Shoukaku groaned as her body struggled to keep itself together amid the pain scourging its entirety. Her affliction—her curse—had returned to haunt her once more. Again it felt like every wound she had ever received was reopening even though there was no blood—dull, stabbing, aching, and burning. It left her confined to the bedding, drifting between lucidity and half-dream. Despite the cold, her body was thoroughly sweating and quaking—until he held her hand. She was glad she could feel it this time; the pain eased a little when he did.
"You...should rest," she told him in a whisper. She was aware that he had not slept for a long time. She wasn't the only one robbed of respite—and much more.
"I can't," Lieutenant Ohtori Kensaku replied and laughed bitterly. He held the hand, which no longer trembled, tighter. Right now, he couldn't rest—not when she was unable to. It was always painful to hold her hands—hands so thoroughly ravaged by years of nothing but learning the way of the sword and fighting in the damned war. They were covered in calluses, blisters, and burns. They felt coarse—like sand, grit, and rust. A grim, hurtful reminder of her accursed lot.
"At least...lie down, then," Shoukaku requested when she realized he wouldn't leave her. Her colorless lips curled upward when he did so—never once did he let go of her hand as he lay beside her. Then it hit her—just how close they were. So close she could hear his ragged breathing, just like he could hear her labored one. But she didn't mind the distance now.
"I'll be alright," she said, and Ohtori smiled a little.
"I truly hope so."
The emotions behind his gaze—she had seen them before, but they weren't for her. But she could see them again—and there was nobody else in the room but them. They were for her.
"Whenever you need me, I'll be there," Ohtori reached out to stroke her tangled locks and clear the sweat off her brow. He noticed she didn't react much to his gesture—but he could see something in her eyes. A familiar feeling.
"Tell me...do you need me too?"
The question gave him pause, even though the answer was already clear to him. The hand he was holding onto so desperately—or rather, her—was his only remaining anchor in this world he no longer knew, and he would always dread the thought of having to let it go forever, to be lost like driftwood once more.
"I...need you," Ohtori said as the palpitations—his and hers alike—grew audible. "D-don't leave me alone now, you hear?"
"You've finally become so honest. Zuikaku would be proud," Shoukaku laughed, despite how straining it was to her body. "...but I haven't been honest all these times...and I'm sorry. But now I know I should."
It was difficult for her free hand to reach out and touch his face, but Shoukaku carried on—it felt like something she had wanted to do for the longest time. Perhaps it was, and she simply didn't realize it. The act left him without words, though he clearly wanted to say something—because his lips were moving without sound.
"Time has changed both of us, hasn't it? Your feelings, and mine, too. Now...I found myself needing you too—so...don't leave me alone, you hear?"
"I...of course. I've promised you so," Ohtori replied, looking as if he was holding back from bursting out laughing.
"That's very reassuring. Thank you for everything," Shoukaku whispered. Perhaps it was for that reason the pain was now subsiding—along with her doubts and fears. Even if her wounds wouldn't truly heal, she knew she would be alright. They will be alright.
"I think I'm going to sleep," she said, removing her hand from Ohtori's face and lying on her back.
"Good idea...maybe I should, too..." he replied, not letting go of her.
"See you when you wake up."
"Likewise."