Trigger Warning:

- PTSD

- sexual assault aftermath

I had decided to reread the PJO books before the show came out. I made its influence in this chapter very obvious. Although, nothing can top Rick Riordan's sense of humor. (There, I gave you the answer if you still cannot find the reference.)

I wake up in a bookstore.

Antiquated, old, vintage.

But cozy.

Tall shelves made of sandalwood run up and down the store. Each one stocked with books, ranging from thin paper booklets to thick leathery tomes. It should smell like old paper and spices in this place. However, that is not the case. All sorts of fragrances and stenches permeate the space, and only when I focus on any one particular smell can I discern it. Even more strange, all of them have titles I do not recognize. The Boy Who Jumps into Dreams Tells Me I Have No Sense of Boundaries, The Squirrels Take Revenge on Us, I Get Old People Problems at a Young Age, are just a few of the names. What sort of titles is this? They remind me of Rick Riordan's hilarious chapter titles. As I move down the aisle, more ridiculous names appear. They are juxtaposed with the ambiance of the store.

But at the same time, why do they seem so familiar? I remember the boy whose dream quirk I absorbed and the subsequent argument with him. I recall an incident where one squirrel threw an acorn on a kid's head. The kid lost his mind and threw the acorn back. Later, every child at the orphanage learned why one should never make an enemy out of squirrels. Every time one of us challenged them, the squirrels would raid the walls that night, making thumping noises in the middle of the night. I remember spending countless nights unable to sleep because of them. Loathsome rodents. And the old people problems … well, arthritis typically affects the elderly, not the youth. The more titles I read, the more memories resurface. My suspicions grow stronger, and when I reach the end of the bookshelf and stare at the placard, they turn into truth.

'The Orphanage' the sign reads. These books are memories from my time in the orphanage.

I pick up a random book at the end, just to confirm what is already known. With an orange and brown paperback cover, it has very few pages and smells distinctly of persimmons. I open it. Instantly, I watch a very young version of myself snagging delicacies from the three-tiered platter as she peeks around, hoping no one will notice her shenanigans. Upon a closer look, I notice that those are sweets. Hoshigaki. A treat prepared for the New Year with a complex preparation process. Hachiya persimmons are dried so that its natural sugar crystallizes and candies the fruit. I loved this sweet. I still do now.

I flip the pages.

Her fingers are sticky with sugar, and crumbs settle around her mouth. I cannot resist the smile tugging at my lips when little me hears a woman call out her name sternly. Little me turns around to face the woman, a hoshigaki halfway between her teeth.

"Selene, what did I say would happen if you sneaked in more desserts before dinner?"

"No more sweets for a week," the small girl answers meekly.

"And what did you do?"

The girl swallows the rest of the dried persimmon and smiles innocently. "Nothing."

The woman – the orphanage matron, I remember – rolls her eyes and holds out her hand for little me to take. Still, even the matron's eyes twinkle in amusement at the girl's antics.

This is a pleasant memory. Seeing how I can walk without difficulty in it, this must have taken place before I was diagnosed with juvenile arthritis. It leaves a bittersweet tang on my tongue instead of sugary delight as I close the book and return it to its spot. 'The Orphanage' section contains the happiest moments of my life before I met Shouto. It hurts to reminisce about them, especially when I know that young girl and her vivacity is dead.

This bookshelf was slotted up against the left wall. That means the only direction I can go now is right.

From here on out, each bookshelf is marked with a year of my life. 'Age Five, Age Six, Age Seven,' and so forth. No aroma smothers the air now. I know all too well why. And there is no need to look into them either.

But the books have an idea of their own.

Much to my horror, they begin vibrating in place. Cacophonies of sounds emit whenever each one manages to flutter. My screams, tormentors' laughter; my cries, animal barks; my pleas, people's scorn. I don't want to listen to any of it. I start running. Actually, how am I running? And where is my cane? Why am I realizing this now?

The tempest of thoughts in my mind manifest in my surroundings. The books levitate from their positions on the bookshelves and open on their own. The dissonance exponentially intensifies. I cover my ears to block the loud sounds. It is futile. These bad memories want me to relive them. I don't have the strength to.

This time, without giving any doubt to my situation, I dash again. Forward and forward with no end in sight except outrunning the memorabilia of a tragic past. The books give chase. I see no exit ahead of me, so much to my reluctance, I swerve to the side and sprint through the aisles.

Suddenly, something grabs my arm.

I jerk back to see just what halted my progress. My eyes widen.

How can I ever forget that cruel mouth? The one that called me with degraded insults yet tasted my flesh? Miyamoto-san stares at me with vicious glee. He pulls at my arm, dragging me closer to him. I try to push him away and kick him in the groin to no avail. He manages to cross my wrists behind my back, then shoves me until my body is pressed against a bookshelf.

The other books swirl around us in heightened frenzy.

"Good to see you again, little ***," Miyamoto-san breathes. "Ready for round two?"

He bites into my neck, and that is the last thing I see when the floor gives way to an abyss and I fall through.

I jolt awake.

Frantic, I seek purchase for any hold. My fingers wrap around the steel railing of a hospital bed. Wait. Hospital bed? Rapidly, I take account of my surroundings. There are no mahogany shelves forming long corridors. Instead, there are three green curtains and a wall isolating me. Rather than a horde of books and a concoction of scents, medicine and sanitizer sit on a double-tray cart with wheels. Sterility permeates the air. Everything is either white or dark green. Not a riot of colors.

What happened to me? Was that a nightmare just now? Am I still dreaming? I pinch the bare skin of the back of my hand. It hurts, so that must mean this is reality. There is an open box of latex gloves by the bedside, so I pull two out and put them on. But how did I get here? I answer that question by myself. I don't need any sentient, peculiarly-named, crazy book for that. Recalling Miyamoto-san's question from the nightmare unwittingly dredges up the terrifying evening.

I push myself into sitting position, only to bring my knees close to myself and bury my face in them. Though my body feels unbearably drowsy, my mind races. Every second of that assault replays itself in my mind. Just when I reach the part where the entire gang binds me to the tree, someone yanks the curtain aside. Scared, I look up at the intruder.

Short stature, tight bun, white lab coat, and friendly smile. Recovery Girl. I almost breathe a sigh of relief, when her figure morphs into something else. Someone else. No, no, no. It's not Recovery Girl standing beside the parted curtain. Kurosawa-san stares at me. Menacingly. Maliciously. That smile is no longer so welcoming.

"Selene, dear, are you all right? It's me, Recovery Girl," Kurosawa-san speaks.

I shake my head. The words and voice do not match the owner of the face, but that evil grin never disappears. The promise of future malice and torture glimmers in her eyes. I scoot back. "Stay back!" I gasp. Lethargy dampens the force I wish to put into my fear. "Stop lying! You're not here to help. You want to hurt me again." I try summoning any quirk. Nothing. A pair of scissors rests on the upper tray of the cart. Sparing a brief second to seize it, I return to my former position, where I can keep a gap between myself and this intruder.

My hands tremble when I point the tapered ends toward Kurosawa-san. I hope she doesn't notice.

Another person comes in. A boy this time. He tells me that he is Aizawa-sensei and orders me to put the scissors down. I don't. I don't believe him. Because this imposter possesses Agawa-san's features. I shift away a little further. He calls for help. One, two, three more people come in. They also bear the faces of my attackers.

Every step they take forward is a distance I increase by moving farther back. Eventually, I fall off the bed. The five assailants rush to my side. They claim they want to assist me. The brutality in their eyes tells me otherwise.

I swing the scissors left and right, snapping at anyone who dares come too close. The tears running down my cheeks and the tremors racking up and down my spine belay my fright. I wish I were braver. I shout for help. Agawa-san exclaims that he is the help.

They crouch down to my level. That action sends me desperately shuffling with my hands and feet. The scissors slip from my fingers. I bend over to reach for them. Kiyohime-san kicks the blade away, and someone tackles me from behind.

"Let go of me!" I shriek. "Don't touch me!"

"Selene!" the attacker restraining me calls out. His voice is familiar, somehow. "Sweetheart, calm down! I know you're afraid, but believe me. We're just trying to help you!" I thrash in the aggressor's grip. He is strong. Too strong. "Stop it!" he screams. "Sensei! Sasaki-san! Help me restrain her!"

His plea only emboldens me to resist harder. As dullish as my body is, I'm putting up as much of a fight I possibly can. Hearing the occasional grunt and choke as my elbow or knee makes contact with tender skin brings me slight satisfaction. I will feel much better once I escape his grasp.

Unfortunately, that is not the case.

My resistance urges the assaulter to change tactics. All of a sudden, my face is pressed against the floor. He adjusts his stance so that one hand keeps my head still while the other holds both my wrists behind my back. "I'm so sorry, Selene," he mutters into my ear. "But this is the only way you'll stop fighting."

At this angle, I get my first look at the assailant. I feel like crying all over again.

Just like in the dream, Miyamoto-san traps me with his whole body. Just like that evening, his entire being is pressed against mine. Although he leans back, so his face is not up close to mine, the damage is already done. A fresh burst of tears pours forth. A wail that could shatter stone hearts leaves my throat. "Have you come to finish what you couldn't earlier? Did you change your mind about my period? Fine! Tear my clothes again! Make another video! Rape the slut, just as you said you would!" Immediately, the pressure eases. No one pins my hands anymore or touches my head. Still, I make no effort to rise. I have given up.

Miyamoto-san stares at me, utterly appalled. I choke out, "Why do you make that face? Why are you hesitating? Have your way with me! Everyone does. You, you, you, all of you!" I shout at each perpetrator's face. "Fulfill your stupid vendetta against me. After all, my worth lies in the area between my legs, isn't it?!"

"Selene, that's not …" Miyamoto-san breathes. "I would never … Darling, please don't … Who do you think I am?"

"Why do you ask? Do you want to etch your name into my memory forever? Miyamoto Akutenshi-san. That's who you are, you sick creature. Happy?"

So tired, I curl into a ball on the cold, hard, sterile floor. I don't care about the puddle of tears growing or my complete defenselessness. Let them do what they will with me. Sooner or later, the result is the same.

I feel something prick my neck. A needle.

Those are my last thoughts before I drift into unconsciousness.

Hours later, I rise again.

My surroundings do not appear different from last time, so I suppose I'm still in the school infirmary. I feel worse than earlier. Yet I examine my body for signs of assault. I am cladded in a hospital gown, one with a full sleeves shirt and drawstring trousers.

A nurse stands nearby. I groan, catching her attention. When she comes to my side, I make out her features. Recovery Girl. For sure, this time.

"How are you feeling?" There is a cautious undertone to her question. Odd, because she is normally very warm with me.

Equally wary, I reply, "Almost dead. Could be much better. How long have I been here?"

"Don't worry. The sedatives will wear off. A whole day has passed. Can you tell me what you remember?" What I remember … nothing good. I avoid answering the question. When I remain silent for too long, she speaks again. "All right, I won't push. But this is actually your second time regaining consciousness. You seem to be taking this better than the first time." Again, I say nothing. Rather, at the reminder of what transpired hours earlier, I begin to generate a gap between us. Recovery Girl notices this and clamps her hand around my forearm. My gaze whips up toward her, wide and scared. "Hanada, listen to me carefully. I am not going to hurt you. The people who come into this room will not, either. We are not the people who assaulted you."

Quietly, almost nonexistent, I murmur, "So why were my assailants here then?"

"They were never here, sugar." I've never heard her call me by anything other than my name. Is that how concerned she is about my state of being? "Ever since you were brought here, the students who harmed you never came."

"But I saw their faces," I protest, my voice a little louder this time. "All five of them. They kept coming close to me. I tried to fend them off with a pair of shears, but they trapped me. They touched me."

"Sugar …" Recovery Girl eases her hold on me to rotate me by the shoulders. I face her properly, demanding answers with unspoken words. "That was your trauma relapsing. Believe me, those criminals were not here. It was me. Aizawa-sensei. Tsukauchi-san. Your lawyer, Sasaki-san. And Todoroki-kun. You saw someone else's faces in ours."

Shock riddles me to my core. That cannot be. I saw their faces so clearly. But another part of me – the rational part – argues differently. What about their voices, though? Their words? Do you think someone who hurt you so badly would repeatedly say that they have no intention of doing so? Did the person you think was Kurosawa-san sound like her? No, right? What about Agawa-san? Kiyohime-san? Kimura-san? Or maybe Miyamoto-san? He called you sweetheart and darling. Do you think if it was actually him, would he praise you or insult you?

If what Recovery Girl is saying is true … that means … My hands rise to cover my mouth. The tears that dribble from the corners of my eyes are not of fear or misery anymore. They are of guilt. Guilt whose burden I cannot bear. "I apologize, Recovery Girl. I thought you were … The things I said to you … to all of you … None of that can be forgiven." She vehemently denies that it was my fault instantly. But I believe differently. I cursed my own well-wishers. The people who came to my rescue.

"Sugar, you were scared. No one blames for you that. Stop accusing yourself."

That only makes me cry harder.

"A-A-Are they still h-here? C-C-Could you please … p-please call Shouto and the others? Th-th-they deserve an a-apology, t-too."

She does not say anything, perhaps realizing that any further attempt of consolation will only solidify my resolve that I behaved very inappropriately. Instead, she passes me a glass of water and some tablets, which I take without asking what they are. Then she leaves.

Maybe she will bring them over. Maybe she won't. I wouldn't hold her accountable if she didn't. After my outburst, I doubt any of them will wish to see my face. While I wait for an unknown outcome, I palpate the parts of my body that Miyamoto-san touched. There are band-aids across my cheeks. A bandage wrapped around my forehead. The areas where his teeth raked my skin sting. And my thighs … they are sore to the touch.

I am on my period. That was the only reason that he stopped himself from molesting me all the way. But the bleeding will only last for a few days more. What then? He vowed to rape me the next time I was vulnerable. And at the Hanada mansion, he has the perfect opportunity to. I cannot avoid going to the mansion altogether. When Hanada-sama orders me to come, I will have no choice. Already the inevitable future fills me with dread.

I am in the process of futilely coming up with options of escape and discarding them when an endearing voice whispers my name. "Selene?"

I look up. Shouto is standing at the foot of the bed. In the past, he would immediately sit on the edge of the bed beside me after I acknowledged his presence. I guess I have lost that right now. "Shouto." My voice is thick with emotion. "I'm so glad to see you."

"Me too. Are you feeling better?" he replies. He glances at a curtain on his side. "The view outside is beautiful. You should totally see it." And he moves it to the side. Dazzling light filters through the window, washing this harsh, white room into a rainbow of hues. Blood red, tangerine orange, and canary yellow comprise this evening's sunset. Last evening was the same. But this one does not feel so ominous. Because Shouto is here. I can appreciate the beauty with him.

However, he is not looking at me. I can understand why.

"Shouto, there is something I have to tell you. I'm very sorry. I said all those horrible things to you. You shouldn't have had to hear that. Recovery Girl told me I had a traumatic relapse, and that's why I saw Miyamoto-san's face in yours. You were probably offended by my words and actions, and you had every reason to feel so." He turns around and takes a tentative step toward me. There are small scratches on his face. Scratches I caused. I continue, "I didn't mean to hurt you with scissors! I didn't mean all those curses I said! I didn't mean to hit you!" He moves a little closer and softly murmurs my name. But now that the tirade has started, there is no way I can stop. Droplets fall onto the light blue fabric of the hospital gown. I bunch up the trousers in my fists. "You told me I should not have gone to the library alone. You were right. If I had just listened to you, then you wouldn't have had to experience any of that. I brought this on myself. This is all my fault. I understand if you resent me for my behavior. I don't even deserve it, but if you can give me a chance to earn your forgiveness, I promise to do my very best. No matter how long-"

Shouto presses a finger against my lips. With the elevation of the bed, the height difference between us is compensated. His standing posture meets my sitting one equally. At this angle, I can see deep into his eyes. At the curdling disappointment in them. But to my surprise, negativity is the last thing swirling in their depths.

He never removes his finger as he speaks. "God, Selene. You're normally such a quiet girl, but once you start your apology monologues, there is no stopping you. I've been listening to you say sorry this entire time. Will you hear what I have to say?" I nod silently. "Good." And then he lifts his finger, trusting that I will let him finish what it is he has to tell me without interrupting. "May I sit next to you?" I nod again. Eagerly. He smiles and takes off his shoes before hoisting himself onto the narrow bed. I lift my legs, too, so that my body language conveys my complete attention on him.

"May I hold your hands?" I hold them out to him instantly. They are still covered with latex throwaway gloves, but Shouto doesn't seem to care. He turns them over and over again, toying with my fingers, slipping his thumb inside the hem. A gasp leaves my mouth when he presses his lips against my bare inner wrist.

"Sweetheart," he susurrates in that same relaxing tone. I melt inside. "If you apologize one more time, I will feed you those chocolate-covered almonds you despise."

Hmm? My mind blanks as I repeat that statement in my head. Then the insinuation makes sense to me. "You mean …"

He releases my hands only to cup my face. His lips give a tender kiss on the bandage covering my forehead, and I could cry all over again. "There is nothing for you to apologize for," he whispers between kisses. All of his kisses are protective. But these touches are different from the ones he laves across my throat and jaw. Those are designed to worship me. These kisses are meant to soothe me. A medium by which he can thoroughly express the sincerity of his words. "I am not upset that you saw your tormentor in me. And I definitely do not hate you. I understand why you reacted that way. All of us do." His truths compel to weep. Shivers course through my body, and Shouto notices them, too. His thumbs brush away stray tears, but more arrive to replace them.

Between bouts, I ask, "Can I … Can I g-get a h-hug?"

"As if I would say no." And he pulls me onto his lap. After adjusting my hips so I straddle his, Shouto's arms wrap around my waist and shoulders, holding me so close as though he is afraid I might slip away. I probably will. Which is why I reciprocate the ferocity of his embrace equally. Clenching the fabric of his jacket that covers his back, I bury my face in the slope of his neck. He is my anchor. The only thing tethering me to safety.

Although he told me not to, I feel that I must repent. I murmur, "Thank you for rescuing me. Thank you for trying to help me. You're my sanctuary, Shouto. My best friend, my moon. When Miyamoto-san was hurting me, I shouted that he could never amount to becoming a gram of the person you are. But I dared to confuse your face with his. Could you forgive me? I'll eat those chocolates as punishment if you like."

"The rape attempt was not your fault, darling," he replies. "Please don't hold yourself responsible."

"You're kind. I know that you would never hurt me. I'm sorry I implied that you would."

"Shhhhhhh." Shouto gently rocks me back and forth. He strokes the space between my shoulder blades, unravelling the knot of tension building up there. For a while, we stay like this. Him sighing adorations and sweet nothings into my skin; me easing into his touch until he is the only thing supporting my weight.

He presses his lips against my temple, and I hum in response. "For so long," I begin to speak. Shouto pushes a wayward lock of hair behind my ear. A sign that he is listening. "For so long I had no one to comfort me. After a session of torture, there was no one but myself around to console me. I spent so many days and nights curled into a ball, enduring the pain alone. I was too scared to reach out because I was afraid that someone else would be harmed." I lean back from the embrace just enough so that I can meet him in the eyes. "But this … you holding me close to your heart, letting me melt wholly into your arms … you have no idea how much more bearable the agony is. I wish I had been braver. I wish I had summoned the courage to take this step sooner. Thank you, love, for supporting me even at my worst."

His smile is sad yet hopeful. The little bump he makes when his forehead touches mine elicits a weak giggle from me. "Truth be told, I was hesitant about seeing you again." Oh. Of course. The melancholic acceptance guides my hands to release his jacket. He senses it, and quickly amends, "Not because you were assaulted, Selene." If it were possible for our bodies to come any closer, Shouto makes it happen. His breath tickles my nose. Warm, with a hint of cinnamon. He tells me how remorseful he felt when he saw me beaten and bruised. That he understood the vast difference between knowing the truth and seeing it for yourself. "Sasaki-san said that you wouldn't put any share of accountability on me." I nod vigorously. I wouldn't. You only had my best interests in mind. There was no way you could have anticipated I would be attacked in the woods. "He was right," he grins meekly. The tendril that Shouto tucked behind my ear comes back forth, and he loops it around his finger. "But a large part of me believed that I could have done more. That's why I'm here: so you don't go through this alone."

He coils the lock once more. "It took me a lot of courage to face you again. You weren't the only one who wished for more confidence." A small chuckle escapes my mouth at that. Guess I was not completely by myself in that respect. "Then your relapse happened." I brace myself. "It reminded me of the first time I watched you have one. By the koi fish pools, after the game of twenty questions. You had an intense one, and when you woke, you said that our friendship should end. I saw that whole scene repeat inside my head. You have no idea how afraid I was that you might suggest something like that again. Because if you did, I didn't think I would be able to let you go this time." An unreadable emotion enters his eyes. Deep, powerful, and all-consuming. I lose myself into their intensity. "Having experienced that kind of misery once, I couldn't bring myself to look you in the eyes." So that's why … "But look at us now. You're not pushing me away; you want my presence near you. I'd call that progress." Fresh tears mingle with laughter. He's crying, too. "Though your over-apologetic tendencies could use some work." I open my mouth to apologize for my over-apologetic flaw. He covers it with his palm. "Don't say it."

All right.

Instead, I ask Shouto about the events that transpired since I was unconscious. He narrates the story, starting from the moments after his first phone call to me. As I listen, our positions switch. Some point in the story, my head rests against his lap, and he strokes the length of my hair. I interrupt him from time to time when a question arises. He is patient with me and answers them before resuming the tale. When he finishes, he asks me whether I would like to talk to Sasaki-san. "Aizawa-sensei, Bakugou, Recovery Girl, and I gave our statements to the police in the morning," he explains. "But your perspective is the most important since you're the victim. He's with Principal Nezu at the principal's office. I can call him, and you can recount to us what happened before telling the police."

"I'd like that. Thank you."

"Don't mention it." He makes the call on his phone. A few minutes later, Sasaki-san enters the secluded ward. A silent conversation passes between him and Shouto. One I can read all too well. "She's okay now," he assures him. "Are you ready, Selene?"

"Yes," I mumble. "Good evening, Sasaki-san." He greets me back and inquires about my health. If our positions pique Sasaki-san's interest, he makes a good show of hiding it. Once his worries are completely relieved, he urges me to give the truth. So I do. Starting from Shouto's phone call to my desperate one in return, I leave nothing out. Except the part where Miyamoto-san confessed to knowing about the prostitution. Also the part where he insulted Shouto by referring to him as my sex partner. I don't want Shouto to be burdened with that knowledge. But the fight in the restroom, the metal cuffs, the blackmail video, names and quirks of everyone involved, and other important details I relay to both of them. Shouto instinctively snakes his arm around my midriff when I reach the part where Miyamoto-san smothered me with his body. Almost as though he is present at the scene, preventing the pervert from coming into my vicinity. Uncomfortable silence permeates the room when the tale ends. "I've been wondering what happened with the objects left behind in the restroom and the forest," I say, finally.

"Well, they were taken into police custody," Sasaki-san responds. "Your clothes, cane, pad, necklace, and phone. The cuffs, too, and Shouto's jacket, in case the evidence got contaminated. I convinced Naomasa to return your cane, necklace, and phone after he scanned them for fingerprints and other proofs." I nod in comprehension. "You should also know that while the police have started the investigation, you have the right to withdraw. I recommend you do not."

"I will not withdraw." There is not the slightest bit of hesitation in my statement.

There are many hazards to letting this investigation proceed. The biggest one is that the prostitution could come to light. Hanada-sama will be ruined, but so will I. He will face life imprisonment or death penalty, while I will face ostracization from society. After all, whorish girls like me have no respect amongst the civilized. The Hanada Group of Companies could slip from my hands just like that. However, I owe retribution to the inner child whose days of joy were crushed. To Shouto, Sasaki-san, and everyone else who did their best to rescue me. The part of me that is Lucifer Morningstar commands me to seek vengeance against all those who dared to harm me. The same part of me that manipulated Miyamoto-san and the others into a trap of my creation. If I play my cards right, I can get them arrested while escaping with minimal damages.

"Hanada-sama is likely involved in the attack. If you confront Miyamoto-san, no doubt he will take his name and mine. To prove his innocence, he will malign me further. So I have a request: please keep the sexual assault trial separate from the financial one. I presume you still have the recording of the conversation between Hanada-sama and Miyamoto-san?" Sasaki-san confirms that he does. "That recording and the blackmail video on Kimura-san's phone is irrefutable evidence to incarcerate them. But I want Hanada-sama's involvement to not be the focus of that case; leave him for the money crime trial. If you can do that for me, Sasaki-san, I will gladly testify."

Shouto wants to protest, but Sasaki-san shakes his head, silencing him. "It's fine," he sighs. "Innocent people often have to pay the price for the sins of others. There is more than enough proof to jail Hanada Asahi with the file submitted to the court. The less mud thrown onto Selene's name, the better. Meanwhile, the perpetrators of the rape attempt can be punished rightfully. This won't be easy, Selene, but I will do all that I can."

"Your assurance is more than enough, Sasaki-san. Thank you. Shouto? Could you stay with me a little longer?"

"As long as you wish for me to," he replies with a grin.

Forever then.

"If all that is settled," Sasaki-san coughs lightly to bring our attention back to him. "Let's prepare your statement, shall we?"

By the time we finish with preparations and giving the final result to Tsukauchi-san, it is well past curfew time.

Aizawa-sensei granted him an exception given the circumstances, but he made it clear that he must return to the dormitory by midnight.

Sasaki-san bids good night, but when Shouto tells me has to go, I am remiss to let him leave.

I grab the sleeve of his jacket desperately.

He bends over and kisses my cheek.

"I'll come back first thing tomorrow morning."

"Promise?"

Another kiss.

"I swear."