[ That waver in his voice, the clear pain flickering through his features before being neatly tucked away again. Has he ever seen Akira this raw? It's somehow even different from their conversation in the tea house, which was already a unique sight.

The two of them, a ceaseless ouroboros of guilt and care in equal measure. Of course they can't let one another go. ]

Ah... Well, I wouldn't say it was a fully conscious action on my part.

[ Because he was about to die, and because those inextricable parts of Azathoth are capable of acting independently to protect him. Eager to do so, even.

They really must have had a hell of a battle in Akira's timeline. ]

But what was done was strong enough to fix me up. I promise you that. If I had an extra shirt with me, you'd never even know it happened.

[ That last part is said with a smile, a forced lightening of his tone, but if Akira is looking closely – and what are they doing, if not staring one another intently down – he'll be able to see the fear trembling at the edges. It isn't the state of his injury now. It's the fact that it happened at all – that one moment he was trying to find the train station, and the next he was slammed into a wall with a blade to his throat. If he hadn't awakened to the powers that he did less than two months ago, he would be dead. If that man pulls the same move on any other people without special abilities, they'll be dead.

It sinks in, in fits and starts. Every time a new piece of what transpired tonight clicks into place to lodge the whole image into his memory, he's unsettled and unmoored all over again.

Maruki draws a breath, wills it to be steady – it isn't, despite his best efforts – and rubs his palm vigorously against Akira's arm to try to loosen him from that worry. ]

Come on, let's at least close the door.