it may as well be you

"I'm pregnant."

That's what she'd told him, and it had been nothing but agonizing quiet since.

He must've had a million questions — or maybe he didn't. He might have been completely unphased, and she wouldn't even have been surprised.

Ever since Day One, he'd been distant. Even when he'd gradually let her in — given into his hunger, touched her as if she was his heaven — he was still worlds away.

She'd been waiting anxiously for his response, but after a while, she realized he was expecting her to keep on talking.

"I'm getting an abortion," she announced, willing herself not to search his face for any sign that he cared.

A beat passed, her words hanging heavily between them. The silence felt so long that when he did talk she jumped a little.

"When . . . will you . . ." He seemed to be choosing his words carefully. If she didn't know any better, she'd say he was trying to be considerate. "When will you . . . get it?"

"The abortion?"

He nodded once, his eyes never leaving hers.

"I have an appointment tomorrow morning."

"Will there be someone with you?"

"What?"

"I'm asking if you've arranged for someone to take care of you afterward."

"No," She said it like it was the most natural thing in the world and, for once, he was the irrational one for asking.

"What about your friends?"

"I can't disclose any information regarding my job to my friends and that includes the relationship I have with you."

The word 'relationship' pierced them, like a javelin through their bodies; neither of them knew why, though one was more puzzled than the other.

"And your coworkers?" he suggested after another beat, but he already knew she'd never dream of asking them.

She'd never dream of asking anybody.

As if she read his mind, she inhaled sharply and willed herself to stand tall: the silhouette of a perfect soldier. "I'll be fine, Sensei. It's really early, so I wouldn't have to undergo a major procedure or anything. I'll just arrive, they'll give me a pill, and I'll be on my way."

"I'll go with you,"

"Er, what?"

"I'll go with you," he repeated, very serious.

"You . . . You can't leave this Manor without an agent attending you,"

"I won't," Ayatsuji stated matter-of-factly. "You'll be with me."

And I'll be with you.

Tsujimura frowned, certain that they'd never manage to get away with something as reckless as what they were discussing. It wasn't possible. Not with the Special Abilities Division monitoring her monitoring him.

"I asked for the day off, so a different agent would be with you for that day. I'm off-duty."

"Cancel the substitute," Ayatsuji decided. "Treat tomorrow like a job."

"Why?"

"So I can accompany you."

She stared at him, utterly confused as to why he was so insistent on this. She hadn't even really planned on telling him about it, but it felt wrong not to let him at least know. She'd come this morning still unsure as to if she should confess, but upon entering his office he'd immediately deduced something was on her mind and had told her to say it, and the news just came out of her mouth like vomit.

I'm carrying your baby. I'm going to get rid of it.

Tsujimura would never admit it, but a part of her had wanted to tell him. Since the moment she found out in that cramped bathroom stall at the Division's main headquarters.

She wanted him to know so he could tell her what she should do. Not what to do. It was a no-brainer to get an abortion: It didn't take being a genius to figure out Tsujimura abandoning everything with the Division (which she would have to do, given the extreme secrecy of her profession) to become a mother would be one of the worst ideas to even conceptualize, let alone actually make happen.

No. She'd wanted him to tell her she was making the right choice, even though just about anybody would have said it was.

But he'd asked her. Quietly. And she'd told him and he fully accepted it. He didn't get mad or start an argument. Didn't get upset or raise his voice. Didn't lay any claim to the clump of cells currently metastasizing within her body like an unwanted virus. He didn't even say the word 'abortion.' He'd let her say it, like it was her right to call it what it was.

And now he wanted to be there for it. For her.

As if this thing they'd accidentally made together was theirs. Something that connected them together, like a memory or wedding vows.

A voice in her head told her he was acting like her boyfriend, as if just being the father of this accident entitled him to act this way. And, sure, maybe before she might have considered seeing him as that to her. They had been having sex regularly and she'd slept over in his bed more than once. She cooked him meals and drove him around everywhere. He'd gotten to know her — her goals, how she liked her coffee, the spy movies she loved, and she'd even told him about her mother. They'd gotten used to one another, as was always intended when he'd been assigned to her almost a year ago (with some unexpected complications, of course. This being the biggest one).

But, despite all that, Tsujimura never really thought of them as a couple. She never thought too long about it to give what they had an actual name.

He wasn't her boyfriend. And she wasn't anything but his overseer.

Yet here he was — here they were — in this situation.

"I'll tell Sakaguchi-san I changed my mind and that I'll come in for work like normal," Tsujimura said, unsure, her voice sounding like it was miles away. Then, like a reflex, she added, "You don't have to come with me, Sensei."

"Yes I do,"

So that was that.

They never spoke of it for the rest of the day. No one would even think something had happened — something big, something unbearably intimate — between the two of them.

They weren't scheduled to investigate a site nor pursue any high-priority leads that day, and Ayatsuji wasn't supposed to be anywhere else other than his Manor, so that was where they stayed. He spent the day looking over documents and case files at his desk, languidly smoking his pipe, only ever acknowledging Tsujimura's presence to say a curt "Thank you" when she placed his coffee or food on his side table. She didn't say anything back. The purring of his two cats and his ash-filled exhales were the only noises that filled the room for hours.

It was a perfectly unextraordinary day.

Only, after Tsujimura was getting ready to leave in the evening, he was standing at his office doors, blocking the exit. She didn't get to ask him if he needed something else from her before she left, because that was when he handed her a full written report of the work he'd done today, neatly organized and as pristine as a document for the Division archives should be. Sakaguchi-san might've even cried.

She hadn't realized she'd forgotten to nag him about writing the report until now, but it turned out she didn't have to. For once, he'd written it without any fuss.

Slightly impressed, she nodded once to him in thanks and took the file, turning again to leave, but his voice stopped her one more time:

"See you tomorrow, Tsujimura-kun,"

She paused, not looking back at him. After another minute, she opened the doors and made her way out, her footsteps already distant during the seconds he watched her disappear.

//

Tsujimura drove to the Manor, as usual, early the next morning. Ayatsuji was waiting for her at the agency's foyer. He was dressed as he usually was, but he didn't have his pipe or doll with him. Even though they'd agreed to do this ahead of time, she had presumed she would have had to make him breakfast or something else when she arrived, but when she saw him it was clear he was ready to go. She wanted to ask him if he'd eaten, but he greeted her with a short nod and then wordlessly walked past her towards the main doors.

She had made up a lie in advance about how Ayatsuji had a personal and even more private errand that morning. Miraculously, no one had questioned it.

The two of them passed by the litany of indifferent snipers that surrounded the estate grounds. Tsujimura always found it difficult to not look at them, but Ayatsuji barely gave them a second glance, as if they didn't possess bullets specifically made to blow out his skull.

He walked up to her car and let himself in the passenger seat. He was quiet the entire ride to the clinic, simply gazing out the window and not saying a word.

When Tsujimura found a place to park in the lot, she shut off the car and sat back on her seat, a little dazed. Maybe even scared.

She didn't get much time to ponder over it because that was when Ayatsuji got out of her car and slammed the door rather loudly. Feeling embarrassed, she got out as well and they both walked in terrible silence towards the white building that had all the windows blinded, save for the one above the doorway that showed the lobby interior. The air of seclusion was most likely for the patients' safety and discretion, but to Tsujimura it felt like she was walking straight into a prison. Like a mountain, the building loomed above her, and her stomach coiled with dread.

The doors slid open, revealing a cluttered yet professional-looking reception area where three people sat behind a long wooden desk that had a transparent glass casing. Before she could inform them about her appointment, a woman in pink ducky scrubs walked up to the two of them with a small smile; it wasn't forced or horrifically exaggerated, much to Tsujimura's relief.

"Hello. Are you ————?"

She nodded, catching Ayatsuji's eye. She'd used a different name, more for her own pride than not.

She didn't want this to be on her record.

The nurse darted into a nearby hallway and came back pushing a squeaky wheelchair. Tsujimura's face heated up.

"I can walk on my own," she said pitifully.

The nurse smiled again. "Of course, it's just protocol for our patients to be wheeled into consultation and operation rooms for appointments,"

"I'm not having an operation, I'm —"

She felt his hand close around hers, a whisper of a reassuring squeeze barely there and making her. turn to Ayatsuji. He said nothing, but his eyes told her enough.

Inhaling sharply, Tsujimura nodded and let the nurse place gently her in the wheelchair.

She was still holding Ayatsuji's hand as the nurse gestured to him and said, "Are you her life partner? Boyfriend?"

Tsujimura hastily snatched her hand back and was about to correct her, but he cut in with a simple, "No."

Not missing a beat, the nurse asked, "I see. Will you be the caretaker for ———— after her appointment today?"

"Yes," Ayatsuji said, giving a polite nod.

"Excellent," Turning to Tsujimura, she asked, "Would you like him to be with you during your procedure?"

Her answer was swift. "No,"

The nurse, once again perfectly composed, said, "Alright. I will take you to the doctor now," She grasped the wheelchair's handles but didn't start pushing until Tsujimura looked at her in confusion. With an unreadable face, the woman met her eyes and chose to acknowledge Ayatsuji one more time. "You can wait here outside. If she changes her mind and wants you in there with her, we'll let you know,"

"I won't change my mind," muttered Tsujimura under her breath.

"I promise we'll take care of her,"

"Thank you," Ayatsuji nodded at the nurse, his gaze lingering on Tsujimura for a moment before she pushed the wheelchair into one of the skinny hallways, navigating it dexterously as it waned and twisted amidst the clinic's labyrinthian pathways before finally arriving at a cream-colored door. They put Tsujimura in itchy scrubs and told her to sit atop a padded cot. Relax. Deep breath.

The doctor was kind, but she retained none of his words or reassurances. She answered his questions mechanically, said no when he asked her if she had any inquiries or concerns, and waited patiently when he left his office to fetch the abortion pill.

In the three minutes she was left to herself, Tsujimura had looked around the room, which had been bedecked with posters advocating for pro-choice and uncensored sex education. Diagrams and heavily labeled pictures of the female reproductive system, fetus development during pregnancy, and generalized anatomy looked down over her like gods. They asked her the same things the doctor had asked, like, Are You Ready to Be a Parent? Can You Financially Support a Child? Are You Sure You're Making the Right Decision?

Very encouraging.

Next to the oak desk, she saw a shelf rack overflowing with pink and green pamphlets. They showed off images of women of all ages, happily round and looking down at their glossy bellies. The manuals ranged from displaying recommended pelvic exercises to do in one's third trimester to basic information regarding geriatric pregnancies. Others showed the same women with a reassuredly devoted partner, or all by themselves holding a cheerful little bundle in their arms, looking at it adoringly with pride and sensible tears.

Did her mother look at her like that?

Had there been any joy in her being brought into the world?

The doctor came back, pulling her out of her thoughts. He held a clipboard in one hand and a single yellow-orange pill in pharmaceutical packaging in the other, its shiny face gleaming under the linoleum lights like jellyfish.

He offered her a cup of water. She gulped the capsule down almost immediately.

He talked to her about what to expect within the next few hours, as well as potential side effects and which medications to take if she was experiencing too much pain. He must've noticed that she was a little out of it because he abruptly cut himself off in the middle of his explaining to add in, "Of course, we've told all of this information to your . . . friend outside, since the nurse told me he was your caretaker."

She nodded, thinking that whatever they'd told Ayatsuji must've bored him and his highly intelligent mind that was deliberately founded in inhuman logic and objectivity.

The nurse gave her her bundle of clothes that she'd taken off for the appointment.

She accepted them calmly, but, if she could tell the truth, she felt like a ticking bomb. Like her body was decaying from the inside out and it was only a matter of time before something imploded or gracelessly fell out. She knew nothing of the sort would happen, but nevertheless, there was this hungry void growing within her now where something else used to be alive.

They wheeled her back to the reception area. She was surprised to see Ayatsuji still there. Upon seeing her, he'd gotten out of his chair and walked up to her and the nurse. His eyes retained their usual mysterious coldness, but he held out his hand to help Tsujimura out of the wheelchair, which she took with faint gratitude.

After signing a few forms and being given a quick recap of what they would be in for later from the nurse, they left the clinic and made their way back to the parking lot.

When Tsujimura reached into her pocket for her keys, they weren't there. She heard metallic jangling behind her and whipped her head to where Ayatsuji was standing. Her keys were in his hands.

"I'm driving," he declared.

She didn't even know he had a license.

It was a fifteen-minute drive back to the Manor. He was a surprisingly good driver, but the trip made her feel sick nonetheless.

It was starting.

For a moment, Ayatsuji thought about bringing her back to her own apartment, where she'd be most comfortable, but she was technically still on duty from when she checked into work this morning.

It had been his idea to go with her — it was his fault she was even in this situation to begin with — so it was therefore his responsibility to help her get through everything that was about to happen, as much as he was able.

When the Manor gates opened up to allow them in, Ayatsuji made sure to park the car in the dark, hidden away from the snipers' range of vision. The tracker in the vehicle signaled to the other Division agents that they'd come back from their outing. Swiftly, before anyone could notice he was behind the steering wheel, Ayatsuji jumped out and opened the passenger side door, holding out his hand to her.

She took it.

They both knew she would have to go first and act as if she was the one leading him back inside.

They'd barely made it past the main door and foyer before Tsujimura felt a severe cramp seize her entire body, making her double over and stumble. She would've fallen flat if Ayatsuji hadn't caught and steadied her.

"You need to lie down."

"I'm fine, I'm still on duty —"

"Tsujimura-kun. Nobody in the world would ask you to focus on your job right now."

"But you said to treat today like it was any other day,"

"Yes, so I could come with you to your appointment." Ayatsuji's hard eyes shut for a moment. Then, gently, he brushed a stray strand of hair away from her forehead, tucking it behind her ear like an evergreen ornament. "Now it's over, and you must rest."

With startling strength, he scooped her up and carried her down the hallway past his office into a dimly-lit room. A four-poster bed sat in the middle, the rays of sunlight streaming in from the finely cut glass windows mostly obscured by the curtains that hid the outside world from view.

She knew this was his room. She'd been there before, of course, but it was like remembering a building you walked by on your way to work. Or a statue: Its existence was known, but it never occupied more than a tiny corner in the back of her mind. Ayatsuji was a very private person. Even when he'd been fucking her in here she'd never really gotten the chance to look it over.

It was the same now. Tsujimura barely registered anything else before Ayatsuji set her down on the bed, her cramping body sinking onto checkered sheets.

Her eyes were shut but she could feel his looking at her. She was about to ask him if something was wrong, but he said, "Those clothes can't be comfortable."

Her clothes? "I'm just wearing —"

"What you usually wear for work, I know," Ayatsuji filled in. She then heard him move across the room, along with the sound of a drawer opening. She vaguely remembered seeing a dresser when she'd been in this room, but its presence had hardly reentered her mind before he walked back to where she was on the bed.

"Here,"

Before he could protest, she forced herself to sit up against the headboard so she could properly see him. Going by his scowl, it was obvious he wanted her to lie down again, but her eyes had drifted to the bundle of clothes in his hands: An oversized cotton sweater and pajama pants.

"Um,"

"You're only experiencing the early stages of the pill's effects. It's about to get much worse, so you should have a change of clothes." She gawked at him, but he wasn't meeting her eye. "I'll leave you here to get undressed. There's a bathroom over there, as you know," He gestured to a door on the other side of the dresser. She'd never walked through it before.

He handed her the clothes and she took them, almost mechanically, but she was far from being obedient. "Sensei, I can't get changed — I have to watch you —"

"I'll just be outside,"

"No," she said firmly, sitting up more and bunching the clothes in her hands. The sudden movement made her dizzy, which made Ayatsuji hurry back to her side.

"Tsujimura-kun,"

"No," she repeated, but she didn't sound as sure as she did a few seconds ago.

A beat passed before he slumped his shoulders and sighed. Without another word, he picked her up again from the bed and brought her to the adjoining bathroom, setting her down on the covered toilet seat and giving her hands a stiff yet well-intentioned squeeze before turning to leave.

She grabbed his shirt, suddenly scared but had no idea why.

Ayatsuji looked at her, the shock on his face almost comical, but it only lasted a moment before he gently took her hand off him and laid it back down on her lap atop the clothes.

"I'll just be outside," he repeated.

She was intransigent. "You can't leave my sight,"

"I won't,"

"Then stay here,"

"I'll just be outside,"

". . . Leave the door open,"

He frowned.

"It's not like you haven't seen me naked before," she sighed, a hand unconsciously fluttering to touch her lower abdomen. "I'd prefer you don't look at me though,"

Knowing it was futile to argue with her, he nodded once and stepped outside the bathroom, the door still open, and listened to the sounds of her standing up from the toilet seat and sluggishly undressing, the rustle of his sweater almost breathless when it touched her skin.

Then he heard her gagging.

She'd lifted up the toilet seat and started vomiting, the plash of her puke on the water sickly reverberating out the door, only to be replaced with more violent heaves that seemed to last forever.

When she eventually went quiet he knew it was because she was exhausted, not unconscious, but he went back into the bathroom anyway, worried and very, very aware of how little help he was being right now.

She was hunched over the toilet, eyes closed and panting heavily. The clips in her hair had fallen out while she'd been vomiting, half the bobby pins having clattered onto the tiled floor below and the other half falling unceremoniously into the toilet.

When she opened her eyes and noticed him staring, she instinctively wiped her mouth and looked down at his sweater in shame. After making sure she hadn't gotten any puke on it, she sighed in relief before throwing herself back over the bowl and vomiting again.

It was undeniably disgusting, but the part of her that might've given a shit about him witnessing her like this had been gradually subdued since that morning. She didn't care if he was revolted and would never want to speak to her again after this. There was only pain, — pain he'd put into her, she bitterly reminded herself, — and it had nowhere to go but out.

It went on for about another two minutes until she realized she was gagging on dry air and that it had stopped. For now.

Tilting back her head, she rested it on the toilet seat again. The room was spinning so much — almost hazy and dreamlike — that she couldn't even see Ayatsuji's face and how horrified it must've looked at seeing her like this.

Lifting her head up, she leaned back until her scalp hit the wall behind her. She closed her eyes, tired but knowing she couldn't afford to be.

Like he'd said, it would only get worse.

She vaguely heard the faucet turn on and off before she felt a cool cloth on her cheek, wiping away at the leftover bits from the vomit that caked the side of her mouth. A hand was under her chin, supporting it and keeping her steady as Ayatsuji cleaned her up.

He'd taken off his gloves.

It was only after he was done that he spoke. "Do you want me to take you back to the bed?" he murmured.

They both knew what the doctor said. She'd start bleeding within the next hour.

Knowing it was also exactly what was on her mind, Ayatsuji said, "Don't think about that. What'll make you most comfortable right now, Tsujimura-kun? I — I don't have any menstrual products but —"

". . . Bath . . . tub . . ."

He nodded, not needing to be told twice. Lifting her up and pushing back the shower curtain that encircled the bathtub, he gently laid her down in it. Her back pressed against the porcelain edge. By the time she was settled, there was crimson in between her legs.

Ayatsuji didn't say a word, which made Tsujimura open her eyes and see the mess her body had made all on its own.

Mortified wouldn't even begin to explain how she felt at seeing the blood. She got the pajamas halfway off before Ayatsuji stopped her from moving any more and taking the rest of it off himself. Her once-white panties were an angry, unforgiving scarlet that coated the inside of her thighs, the blood almost overflowing with cruel consistency as if she were nothing but a well.

She croaked, "I'm so—"

"Don't be,"

"Sensei, I got blood on your sweater too,"

"It doesn't matter."

"I'm sorry,"

"Stop apologizing," he said, a little too sharply, but it achieved its purpose. She shut her mouth into a thin line, the creases on her forehead ever deepening as the ugly pangs blossomed out from inside her. Her lips trembled.

A small tear trickled down one of her cheeks.

"I don't want you to see me like this," she whispered after a while. Sinking her long nails into the flesh of her stomach, she winced one more time before she forced herself to meet Ayatsuji's eyes. "Please step outside until I . . . until it's over." She didn't say, Don't go too far, I still have to keep watch over you, but if she had, he would've told her there was no need to fret about it.

Of course he'd stay with her.

He stood up and placed a couple of towels from the sink on the bathtub's edge. She watched him make his way out the door with glazed eyes, as if all this was a scene from a movie and she was so far away from it that nothing could even hurt her anymore.

Tsujimura thought he would go around the Manor. The snipers were still out there along with the surveillance cameras, so she wasn't too worried about him suddenly leaving and potentially plunging their delicate operation into jeopardy. It was still his estate though, and she figured his kindness and patience with her for today had run out and he would most likely go back to his usual work until this unfortunate event passed like a bad storm.

But he didn't do that. He didn't even step more than five feet out of the bathroom. When she couldn't see him anymore, his body had immediately found the wall, and his knees gave in and dragged him down to the floor.

He listened to her bleeding, vomiting, and whimpering in pain for hours. A few times he heard her get out of the tub, use the sink, and then get back in again. She must've taken off his blood-smeared sweater at some point. She sounded so cold.

Everything in him wanted to go back and be with her — comfort her in whatever broken way he could — but he also knew he shouldn't, and that whatever he wanted wasn't in the least bit important right now.

Aside from that one tear, he was sure she didn't cry.

Night fell, and Tsujimura had gone quiet after a few hours. Despite her wish, he felt himself rise and go back into the bathroom. He found her in the tub covered in thinned splotches of blood from the waist down, naked, and asleep. He'd be lying if he said a part of him didn't want to get any closer. She looked like a corpse. He'd seen more than his own fair share of them, and he'd been able to look at them even when he knew they were dead because of him.

But he hated the sight of her so crumpled.

He hated that it was his fault and that she'd had to do it alone.

Taking a step, his leg brushed against something. His eyes adjusted to the dark, but he already knew what they were: Trash bags. Swollen with blood, tissues, and stained towels.

He hadn't heard her rummaging under the sink for them.

I don't want you to see me like this.

Aside from the red smearing her entire body, there was no evidence that she had essentially just undergone a rapidly induced miscarriage. Even the majority of the bathtub remained an eerie, perfect white. It looked like a manufactured crime scene. Brutal, but otherwise meticulous and tidy.

He found a clean towel and washed the rest of the blood off. He got up and retrieved another set of clothes for her; they were loose-fitting on her folded frame.

He picked her up again, feeling her clammy cheek press against his chest softly.

He let himself look at her for a few minutes, at her exhausted eyes, tearless face, and shivering body, before he set her down on his bed. What little moonlight was in the room illuminated her pale forehead. Her hair was disheveled and spread out like dying branches on his white pillow.

Until now, he'd never seen her with her hair down.

He placed a couple of towels underneath her hips and found a bucket she could use if she woke up later and needed to vomit.

He took a wicker armchair from his office and put it beside the bed, sitting down after he took off his outer clothes and reached for her cold hand in his. Any time he almost fell asleep, she'd let out a soft groan of unimaginable pain and he'd jolt up immediately, eyes barely open before he'd searched her face for anything amiss.

The alarm clock he kept at his bedside table woke him up. It shocked him with its ringing, but the first thing he thought about was her.

When he fell asleep his hand had fallen out of hers and dangled loosely over the chair. He had only registered the feeling of pins and needles in his forearm when he looked at her and saw she was awake too.

"I'm sorry for putting you through this, Sensei," her voice murmured, raw and beautiful.

Without thinking, he let air out of his nose, like she'd just said the funniest thing he'd ever heard. "How many times do I have to tell you? You don't have to apologize for anything."

"But . . ."

"It's my responsibility too," he cut in, watching her face for any sign of lingering pain.

"How could it be your responsibility?" she asked, dumbfounded.

"Last I checked, it took the two of us to get you pregnant," he deadpanned.

She didn't laugh. Sighing, she said, "I'm the one supervising you. I was supposed to have everything under control,"

"You couldn't control everything any more than I could've,"

Silence.

Then, half a joke, half something else, her tinny voice said, "What would you have done if I'd kept it?"

"Marry you."

He'd said it so quickly that it took a minute for her to process. She blinked once, then promptly rolled her eyes. "You're teasing me again."

"I'm not. I'd marry you. And we'd raise it together."

He'd quit being a detective. Pay back his debts and trials with the government some other way, even if it meant them stripping away everything he knew. It wouldn't matter. He'd take her somewhere far from here. Wherever she wanted, so long as he was with her.

Of course, he said none of this.

She stared at him, not knowing what to say, not even knowing if she wanted to believe him.

"I never considered marriage before," Ayatsuji confessed, trusting her to understand why. "But if I'm going to marry anyone it may as well be you,"

She scoffed good-naturedly. "That's so romantic, Sensei," She placed her palm against her cheek, trying to imitate a happy woman who'd just been proposed to by the love of her life and, of course, would happily, completely, and unhesitatingly say yes, I shall marry you.

The idea of the two of them as the lovers in that scenario was so painfully far from the truth of their actual relationship that it kept both of them quiet for a while.

Then Tsujimura winced. She pulled the blankets off and only briefly saw the blood on the towels underneath her before she quickly stood up and made her way to the nearby bathroom.

She'd hardly made it a few feet from the bed before she collapsed, her torso bending at the middle and forcing her to lie down on the floor, hands over her stomach and eyes shut tight in pain.

Ayatsuji was at her side in a moment, but before he could lecture her on how stupid she was for deciding to move so suddenly, she grabbed his hand and squeezed it tightly, bringing it so close to her chest that he could feel her heart beating rapidly against his wrist. She held onto it like it was a lifeline, occasionally squeezing and never letting go as her muscles rippled throughout her body.

They stayed like that for a few minutes, until her grip on his hand finally slackened and she forced herself to sit back up.

"Tsujimura-kun, don't —"

"The doctor said the bleeding and cramps will continue for a while," She ran a hand through her hair, her fingers getting tangled in the long, twisted strands almost instantly. "I . . . I think it's already passed out of me, . . . there was . . . a large clump . . ." Her voice trailed off.

Ayatsuji swallowed. "I'll request for someone to get you pads. Or whatever you prefer to help with the bleeding. You'll probably want your own clothes to wear too. I'll see about getting them from your place. You should eat some food and drink water as well."

Once again, she looked at him dumbly, suspect and confused.

"I'm not letting you leave here until you're better," he stated, wishing she was still holding his hand.

"But I have —"

"It's your job to supervise me," Ayatsuji interrupted. "So stay here and do your job,"

It was a ridiculous rationale and they both knew it, but he didn't give her much time to argue. He hoisted her up again, taking care to cradle her gently against his chest like he'd done last night so he wouldn't hurt her.

"Sensei, I can walk on my own,"

"I know,"

He carried her to the bathroom and sat her on the toilet seat again. He switched on the tub faucet and hovered his hand under the water until it turned warm. Turning to her, he said, "I'll talk to your boss. He owes me a few favors anyway. You have a bath. Use anything you want."

She awkwardly grabbed his sleeve, keeping him from leaving. "Sakaguchi-san can't know about . . ."

"He won't," Ayatsuji reassured her.

He could tell she wanted to say sorry again, and he wanted to tell her that it didn't matter that they'd ended up in this situation. Despite the paralytic nightmare yesterday had put him through, this wasn't a burden. Not even close.

Honestly, it was the only thing that wasn't.

He was grateful she'd told him and had let him look after her. He felt awe akin to when one was finally allowed to hold their newborn baby for the first time, and all the secrets of life, of death, and of love laid themselves bare in the form of an impossibly tiny thing. Ten fingers, ten toes. Big eyes. The rest of your life written on their pink skin.

If Ayatsuji had the words, he'd say that, since they'd been assigned to each other over a year ago, she had crawled, like a careless beast, into the deepest recesses of his hollow soul. Not just his mind or body, and yet still deeper than each: deeper than that empty cavity in his chest everyone had said housed no human heart.

She'd done it so easily, and she didn't even have an inkling of it. He loved her. He loved her and, if he had been given just one wish, he would pick this most selfish one: That she would stay by his side, just like this, as they were, as they had been, and nothing would change.

But something had changed.

Something almost remarkable.

"Sensei," her voice called out, jarring him out of his thoughts. She was still holding onto his sleeve, panic evident in her eyes.

"Nobody will find out, I promise," he said softly, bending down and placing a kiss on her forehead before he could think too much about it.

She seemed as surprised as he was — even more so when he kissed her again, this time on the lips. It had no heat or passion in it, — not like their previous kisses in the dark, smothered down by denial and obligation — but a warm feeling nevertheless formed at the base of her throat and dissolved into her stomach, the aches gone only for a moment right before Ayatsuji pulled away and left her to go talk to the Division.

She watched him disappear, unafraid because she knew he'd come back.

For once, he would protect her.