Warmth.

Chapter 26: Warmth

October 7th.

Midnight draped the city in silence.

No footsteps. No voices.

Just the distant hum of something mechanical... and the quiet ache that clings to survivors when the world forgets to check in.

Most had fallen asleep by now-curled into dreams or nightmares.

But I hadn't. Not tonight. Not on this date.

I lay in bed, eyes open, water bottle empty.

Again.

My fingers reached to the other side of the bed, where someone should've been.

Where he used to be.

Of course, he wasn't there.

Because I made sure of that.

It was the only way to keep myself from shattering.

To push him away before I drowned in my own reflection.

Because I couldn't let him see me like this.

A coward.

I slipped out of bed barefoot and walked quietly to the door.

Opened it.

And froze.

There he was.

Asleep outside my room.

Head bowed, arms crossed, his back against the wall.

Hair like fire spilled over his shoulders, catching the moonlight in strands of copper and red.

Akeshi.

He looked unreal.

Like a memory I hadn't dared to revisit.

I stepped closer.

My hand, against reason, brushed his hair away from his forehead-landing on the bandage.

Still damp.

Still bleeding.

That was my fault too.

He stirred. His eyes fluttered open.

And then... those leaf-green eyes met mine.

Like the woods after rain.

Like something older than this night.

Like he'd woken to this moment before.

Maybe he had.

He glanced at the bottle in my hand and, without a word, took it from me.

"H-Hey, I can do it-" I started, panicking.

But he was already walking to the kitchen.

That, too, had happened before.

I sat on the couch, hugging my knees.

He returned minutes later, handing me both the refilled bottle and a glass.

The water shimmered faintly gold.

"Chamomile oil," he said. "Calms the nerves. Eases the mind."

His voice was quiet. Steady. Familiar in a way I didn't want to think about.

I sipped.

The bitter sweetness settled deep in my chest.

"You couldn't sleep," he said, not asking-just stating.

I shook my head, eyes down.

"Too many thoughts?"

A nod.

He didn't sit beside me he knew better.

He stayed across from me, keeping the perfect distance.

I wanted to thank him for that, but words failed.

"You want to talk?" he asked.

Silence.

Then-

"I'm scared," I whispered. "Of my mother. Of school. Of the looks they'll give me. Of what Emiya will feel. Of what my grandparents will break under. Of..."

My throat locked.

"...Of losing you."

The fear gripped me.

A sudden wave. Like drowning, but no water.

My lungs forgot how to breathe. My vision blurred. My body trembled.

Every sound outside the window-wind, creaking wood, passing cars-felt like a knife poised at my neck.

And then-

Warmth.

His arms were around me.

Not tightly.

Not possessively.

Just enough.

Just right.

Like he was anchoring me to this moment. To now.

Like he had done this before.

Like he would do it again.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, I breathed.

Just... breathed.

One minute passed.

Then another.

Then another.

Time felt slower. Or maybe it was folding in on itself again.

He pulled back gently, resting his palm on my head.

"I'm not going anywhere," he said. "Not unless you tell me to."

His words didn't sound new.

They sounded remembered.

"I'm sorry," I whispered.

"Don't be," he replied. "You did what you had to."

I didn't want to sleep alone tonight. But I couldn't say it out loud.

Still-my hand reached for his.

He understood.

He always does.

"I'll stay," he said, pulling the chair closer to the bed.

My heart slowed. My eyes closed.

And before sleep took me, I swore I heard him whisper:

"Goodnight."

•••••

October 7th- 3:14 AM

The hallway was colder now.

Maybe because I'd taken off my coat to use as a makeshift pillow.

Maybe because this part of the building just didn't bother to be warm.

Or maybe because part of me was starting to feel cold again, too.

I leaned my head back against the wall just outside her room, staring at the cracked ceiling.

The scent of chamomile still lingered faintly in the air from earlier.

I liked that. It reminded me that for once-she'd managed to fall asleep without shaking.

That's all I really wanted tonight.

Not long after my eyes began to close, my phone buzzed silently in my pocket.

Just one vibration.

That meant it was them.

I answered quietly.

‹What do we do?› the voice on the other end asked.

No names. No location tags. We didn't need them.

"Did he tell you?" I asked, eyes still fixed on the faint light above the doorframe.

‹No.›

"Then ask him."

‹Understood. The work's done.›

A pause.

I could hear pages flipping on the other side. Paper-actual paper.

That guy didn't like digital ledgers.

"Now," I said, "we start accepting commissions globally. No more favorites."

‹Even... them?›

"Especially them."

‹...Where should we base it?›

The flipping stopped. Then resumed.

‹Let's see... Kenya. Nigeria. South Africa. Ghana. Then Canada. Mexico. Argentina. Brazil. Chile. One in Greenland for some reason. Iceland. France. Spain. Romania. Finland. Ukraine. Poland. Germany. Australia-at least seven nodes across Queensland. Antarctica, oddly productive. Apparently some research base's been using us since last June...›

He kept flipping.

‹Asia, we're good in the east. But nothing in the Middle East.›

"Not yet," I said. "They're still watching the devil. Waiting to see what he wants to do."

‹The red-haired one?›

"Do we have any other Devil's?"

Silence followed.

‹You ever met him?›

"No."

‹...But you know what he is?›

"No one knows what he is," I said quietly, casting a glance at the door behind me.

"Only that he broke the system. And smiled doing it."

The voice on the other end hesitated again.

‹...You think this time will be different?›

I didn't answer right away.

My hand went to my chest.

That strange weight again. Like remembering something I hadn't lived yet.

"I think..." I whispered, "if she wakes up one more time and chooses to walk forward... then maybe this time, yeah. Maybe it will be."

‹Alright. I'll start the shift. Full mobilization by the December?›

"Make it the 10th. I want the board ready before the storm."

‹Got it.›

The call ended.

I looked down at the red scarf, with a blindfold in it's heart-the one I never removed from myself.

Still cracked from that day.

Still mine.

The night air bit into my neck. The floor creaked behind the walls.

And from the room just beyond, I could hear her breathing evenly-safe for now.

Good.

Because in a few days, the gears would start turning again.

And this time... this time, I wouldn't let the ending repeat.