Amidst their video call, now that Aizawa thinks about it, perhaps he isn't suited for these things. Instead of opening the call by checking on Arata, who suffers the most from this incident, he let her steer the conversation into discussing her faults. It was only after their topic deviate to the looming legal issues ahead he realized that this isn't right.
My priorities got messed up... I was too fixated on the things we could fix to improve her situation.
Sure, explaining the predicament they are in to Arata and Todoroki is important. Especially, if he considers the fact that it's the only factor whose outcome they can still change. However, it's never the entire point.
"Okay, enough about that part. As far as our call goes, you've been so caught up with what you did wrong. Do you realize that you've also been wronged? You're the victim here. The demonic villain tortured you, harassed you—"
"I know." An uncomfortable look crosses Arata's face as she averts her gaze to the floor. "Please don't... bring the details up. I know what he did was wrong. That's why I fought so hard."
For all her life, she had nothing. Not a personal space. Not even a name.
All she had in her control was solely her body, her mind, her emotions—herself. That's all she had, and she wouldn't let anyone—be it the Shirayuki teenager years ago or the demon yesterday—take it away from her. Not ever.
I would die first before handing it over.
"Okay, that's... good to know." Aizawa coughs, feeling a bit awkward after he fails breaching a sensitive subject. No matter how many times it has surfaced, Arata's hard interior still surprises him. It's like seeing a wolf—a praying mantis—in sheep's clothing. "Then, how are you feeling? How have you been holding up since yesterday?"
"I knew what I was getting into," Arata mumbles, scratching the back of her neck, "when I chose to jump from the ladder."
Besides, haven't I dealt the same pain, if not more, to the demon in return?
"That's not my question. How are you?"
It's a simple question, yet Arata can't bring herself to answer it. Not because she doesn't have an answer, but because she can't decide on a single answer.
How can I tell you, that I flinch at the sight of a dark bathrobe near the shower, although it doesn't resemble bat wings? That even with Shoto-san in this room with me, from time to time I glimpse a pair of yellow eyes in the corner?
How can I tell you, that even after scrubbing my skin so hard, I still can feel the cold touch he trace from my shoulders to my neck? That bile rises in my stomach when I remember the places his hand has traveled—
And as if to prove her point, those invisible fingers are back. She freezes up as they wrap around her thigh, the thumb caressing a spot on her skin just before a phantom needle pierces it.
Stop, stop imagining it! Stop—
Arata exhales sharply when the fingers shift to her nape, the tips quietly slipping under her T-shirt. A caress it is, yet every stroke feels like a punch to her gut, and she can't help but shudder. The fingers crawl along her neck, slithering slowly to the edge of her collarbone, slipping inside, and down, down to—
"Ara?" Shoto tugs the pillow on her lap, his voice rings clear amidst the murk suffocating her. "Breathe. You look pale."
"I— Uh..." It's over. It's over. It's already over. Snap out of it! "Yeah... Sorry..."
"Arata?" Aizawa calls her again, worry and impatience underlying his tone. "I can't help you if you don't tell me how you feel."
"I..." Arata trails off, voice dying along with her certainty. "I..."
The demon hurt me. I hurt him. We broke even, didn't we?
He has been locked up by the police. I have gotten back at him. Everything that needed to be done has been done.
So... why does it still hurt? Why is it still choking me up to my neck?
Why can't I get it out of my mind? What more do I need to do?
He can't reach me here, but he haunts me like a nightmare.
"You what?" Aizawa prompts, a frown creases his forehead.
"I— I don't know." Arata buries her face into the pillow in front of her. "I didn't mean to make you both worry. It's just, um... everything is jumbled up together, and... I don't know. All I can say is... I'm holding on."
"Do you want to talk about it?" Shoto prods her in a gentle voice. "I'm here if you want."
He said it as if I wasn't here, Aizawa grumbles, clicking his tongue when the glare he sends to Todoroki goes unnoticed. The boy is too engrossed in his worry for Arata. "Well, Todoroki's right. Letting it out can help sometimes."
"Thanks, Shoto-san, Aizawa-san... but can you give me, um, more time to process everything? At the moment I... I don't know what to... um..."
"It's okay." Aizawa's tone takes a milder turn. "Take all the time you need. Sorry I'm not the best at handling this. Can I ask you to meet Recovery Girl after you come back home? She's a better alternative than me, and you're both women. I think you'll feel more comfortable talking to her."
"... Okay."
"The investigation is tomorrow, but it's not a deadline for you to come to terms with everything that has happened. It doesn't mean you have to be okay by tomorrow," Aizawa reminds her. "Grieve for your own pain when you need to. All wounds need time to heal. Give yourself a chance to recover, Arata."
If Shoto could be honest, there is a lot he wants to ask to Arata. Because the messy stream of words she blurted out among her sobs, back when he took her in his arms in the seed storage, left most of the details blank.
He only pieced together enough to understand the bottom line: that the demon had laid his hand where he wasn't supposed to.
"Where did he touch you?"
"How far did he go? Did he slip his hands under your clothes as well?"
"Is that why you looked cautious whenever I got a little too close?"
"What can I do to make you feel safe, Ara?"
These are the questions on the tip of his tongue, yet he knows better than to put his voice in them. Arata has sought a refuge in their soundless night. During this time of uncertainty, serenity must be indispensable for her, all the more when there's a police interview waiting for them tomorrow. He isn't going to disrupt her quiet moment by asking those questions.
She needs this space, Shoto glances at the side of their room, where Arata is. To reflect, to calm down, and most importantly... to heal.
She has been keeping to herself, perched on a couch there. The couch is built into the window, whose sturdy glass spreads from ceiling to the floor, giving them an access to the view out there. Lies beyond the outer ring of I-Island, a flowing dark blue glimmers under the moonlight, ebbing in and out together with the tide.
The sea is a breathtaking view, but it isn't one that takes Shoto's breath away.
With both of her legs stretched out on the window seat's thick cushion and her head leaning sideways to the transparent glass, to him, it looks like she's sitting on the edge of the world with no railing. A little further to the right, and he can imagine her falling down a hundred stories below.
To tell the truth, such mishap is impossible because of the glass' existence. Still, the no-barrier illusion bugs him a bit.
So, he pulls out a comic book—complete with a portable reading light, since the moonlight is the only source of illumination in their dim room—from his bag and plops down on the carpet next to the window seat. At least, with this distance, should anything happen, he could leap and grab her in no time.
Sensing his presence, Arata's gaze shifts from the ocean panorama to him. "Oh, you came here... Did you, um, call me and I didn't respond? Or is there something wrong with your bed, Shoto-san? I'm sorry I've been... preoccupied."
"No, it's just..." he glances at the vacant twin beds lying in front of them, then her. "... warmer here."
When she throws him a confused look, he shrugs his shoulders and dishes out the first reason that comes to mind, "The aircon's blow doesn't reach."
"Aircon, huh...?"
"..."
"Well... maybe you're right." Perhaps, Arata gets what Shoto actually means. Having been devoid of their chatter since the sun disappeared from the horizon, any remnants of warmth lingering in their room have faded away by now, leaving behind a chilly cloak of silence. It's only when her gaze lands on him the coldness melts. "It is warmer here."
Shoto grabs a large pillow near the window seat's base and offers it to her. "Do you want a pillow?"
"No, you can use it." Arata pauses for a while. "Um, Shoto-san... do you want to join me up here?"
She moves to make some room for him on the long cushion, but he stops her. "Don't."
I understand you need your own space for now, Ara. I can respect that. We don't have to be inseparable.
Just know that... I'm here for you. If you ever need anything.
"This spot is okay for me." Shoto rests his back against the pillow. He flips through the pages of his comic book, then clips the miniature lamp onto the back cover. "Finally, some peace and quiet."
A sigh escapes Arata's mouth as she slumps her head to the window once more. "Yeah, a lot... has happened."
From her thinking he wasn't real, their lunch together, her heat therapy for him and her outburst that followed, his video call with his family and his misunderstanding with Endeavor, to their talk with Aizawa a couple of hours ago. All in one day.
Not to mention the events from yesterday, like the I-Speed competition, the villain invasion, her fight with the demon, and so on...
"A lot" might be putting it lightly. Arata doesn't know about Shoto, but it was such an emotional and physical rollercoaster to her. It completely drained her; she barely has enough energy to mull over everything and stay seated without falling.
"I don't know if I could've made it past today without you, Shoto-san," she breathes out, watching the swashing waves from afar.
Arata might say that, but Shoto thinks otherwise. He barely did anything that actually helped her. Other than seeing the resulting battle scars on her and picking her broken pieces up, what could he do? Protecting her he failed at, keeping her safe from the nightmare shadowing her he can't.
"You're not giving yourself enough credit, Ara." His thumbs dig into the book covers, his mind taken off from the fictional story laid out in front of him. "All I can do is keeping you company. I couldn't save—"
"You trust me. You stay with me. It means a lot to me... and more than I could've ever hoped for." Her voice is wistful, softer than the pillow behind his back, yet Shoto can perceive the hint of iron lurking just a layer underneath it. "You know, there's a big difference... between waking up to an empty basement all alone and having you here with me. You can't fight my battles for me, but… thank you for not letting me go through them alone, Shoto-san."
"..."
"I know, it might not seem a lot to you..." Her green eyes glimmer under the moonbeam as they dive deep into his grey-cyan ones. "But, for me, your presence changes everything."
"Then, in that light, I also have something to say."
Arata isn't the only one who draws on their togetherness; Shoto does too. He probably should have said this earlier, prior to Aizawa's contacting them, but it got eclipsed by other matters.
He closes his book as his thoughts fly back to the end of his call with his family.
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"— I'm happy to have talked with you regardless!" Fuyumi clasped her hands in front of her chest, beaming at him profusely. "Natsu and Okaa-san will be glad to learn that you're okay. Thank you for not declining Otou-san's call in the first place."
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If there had been any doubt left in him whether answering Enji's call was the right choice or not, seeing his sister smile swept it away. And he wouldn't have come to that decision if not for Arata.
"Without you, I would've rejected my old man's call and made my family worried." Shoto returns her gratitude with a nod of his head. "Thanks, Ara, for convincing me to answer it. I'm also glad you're with me."
"My pleasure." A tiny grin and a pair of dimples surface on Arata's face for a moment, before blue reclaims it once more. "I just wish... the situation were different."
Without this emergency lockdown. Without the villain invasion. Without the burden of excessive self-defense on my shoulders. Without the demon's torments plaguing me. Without everything crashing down all at once.
Her gaze glides to the vast ocean once more, and Shoto knows she has been sucked back into her world. Her mind is floating, navigating across the seas within her. "Yeah," he whispers, to nobody but himself. "If only..."
That's the last conversation transpired between them that night. Afterwards, both are drowned in their own activities—Arata in her thoughts and Shoto in his book.
With silence between their fingers, but not alone. Like a lighthouse in the raging storm, one's presence is a beacon for another to sail to. The deep unknown isn't to sink their soul and the gurgling waves can't submerge their heads under, for they have found a shore in one another.