"NANAMI POV"
I saw her before she saw me.
Standing just outside the station concourse, near the crossing, waiting. Still. Untouched. Alive.
For a moment… everything inside me went quiet.
No cursed energy. No noise. No thoughts.
Just her.
The streetlights reflected faintly against the glass behind her, outlining her figure in something almost unreal, as if my mind had made her up to survive the last few hours.
I exhaled slowly and controlled.
Good. She's fine.
My hand moved automatically to my tie, straightening it. My coat followed. Sleeves aligned. Shoulders set.
By the time she turned—
I needed to look like myself again.
Not the man who had torn through curses like something feral.Not the man who had called her name into silence like it would answer back.
Just… Nanami.
The version of me she knows.
The signal turned red.
Cars slowed.
People shifted around her, moving in practiced patterns of a normal world that had no idea how close it had come to losing something I—
My chest tightened.
She turned her head slightly, like she sensed something.
And then—
Headlights.
Too fast.
A car cut through the intersection at the wrong time.
Another followed.
Metal screamed.
The sound didn't register properly.
My body moved before my mind did.
"Dia—!"
I don't remember crossing the road.
I remember impact—someone's shoulder hitting mine. The ground is rushing up too fast. My palms scraping against concrete.
I got up immediately.
Didn't feel it.
Didn't care.
Smoke.
People shouting.
Something burning.
No.
No.
No—
I ran.
A second collision—this time harder. Something slammed into my side, throwing me off balance. Pain flared, sharp and distant, like it belonged to someone else.
I kept moving.
Because the only thought left in my head was—
Not her.
Anything but her.
I can't see her like that.
I won't.
I won't—
I broke through the crowd.
And then—
She was there.
Sitting on the ground.
Hands over her ears.
Eyes wide—but alive.
Alive.
She looked up.
At me.
And in that moment, everything I had been holding together shattered.
I reached her in two steps.
I don't remember deciding to touch her.
I just did.
My hands gripped her shoulders, then pulled her into me—harder than I should have, tighter than I ever have.
She was warm.
Real.
Breathing.
My hand pressed against the back of her head, holding her there like if I let go even slightly, she would disappear.
I could feel it—my control slipping.
No.
Not slipping.
Gone.
"I—"
My voice failed.
I tightened my hold instead.
For once, I didn't correct it.
Didn't fix it.
Didn't step back.
I buried my face against her hair, breathing in like I needed proof she was still here.
"You're here…" I said, but it came out uneven. Rough. Nothing like me.
My grip didn't loosen.
It couldn't.
Because for the first time in years—
I was afraid.
Not of curses.
Not of death.
But of loss.
Real loss.
The kind that doesn't leave a body behind.
The kind that takes something out of you and never gives it back.
I pulled back just enough to look at her face.
No injuries.
No blood.
Nothing.
And still—my hands didn't let go.
"I thought—"
I stopped.
I couldn't finish it.
Because saying it out loud would make it real.
My jaw tightened.
My breathing refused to steady.
And then, quietly—too quietly for how much it meant—
"Don't do that again."
It wasn't a request.
It wasn't even logical.
It was fear—disguised badly.
My fingers curled slightly into the fabric of her clothes, like I needed to anchor her there.
Because right now—
I didn't trust the world not to take her away.
And for the first time in my life…
I didn't trust myself to let her go if it tried.
"Uhm… Nanamin?"
Yuji's voice cut through, uncertain.
I didn't respond.
Didn't even register it properly.
The world was still narrowed down to one thing—her weight in my arms, the steady rhythm of her breathing, the fact that she was here.
A hand touched my shoulder.
Light.
Careful.
Instinct took over.
My grip snapped upward—fast and precise.
I caught his jaw before he could react.
Yuji froze.
Wide eyes. Tense shoulders.
For a second… I didn't recognise him.
My hold tightened slightly.
Then—
Focus returned.
Yuji.
I released him immediately.
"Sorry," I said, my voice low
Yuji blinked a couple of times, clearly thrown off, rubbing his jaw with an awkward laugh.
"Okay… yeah. That's new."
He tried to make it light.
It didn't land.
Because I still hadn't let go of Dia.
Not even slightly.
Yuji's eyes flicked between us.
Then settled.
Concern replaced the humour.
"Nanamin…" he said again, softer this time. "Hey… it's me."
"I know," I replied too quickly.
Silence stretched for a moment.
Dia shifted slightly in my hold.
Not pulling away.
Just enough to remind me—
I was still holding her like something fragile.
Or something I might lose.
"…You're crushing me," she muttered under her breath.
Not annoyed.
I loosened my grip.
A fraction.
But didn't let go.
Yuji exhaled quietly, like he'd been holding his breath this whole time.
"Uh… so…" he scratched the back of his head, glancing at the damaged road behind us, then back at me. "We're… not gonna talk about the fact that you just—almost dislocated my face?"
"That won't happen again," I said.
Yuji nodded slowly.
"Right. Cool. That's… reassuring."
Another pause.
Then he looked at Dia.
"You okay?"
"I was fine five minutes ago," she said, glancing at me briefly, "before someone decided to have a breakdown in public."
I ignored that.
Or tried to.
Yuji didn't.
His eyebrows lifted slightly.
"…Breakdown?" he repeated.
Dia didn't answer.
Her attention shifted back to me.
And this time—
She really looked.
Not at my face. At everything else.
The dust on my coat. The blood on me, on my sleeve. The way my hand still hadn't fully released her.
Her expression changed.
Subtly.
Understanding.
"…You came running," she said quietly. It wasn't a question.
I didn't respond.
Yuji's gaze followed hers.
And then he saw it too.
Something in his expression shifted—less confusion now, more awareness.
"Oh…" he murmured under his breath.
Silence settled again.
This time it's heavier.
More real.
Yuji straightened slightly, clearing his throat.
"Okay," he said, trying to ground the moment, "so—good news: nobody died."
A beat.
"Bad news: I think we're gonna get yelled at for this."
Dia huffed faintly.
"You're going to get yelled at."
Yuji pointed at me.
"No, I'm pretty sure he is."
"I'm not part of your conversation," I said.
Finally.
My voice had returned to something closer to normal.
Controlled.
Measured.
Yuji stared at me for a second.
Then smiled—small and relieved.
"Yeah," he said. "You're back."
I didn't answer that either.
Instead—
I finally let go of Dia.
Slowly.
Reluctantly.
But my hand lingered for a second longer than necessary.
Just to be sure.
She was still there.
The noise around the station had settled into something normal again.
Cars moved.
People talked.
Life continued like nothing had almost gone wrong.
We stood slightly off to the side now, near the edge of the concourse—far enough from the crowd, but not completely removed from it.
Yuji shifted his weight from one foot to the other, hands in his pockets, glancing between us.
"…So," he started, casual, like he was trying to reset everything. "That was… kind of intense."
Dia let out a small breath. "That's one way to put it."
Yuji scratched the back of his head, smiling faintly. "I mean, I've seen worse, but—" he glanced at me briefly, then stopped mid-sentence. "—not like that."
I didn't respond.
My attention stayed forward.
But I was aware of everything.
The distance between us.
The way her hands brushed slightly against my hand when she shifted.
Yuji was looking at me. I can sense that.
He looked at me again.
Longer this time.
Not obvious.
But enough.
Something in his expression shifted—just a little.
Like he was trying to place something that didn't quite fit.
Then he smiled again.
Like always.
"Well," he said, clapping his hands lightly together, "today didn't go completely wrong, so I'll take that as a win."
Dia huffed softly. "Your standards are low."
"Survival is the standard," Yuji shot back.
That almost made her smile.
Almost.
The air settled again after that.
Quieter now.
Then Dia glanced toward the road.
"We should head back," she said, brushing her hair back over her shoulder. "It's getting late."
Yuji nodded immediately. "Yeah, makes sense."
She took a small step back.
That was when I moved.
My hand caught her wrist before she could turn fully.
She looked at me.
"…Nanami?"
I didn't answer immediately.
Didn't release her either.
Yuji's eyes flicked down to my hand.
Then back up to my face.
Something in his expression stilled.
Just for a second.
Then he blinked it away.
"Oh—uh—" he suddenly pulled out his phone, turning slightly. "Give me a second, I need to call someone."
Neither of us stopped him.
He walked a few steps away, already talking.
"Yeah, I'm outside… no, it's done… yeah, I'll head back…"
His voice faded into the background. Leaving silence behind.
Just us.
I loosened my grip slightly—but didn't let go.
"You're not going alone," I said.
Dia frowned faintly. "I've gone alone before."
"Not tonight."
There was no sharpness in my tone.
But something underneath it didn't leave room for argument.
She studied me.
"You're overreacting," she said quietly.
"Possibly."
I didn't deny it. Didn't justify it either.
A small pause.
Then—
"Come with me," I said.
Her brows pulled together slightly. "Where?"
"My place." That landed. Not heavily. But enough.
"…That's unnecessary," she replied.
"Probably."
Again—no argument.
"But you're coming anyway."
She exhaled softly, like she was trying to decide if this was worth pushing.
"You don't usually insist," she said.
"No."
A beat.
"I do now."
Yuji's voice carried faintly from a distance, still on the phone—but quieter now.
Not gone.
Just… not part of this moment.
Dia looked down briefly—at my hand still around her wrist.
Then back up at me.
"…You're serious."
"Yes."
Another pause stretched.
Then she sighed.
"…Fine," she said.
I released her wrist. But only because I knew she wasn't leaving.
Yuji walked back over a second later, slipping his phone into his pocket.
"All good?" he asked, glancing between us.
"Yes," I said.
At the same time Dia said, "We're leaving."
Yuji blinked.
Then smiled. "Cool. Great. That's—yeah. Good."
He looked at me again. Just for a moment.Something unreadable passing through his expression.
Then he nodded.
"I'll head back to the school," he said. "See you both later."
Neither of us stopped him. He turned, walking off into the crowd. And for a brief second—He glanced back. Not at both of us. At me.Then he looked away. And kept walking.
The ride to my apartment was silent.
Not the comfortable kind.
Just… quiet.
No questions. No explanations. The city moved around us—lights passing, people crossing, life continuing like nothing had shifted. Neither of us tried to fill the space.
I didn't trust myself to speak.
And she didn't force it.
By the time we reached the house, the silence had settled into something heavier.
I unlocked the door.
The moment it opened, the familiar scent greeted me—dry wood, faint sandalwood, and something clean, almost sterile.
I stepped inside first.
Paused.
Then moved slightly to the side, letting her enter.
"Come in."
My voice sounded normal.
That was intentional.
She walked past me, her steps unhurried, her eyes briefly scanning the space.
I closed the door behind us.
The soft click echoed more than it should have.
And suddenly—
The apartment felt different.
Not because anything had changed.
But because she was in it.
"Make yourself comfortable," I said, already turning away before she could answer.
I didn't wait to see where she sat.
Didn't trust myself to.
"I'll bring water."
She nodded—at least I think she did. I didn't look back to confirm.
The kitchen light flicked on with a soft click.
I exhaled.
Once.
Twice.
It didn't help.
My hands moved automatically—reaching for a glass, setting it down, filling it halfway before stopping.
The water kept running for a second longer than necessary.
I turned it off.
Silence followed.
Too loud.
My grip tightened slightly against the counter.
Then—
Without thinking—
I opened the cabinet.
The bottle was exactly where it always was.
I stared at it for a moment.
I don't drink.
Not like this.
Not unless—
I didn't finish that thought.
My fingers wrapped around the neck of the bottle.
Cool glass. Solid. Real.
I unscrewed it slowly.
The scent hit first—sharp, heavy.
Grounding.
I lifted it.
Hesitated—
Then didn't.
The first swallow burned.
Harsh. Immediate.
It dragged down my throat like fire, settling hard in my chest.
I didn't stop.
Second.
Stronger now.
Less shock, more weight.
It spread outward—into my ribs, my shoulders—loosening something that had been locked too tight.
Third.
My breathing shifted.
Not steady—but deeper.
Like my body was finally catching up to everything it had been holding back.
Fourth.
My grip on the bottle tightened.
Not because I needed more—
But because I didn't want to feel what came after.
Fifth.
Slower.
Heavier.
The burn stayed this time.
Didn't fade.
It sat there—low in my chest—mixing with something that wasn't alcohol.
Something sharper.
I lowered the bottle.
For a second, I just stood there.
Head slightly bowed.
Breathing uneven.
Not drunk.
Not even close.
But quieter.
Numb in the places that had been too loud.
"You usually take this long for water?"
Her voice cut through the room.
I turned.
She was standing at the edge of the kitchen.
Not too close.
Not distant either.
Just… there.
The light from the living room fell behind her, outlining her figure in soft contrast against the dim kitchen. Black fabric, long sleeves, simple—but it didn't matter.
My eyes paused for a second longer than they should have.
Then moved away.
"Got distracted," I said.
My voice was steady again.
Almost.
Her gaze shifted briefly—from me, to the bottle in my hand.
Then back to my face.
She didn't comment on it.
Didn't ask.
That made it worse.
I set the bottle down.
Picked up the glass instead.
Water, clear and still, the surface barely trembling despite the way my hand wasn't as steady as it should have been.
I walked toward her.
I stopped just close enough and held the glass out.
"This is what you asked for."
She took it.
Our fingers didn't touch.
She lifted it without breaking eye contact and took a small sip.
Slow.
Careful.
Like she was buying time.
The glass lowered again, still in her hand.
"You're avoiding something," she said quietly.
"I'm not."
The answer came too easily.
She didn't argue.
Didn't push.
Instead, her gaze flicked past me—back to the kitchen counter.
To the bottle.
Then to me again.
"…Bring it," she said.
I frowned slightly. "What?"
"The bottle," she clarified, lifting the glass slightly in her hand. "Don't leave it there like it's some kind of secret."
A small pause.
Then, softer—
"If you're going to drink, don't hide it."
My jaw tightened.
"I'm not hiding it."
"Then bring it.".
For a moment, I didn't move.
Then I turned.
Walked back into the kitchen.
Picked up the bottle again.
The glass was still warm from my grip.
The bottle colder.
Heavier.
…Did I make a mistake bringing her here tonight?