We took the first shuffling step toward the bathroom door. Then another. The linoleum was cold under my bare feet, but I barely felt it. All I could feel was her — the steady thump of her heartbeat against my ribs, the faint tremor in the arm wrapped around my waist, the way her fingers flexed and unflexed against my back like she was afraid I'd vanish if she let go.
Halfway there, I dipped my head until my lips were beside her ear.
"Sister Yuko…" I whispered, letting my voice come out rough and grateful. "Thank you."
She stumbled — just a tiny hitch in her step — and the blush that had started to fade roared back across her cheeks.
"It's… " It's my fault," she answered quickly, almost frantically. "Otherwise, you wouldn't be injured like this. You don't need to thank me. Please don't."
Her voice cracked on the last word.
I let silence answer for a moment — let her feel the weight of my body against hers, the way I was trusting her completely.
