The Accompanist

Chapter 45: Three Days

(Just a heads up: this chapter is pretty long)

Tsunade's inspection to Boutarou's arm revealed a potentially fractured collarbone along with a large bruise and a fair amount of swelling. But when she attempted to take the wrapping off of his hand, he downplayed the injury and indicated with his eyes that if Sayaka found out about how messed up it was, she would break. And he didn't particularly want to make her cry anymore tonight.

When his checkup was over, they were left alone in a heavy silence for what felt like hours. All of Boutarou's adrenaline wore off. Sayaka was tucked into his chest, his arms around her back as he sat against the wall, thumb gently brushing over her shoulder again and again to keep himself from falling prey to the weight of his exhaustion.

Shiki's mom eventually appeared and ushered them away in her Honda CR-V to a love hotel in Ikebukuro. This was supposed to be a congratulatory present for Sayaka getting discharged, but now it was an apology for her "stupid husband and son who valued strategic and quick wins over people's emotions."

After all the chaos, they desperately needed solace and peace, even if it was only for three days. 

Sayaka clung to Boutarou's arm until they made it to their suite on the twentieth floor. Shiki's mom pushed their suitcases inside the door and caught it just before it could close. "Don't forget to deadbolt this. There are guards. But as much as I wish I could guarantee your complete safety, it's always better to be safe than sorry."

With that, Boutarou's weak and weary body was enveloped by a still and deadening silence. The absence of the usual sounds and lights from the hospital left him disoriented for a few moments, his heartbeat ringing in his ears.

His limbs were long overdue for rest, fatigue stinging like little bugs eating away at his muscles. Between all of the panic attacks, adrenaline rushes, and lamentation, he wanted to collapse onto the floor in a puddle.

But after seven nights of falling asleep with pepper spray in his hand, he knew he would be a fool not to heed Shiki's mom's warning. So, with great reluctance, he shifted one foot back and raised his arm at the pace of a sloth to deadbolt the door.

Sayaka must've thought he was turning towards her for a hug. Her arms loosely wound around his waist. It was all he could do not to fall over... But he melted into her warmth nevertheless. It was a miracle she could still move, that she hadn't been reduced to a complete zombie by a shutdown. He had to comfort and encourage her as much as he could.

They stayed tucked into each other until Boutarou thought that his knees might give out, and he forced himself to pull away. He could hold her again in bed.

Working off his shoes one by one, he fumbled with the deadbolt, movements clumsy and uncoordinated.

When it finally clicked into place, he worked off his shoes and hooked his good thumb onto his waistband. His pants were covered in the crusted dried blood of his enemies, and at this point, he didn't think Sayaka would mind whether he was clothed or not.

A tug on the bottom of his shirt stopped him before he could fully free his ankles. Sayaka steadied herself, undoing the silver belt buckle that held up the borrowed pants until they fell straight to the ground. His eyes wandered her pale legs with a slow and weighted blink. But even if Sayaka stripped down to nothing right then and there, he probably still would have fallen into bed and cuddled her to sleep.

Fifteen grueling shuffles of torture later, Boutarou's aching muscles were finally relieved of their agony. The feather pillow took its time to decompress under his heavy head, cushiony fabric enveloping his sore body and cooling the backs of his swollen hands. He wanted to slide under the blankets. But his better judgment and thousand-pound legs said otherwise.