A/N: Refs to ch: 54, 87.

I do not own or profit from any of what Kazue Kato has created.

Students were returning to True Cross Academy for the autumn semester – one by one like wandering pilgrims, or in flocks like migrating birds. Little uniform specks of black milling about on the ground. Shiro watched from one of the tower aqueducts as they were dropped off by private chauffeurs in big cars, or by taxi; or, in a few rare cases, arriving by humble tram. All swallowed up into the grand honeycomb complex of the school.

Last year, he'd been walking up the endless, tiring staircases as one of them. Last year, he'd silently complained that nothing had changed over summer.

…well, no need to complain this semester.

A breeze tugged at his clothes, licked around his ears with unaccustomed chill, and made the pennon cord whip against the flagpole atop the tower. Somewhere down there, Midori and Sen were walking hand in hand through the gates, back from their long stay in the village of the Futotsuki clan. Somewhere down there, Ryuuji was dropping his bags when he unloaded them from his dad's car, probably still giddy with joy from his tour with the professional musicians. Somewhere down there, they would meet up with Shizuku and exchange summer adventures with each other.

Shiro rolled his shoulders a couple of times with satisfying creaks, as if to shrug off unpleasant weight. He had thought of going to meet them, too… but his feet had thought different, and he'd ended up here instead. Watching from a distance.

Another unreliable word. Distance. Gaps in time and space, separating one thing from another. That's all it is. When you think too long about it, that's all it is. The world isn't made up of matter: it's made up of distances between particles. Distance between electron and proton creates atoms, distance between atoms create chemical elements, create gases, liquids, solids, matter, life...

Distance in time separates one life from another. One event from another. Allowing things physically separate to be chronologically contemporary.

There was a distance between him and his peers, one that went beyond four dimensions. There was a distance between him and himself; steadily growing more solid, more rigid, like the crystalline sharp decisions it enabled him to make in the field in split seconds.

Distance equated safety. It was the iron bars that kept him secure. It was the moat that kept his friends secure should his prison walls crumble. It was the inter-substance in all substance, and it was the cornerstone of the universe.

But what was it, truly? Distance? On the sub-microscopic level, where the tiniest building blocks of matter dwelled, what was there that kept them separate? Between one breath and another, what was it that flowed smoothly between the instants recognised as time and strung them together in continuity?

Was there nothingness…? Or was there something humans lacked the faculties to perceive? A something between dimensions, wedged in like mortar to connect the building blocks yet keep them separate and create matter, time, and the very world humans called Assiah? Was there something that seeped into the cracks of creation, filling them with distance, and parted particle from particle with something that… was not particles? Was not physical, nor bound by time as physical matter was?

The thought lingered with him on the aqueduct, refusing to be carried away by the slight wind. No one had ever been able to explain how demons could take control of physical objects without having physical presence themselves. It wasn't possible to study such a phenomenon: guesses were all they had, and probably all they would ever have. Still... Assiah, the material world, was built on particles with distances between them. Distances filled with unknown nothingness that couldn't be called matter. Distances where... things not made of matter could seep through...?

It didn't take many days before the questioning began. It came like rain in early autumn: a wary dripping of hinted concern at first, which grew into a pelting downpour when his chilly replies didn't part the clouds of worry.

They all knew what had happened to Kasumi. They had been grief-struck, supportive, understanding... and he had accepted their soft words with downcast eyes and a wan, painted-on smile.

They knew he was targeted by demons, that he had to shield himself against them. Sure, they asked why. He told them he didn't know. They asked why he had to do it inside the Academy area – didn't the magical barriers keep demons out? He told them it didn't matter. That they should just let it go.

Friends are wonderful that way. They really want to help you. No matter what you have to say about that.

"Shiro-kun, this is no good. Come."

Of course, Midori was the one to break all unspoken rules of social conduct. Problems found were to be solved, not left alone because their bearers wanted it so. She marched him to the corner of the schoolyard that bore themes from the ancient Near East, with a round, tiered fountain in the middle of a small courtyard.

"Sit", she commanded him, and he sat down on the lowest tier. Then she vaulted up on top of the fountain, on the lion statues that fed it water, where she skipped from head to head around to the other side, and hopped out of view. She came around on the pavement seconds later, herding a nervously determined Ryuuji along.

"You are not well, Shiro-kun. Here, you are not well." Midori patted her chest urgently with a clawed hand as she sat down on her haunches next to him. "Please", her whole being poured into the request, "let us help you. Sorrow is good thing, not bad thing: keeping sorrow is bad thing. It grows inside. It eats you." Her touch was tender, so tender; barely detectable fingertips gliding over his chest. "No need to put defence down, Shiro-kun. Only talk. Talk begins here", she pressed her hands onto his chest; warm, slender hands, "goes through heart", her hands met over his sternum, "and sets sorrow free." Fingers flowed up his throat, light as seagull wings skimming tranquil water. Midori was so close he could feel her breath against his chin, her golden eyes so near he could barely keep them in focus.

So close, yet the distance was there.

"We breathe in, and feed world to the heart", she murmured low against his lips, hands still cupping his face. "We breathe out, and feed heart to the world."

"Mmph…!" The pure shock of the kiss left him flabbergasted, at a complete loss for-

"Words are breath of the heart, Shiro-kun", she murmured, smiling, as she released him and hopped a step back. "Won't do to let your heart suffocate."

"Uh… okay…"

In her place, Ryuuji sat down next to him. Fidgeted with the keychain on his school satchel; caught himself doing it, and laid it gingerly to rest against the black fabric.

Shiro had plenty of time to notice that Ryuuji had grown over summer. Grown thinner, grown taller, grown… inwardly. The brown eyes were still shy and darted for cover when confronted, but his posture held a new confidence, and his voice held only traces of his former stuttering when he spoke:

"I figured you wouldn't, you know… come and talk by yourself. I remember you said sometime that you don't rely on others. So I asked Midori-chan if she could, uh, catch you." He glanced shamefacedly first at Shiro, then at Midori. The latter seemed quite happy with her catch. "Sorry about how… She only said she could get your attention, so I trusted her", he said with an embarrassed chuckle. "I just thought I should talk to you. It's not easy, this kind of thing." Ryuuji folded his hands together, stroking thoughtfully at the irregular callusing steel strings had left on his fingers. "When Agari-chan died, I didn't know what to do. It was like there was no light in the world anymore. I couldn't see any point in anything, and I wanted it all to disappear. I-"

"Ryuuji, you don't have to do this", Shiro murmured quietly.

"It's okay", he ensured, having no idea what images were currently flashing like lightning through Shiro's mind. "I mean, it still makes me sad when I think about it, but the pain dulls with time. It's not the same as you and Kasumi-chan, I know. I just want you to know that it does get… wouldn't say 'better', but… easier. But you need to stop thinking 'what if'. It's only going to drag you down. I had… God, I must've had thousands of 'what ifs'", he murmured, shadows of remembered pain nesting in the fine creases between his eyebrows. "Like, 'What if I had been there when the demons came through?' I used to dream I was, you know. I used to dream I saved her", he said with a faint smile, "even though I can't shoot or chant or use a sword."

"Look, I understand how you must have felt, but those are two different situations." There was a nausea building up in Shiro's gut, knotting him up and setting him on edge. He didn't want to think about Deep Keep. He wanted to think of anything but Deep Keep.

"Different situations, yes", Ryuuji agreed sagely. "But you look like I felt."

Blood. Pearls of blood tearing from a flowing red necklace. Bright as wet paint. You wouldn't think blood was that bright in real life.

"I hated myself, for not being there when she needed me", Ryuuji continued, murmuring to his knees. "I took the blame, like you do now. Because it had to be somebody's fault, you know?" Oh, Shiro knew. He knew damn well whose fault it had been. and his barriers were cracking under the pressure in his chest. "Shizuku-san and Midori-chan helped me acknowledge that it wasn't my fault – that's what I mean by relying on people." He flashed a glance at Shiro; a thrown rope, an outstretched hand. It lasted a split second before he looked down at his folded hands again. "I was still sad, sure I was, but… It was a step on the way. Once I let go of 'what if', I could mourn. Just… truly mourn. And it was like a cleansing. I started to dream I wasn't saving her, just being with her. Holding her as s-she died. Saying goodbye." His voice broke; broke off in sharp edges that cut through Shiro's iron bars. "And when I could do that, I knew I w- I was starting to let it go."

"Ryuuji, stop." Shiro closed his eyes, focused, tried to keep the distance from the tightening feeling gathering in his chest. He was more angry than nauseous now, as if thrusting the memories away from himself would help. All he wanted was for Ryuuji to drop this whole thing. "Why can't you just stop and let me forget?"

"I heard Kasumi-san forgave you", he heard Ryuuji say, voice muffled through a tissue paper. "I think that's… She's such a great person. A truly wonderful, great person."

"That I almost killed." Lies weigh heavy on one's conscience? "Try having truth on your conscience", he spat at himself, but the weight – the nausea, the rage – didn't ease.

"It's important to forgive. I know it's hard, but you should forgive yourself, Shiro-san. It's the first step towards letting go and moving on."

Black eyes became glass marbles. Blank, shiny marbles, rolling back in her skull and she fell, she fell and burning stars of warm blood speckled his face and

"…to know is that it's not your fault", the half-demon's voice drifted back into his ears. Shiro hadn't even noticed that he blacked out and blinked ferociously to try and keep himself together. "And you don't need to carry all this weight alone. We're here for you. That's what friends are for."

Agari - Midori? - Agari fighting his friends at the Knight exam with blood on his hands blood flowing over Kasumi's hands and she stared with wide frightened eyes-

Distance, distance, dammit…!

-Midori's wide golden eyes reflecting his blade Agari's black marble eyes rolling back in her head

Stop it, stop it, sto-

"Stop!" He'd said it out loud before he knew what he was doing.

Midori and Ryuuji both stared at him. Except it wasn't him. Their eyes reflected the image of a stranger standing by the glittering pool of water.

"Just stop this, guys." His voice was off, way off, but he couldn't just cry out 'stop!' and leave it at that. "I know you wanna help, but I can't do this. Please. Just let me deal with this on my own."

Ryuuji was still in a daze; but in Midori's sunlight eyes, a firestorm was building. And Shiro knew he'd said the wrong thing.

"You aren't dealing with it, Shiro-kun", she said grimly. "All day you sit, holding breath and holding in. I am only half, and I still smell rot in you."

He had thought it a few times before; how similar Midori and Mephisto could be. Not in personality, not at all, but… body language. The way they seemed to crackle with impish joy when they knew something he didn't, the way they moved so casually yet so sensually: and the way they could, in a split-secondflash, snap into a diametrically different mood.

"You're right. My bad." Tch, he sounded like a talking toy mechanically repeating its message. "I just find it difficult to…" As effective as stapling his tongue to his palate, dammit. "I never did talk much about feelings, okay? It wasn't exactly part of the family tradition."

"No excuses, Shiro-kun", Midori pursued relentlessly, hopping down from the fountain to poise herself in front of him, nailing his objections stuck in his brain with her glare. "You are not your family. You are stupid. You know problem, you know solution: you do nothing. So, you are stupid. We try to help you, and you say no." Her eyes were craggy rocks, her voice the coating of ice on their surface. "You don't treat friends well, Shiro."

Shiro knew what she was doing; knew it because he understood demons and how they worked. Midori was riling him up. She was trying to provoke him to blurt out what he couldn't bring himself to say under civilized conditions; trying to coax him into speaking of his problems.

"This isn't a good way of helping, you know", he said coolly, holding her hard eyes in his. "Provoking me will only make it harder for me to keep my guard up. If you really want to help, just leave me be."

"I won't!" she shouted, voice trembling and tears of frustration glimmering in her eyes. "I won't let you be stupid! Talk doesn't need you to let guard down! Only talk, Shiro-ku-!"

"I don't wanna talk about this." He turned to leave, to end this conversation before it ended badly. …before it ended worse.

"You smell rot, Shiro! You smell guilt and regret and shame and is not, your, fault!"

He heard Ryuuji's voice intermittently in the waves of Midori's rage, telling her to give him time. That he would talk when he was ready. That he probably had a lot to deal with.

Memories clotted in his throat, sealed his breath in as he paced briskly over the well-maintained lawns. All the while, his heart thrummed the rhythm of flight instinct in his ears. All the while, he sagged under the weight of truth as he put a greater distance between himself and… everything else.