the shower head back on its place on the wall before beckoning Teru out of the wet room. Opening his medicine cabinet, he grabs a roll of bandages and a pair of scissors. Akane dries the skin around the wound with a towel, patting it down with gentle movements so as to not stifle the healing process. Then, he takes a length of bandage and begins wrapping it around his arm.
“That’s just a waste of bandages.” The blonde says. Akane pauses, looking up at him for a moment. Teru’s expression is still neutral, as if he’s merely stating an obvious fact. It’s strange, seeing this level of disconnect from the man that was otherwise so expressive, much to his own discontent. Or maybe that was telling enough for where this attitude was coming from—that Teru genuinely believed this small act of care was something he didn’t deserve.
It made him upset in a way he doesn’t understand. How someone could believe so wholeheartedly that others aren’t to be trusted, the way someone could attempt to go their whole life believing that they are their one true ally. The lengths someone would go to distance themselves from companionship under the idea that they don’t deserve it; that vulnerability is a trap to be escaped from, not something to be shared with another.
It isn’t that he doesn’t understand it in concept. He sympathizes with people who were taught that the world is dangerous. It isn’t their fault. He isn’t upset at them per say, but the circumstances that shaped their minds to be unable to see their own worth, he supposes, cutting the length of bandage free and pulling the ends just tight enough so that they won’t unravel.
“Take that off too,” He points to Teru’s juban. “I can’t have you getting blood on my things, plus it’s soaked. Change into that instead.” Akane gestures to the shirt and pants sitting on the dryer with the dull end of his scissors before putting them away.
“Are you hungry?” Akane asks, slipping behind Teru and towards the entrance of the bathroom.
“I haven’t eaten yet.” Teru hesitates for a moment before, replying with a roundabout answer that makes Akane sigh through his nose.
“Right. Come back to the living room when you’re done.” He exits the bathroom and makes his way towards the kitchen, placing a hand to his chin in thought. With that amount of blood lost, coupled with the fact that he likely hadn’t eaten since they were at school this afternoon, he wanted to make him something both filling and iron-rich, but easy on the stomach. Something he could make in a matter of minutes, using things he already had in his kitchen.
He places a pot onto the stove and pours some soup stock in, dicing tofu into little cubes and slicing a small handful of green onions as he waits for it to boil. Once it gets hot enough, he adds a bowl of rice he had left over to the stock before mixing, making sure to separate all of the grains from each other as it simmers. Then, he adds the ingredients he cut before, reaching up into a cupboard, fishing out a handful of seaweed, and throwing that in too. Akane taps a knuckle onto the counter. Something’s missing.
He opens his refrigerator, scanning what he has, and deciding an egg would be the perfect thing to top it off. Taking one from its carton, he cracks it directly into the mixture before immediately covering the pot with a lid, letting it cook all the way through despite being fully immersed in liquid.
Ojiya—it’s nothing fancy, but it’s food. Tofu and seaweed were both known for being good sources of iron, the rice being soaked in the soup broth helped with hydration, and the egg would be good for flavor. It’s almost like taking care of a sick person, having to think about how to get them the most nutrients in the least amount of bites. The thought mildly amuses him.
He pours the contents into a bowl before quickly washing out the inside and filling it with water again. This time, he takes out a teapot and fills the top with a handful of leaves, the sound of Teru entering the room catching his attention while he waits for the water to heat up. His gaze lingers towards the kitchen for just a little too long, but Akane’s own glare manages to discourage him from entering. Instead, Teru sits down at the table.
Seeing him wear his pajamas felt strange, like he was taking over something that was rightfully his, even though it was Akane himself that insisted on it. On the other hand, the fact that those clothes were his made it feel weirdly… personal, like they’d grown closer through that alone, even though he knew that wasn’t true. He had worn that shirt and those pants a week or two ago. They were worn through his movements, probably smelt like his detergent and…
The water nears a boil. Akane turns off the heat and pours it into the teapot. The heat in his cheeks was because he was handling boiling water. Nothing more.
He loads the ojiya, teapot, two cups, and a spoon onto a serving tray before bringing it to the table, unloading everything before setting it aside.
“Sorry if it’s not as good as Minamoto-kouhai’s.” Akane says sarcastically, swirling the contents of the teapot around before pouring a mug for both of them.
“No, thank you for the meal.” There isn’t even a bit of insincerity in Teru’s tone, and it makes Akane’s stomach twist with discomfort. Because the president he knew would take any opportunity to praise his brother’s cooking, even if it meant putting down someone else. No- especially if it meant putting him down.
“So,” Akane starts, setting down the teapot and settling into the seat across from him. “What happened?”
Teru doesn’t respond immediately, instead choosing to poke around his soup for a few moments, his gaze fixated on its contents. “I’m an exorcist, one that operates primarily at night.” He pauses, as if that sentence alone should’ve answered his question. Akane raises an eyebrow, but remains silent.
“I know it was supposed to rain today. I planned to get back home before it did but… things took longer than I hoped they would.” The blonde averts his gaze more intensely, looking away and towards the shelves that lined the opposite wall. Low locks of hair obscuring his eyes, but his lips are pulled downwards into a flight frown. As if things not going to plan was something to be ashamed of, and not a simple fact of life.
“I just happened to be in this area. You should be happy I didn’t go to Akane-san’s house instead.”
“You- You wouldn’t dare-” The words come out before he even realizes, and Akane has to clamp his mouth shut just to avoid tearing into him.
Teru looks towards him again, a sly smile replacing the frown from moments earlier, his eyes narrow in the same way they always are when he’s relishing seeing Akane get worked up over his words. He brings the bowl up to his lips, taking a sip that feels too long to not be intentional, which only adds to Akane’s frustration. When he finally lowers it, he speaks again.
“I’m sorry for disturbing your parents, coming over so late.” Teru licks his lips. At the very least, he seemed to actually be enjoying the food, and it makes Akane happier than he’d ever like to admit.
“Don’t be,” He starts, leaning back in his chair. “They aren’t here anyway. The only person you’re disturbing is me.”
Teru’s movement pauses, and he looks at him with a curious stare. Akane doesn’t indulge the silent request for a further explanation, to explain that his parents were seldom home, always preferring to spend all their time working instead. Thankfully, Teru press. “I see, that’s good then.”
Akane doesn’t see what’s so good about him being disturbed in his parents’ stead, but it was a very typical response from him nonetheless. It’s something he never understood about him, the apparent joy he seemed to get from railing him up for no reason in particular besides seeing him get upset. It wasn’t something he needed to understand about him, he reasons, reaching for his mug and taking a sip.
“Aoi,” Teru starts, swirling the contents of his bowl around with his spoon. “Do you dislike me?”
Akane nearly chokes at the sheer strangeness of the question. He puts his cup down. Opens his mouth, then closes it. At the edge of his vision, Teru’s expression sinks ever so slightly.
It’s not a question he’s ever had to consider the answer to before. Whether or not he liked Teru wasn’t simply a matter of yes or no. He liked Aoi, he disliked supernaturals. Those opinions he held were absolute, and relatively unchanging. While there were aspects of Aoi he didn’t agree with, and aspects of supernaturals that he could come to terms with, largely, his opinion was firm on both of these things.
Teru lay somewhere in a nebulous middle ground, where he couldn’t bring himself to say he liked or disliked him, cause those two labels would both be incorrect. He disliked a lot of the things he did, his behavior towards supernaturals was one he was especially a victim of, and his personality in a general sense was just one he couldn’t agree with. Honestly, it was a shame someone as pretty as him got stuck with insides like that.
But in comparison to other things he very concretely disliked… Teru didn’t fit within that group either. Not enough, to the point such a label felt too harsh. If he really, truly disliked him, Akane could just leave, or get Teru to go away. He didn’t have to be here, taking care of him in the middle of the night.
“You do a lot of things that bother me,” He admits, ruffling his own hair. “But I don’t… dislike you.”
“Do you like me then?”
“Don’t get ahead of yourself.” Akane says, short, more of a reflex and less of a statement with actual thought behind it. Teru laughs in return, the first genuine laugh he’d heard from him all evening, not merely a shallow attempt to hide his own discomfort. The sound makes his chest feel warm, but he can’t say whether or not he likes it.
“You’re done with that right?” Akane asks, pointing to the empty dish in front of Teru that he’s been scraping at. The blonde nods, and Akane gathers all of the dishes back on the tray to take them back to the kitchen.
“I can wash them.” Teru calls from behind him.
“Absolutely not.” He pauses mid-stride to reply, only to emphasize his point, before placing everything into the sink and turning on the water. Knowing Teru, he’d somehow find a way to incorporate fire into washing dishes and promptly burn his house down. He’d probably claim something about attempting to dry them quicker, even though dishes don’t need to be dried quicker.
He rises everything with warm water first, removing any debris from the food and drink, making sure to empty the tea leaves from the teapot into the little garbage bin he kept in the corner of his sink. It reminds him of only a handful of minutes earlier, rinsing out Teru’s wound with the same intent. He frowns and attempts to shake the thought from his head, only to be interrupted by a pair of arms slipping around his waist. He only barely stops himself from wrenching his elbow backwards on reflex.
“Hey.” Akane can feel the way Teru’s leaning into him, the slowness of his breath, the way his hair tickles his cheek. “Go to sleep on the couch, Pres, not on me.”
Teru obliges, but not before mumbling a series of not quite coherent complaints into the crook of his neck. Akane responds with equally shallow words, a hum here, a yes there, just long enough to keep him entertained until he takes his leave.
Akane finishes with the dishes in a matter of minutes. Wiping his hands, he turns and makes his way back into the living room.
He finds that the Teru is already sound asleep on the couch, his chest rising and falling slowly, his hair still a little wet, his mouth parted just enough to see the whites of his teeth. He’s still pretty even when he sleeps, an observation that makes a heat rise within him. Frustration, or maybe envy, he justifies, to no one in particular.
He moves to grab a throw blanket, covering the core of the blonde’s body with it before crouching down at his side. There’s something strangely intimate about it. Teru sleeping in his home, wearing his clothes after eating his food. Coming to him for help over anyone else.
He joked about how he could’ve gone to Aoi’s house instead of his, but he didn’t actually believe it. Akane knew that this version of Teru was reserved only for him.
His gaze lingers on his cheek, flushed more pink than it was usually, little strands of golden peach fuzz curled gently against the frame of his face. Out of exhaustion, most likely, his body fighting for his recovery even though he didn’t want to bother putting in the effort. He hopes he feels better tomorrow, he hopes he wasn’t lying about that.
Akane leans over, hovering close to Teru’s skin in silent deliberation. Closing his eyes, he kisses Teru on the cheek, his final act of kindness before retiring to his room, breathing the words into his hair: “Goodnight, President.”