the halls of jujutsu high were quiet in a way that felt wrong. not the soft, restful silence of sleeping students or distant night air drifting through open windows, but a hollow stillness that pressed in on the ears. the kind that made every distant creak feel too loud, every shadow linger a little too long. it reminded you too much of shibuya, of the moment after the screaming stopped, when the destruction was already done and all that remained was the aftermath.

sleep had refused to come. you sat on the edge of your bed with the lamp turned low, its warm glow barely pushing back the darkness pooling in the corners of the room. the sheets were tangled around your legs, kicked aside sometime earlier when lying still became unbearable. beneath your loose clothes, pale bandages wrapped your ribs and shoulder, edges peeking through the fabric. every breath pulled tight against them, a dull ache blooming with each inhale. you tried to keep your breathing shallow, but even that sent quiet reminders through your body of everything you’d survived.

you were staring at nothing in particular when footsteps approached.

they were soft, careful, but unmistakable in the empty corridor. they slowed as they neared your door, then stopped altogether. for a moment, nothing happened. the pause stretched, thick with hesitation.

a gentle knock followed.

before you could answer, the door slid open.

yuta stood in the doorway, framed by the dim hallway light behind him. his sword case rested against his back, the strap cutting diagonally across his chest. he looked worn down in a way that went beyond simple exhaustion, dark shadows beneath his eyes, shoulders held slightly too stiff, as if he’d forgotten how to relax. he didn’t step inside right away. instead, he just looked at you, his gaze settling and staying there, lingering as though he needed to be sure you were really sitting in front of him.

his eyes slowly drifted downward, catching on the faint glimpse of bandages beneath your clothes.

“you should be resting,” he said quietly, the words carrying a fragile edge, like he was afraid to push you too hard.

there was no bite to the words. no reprimand. just concern, bare and unguarded.

he took a small step into the room, the door sliding shut behind him with a muted sound. the lamplight caught on his face now, revealing how tired he truly looked.