Clink. Clink. Clink.

Suga sat quietly, tweezers in hand. Heavy guilt weighed on his shoulders as he plucked the last of the glass shards from Shiori's foot. This was all his fault.

Clink. Clink. Clink.

The sound of the shards being dropped in the pewter container filled the room with a consistent, clean rhythm, syncopating its duet with the plinking of raindrops against the window. Outside, the skies were pitch dark and muggy. The late night hours had ushered in a routine thunderstorm.

"Don't look so upset! It's fine, I promise."

She gave a warm, reassuring smile. That was the sole reason she'd ended up in this scenario all together, wasn't it? That smile was so sweet, so honest. It was the only thing worth protecting anymore. Despite his fervent desire to keep her safe, he had ended up hurting her.

His eyes remained downcast as he silently cleaned her wounds.

"Suga, don't beat yourself up over it, alright?"

He would definitely beat himself up over it.

"I really appreciate it, you know." Her gentle voice grew softer as she continued on. "I mean…I know how you feel. I still feel little apprehensive myself."

Apprehensive? She felt apprehensive? Night after night, he'd shot straight up out of bed, sweat rolling down his forehead, hoarse voice screaming out for mercy. There wasn't a moment without the ever-present fear blaring and buzzing in his brain. His heart raced every time the sun went down, every time the dark clouds overhead rolled their ugly way back in, every time there was the slightest crick or creak. He was not apprehensive. He was scared out of his wits.

"But you don't have to be worried anymore, okay? Everything's over with now, and you are most definitely safe. "

You idiot girl, he thought. I'm not scared for me.

He wrapped the gauze around her foot.

I'm scared for you.

If he was really scared for himself, then he could have left years ago. He could have hopped the first train and never, ever looked back. He certainly wouldn't have stuck around. But there was always that chance that Shiori was going to come back, and he had to be prepared for that. Above all else, he had to keep his promise.

Shiori thought that it was all over now, that his promise of protection had been ultimately fulfilled. How asinine. He hadn't made that promise with a time-sensitive goal in mind; he had made it for a lifetime.

Although the days of the Kotori Obake inhabiting the forest had come to pass, old habits were brutally hard to kill. He had known only one surefire method of defense- the moonstone- and he had exploited it well. Despite Shiori's objections, he was still constantly clasping necklaces of blue crystal around her neck. He strung the rocks together and hung them wherever she dared to tread. His hands were rarely far from the moonstone blade. Maybe she was right, and he had gone a little overboard- but safe was better than sorry. Overboard was better than no Shiori.

He'd been particularly overzealous in his noble pursuit this time. He'd woken up to the same nightmare again, the same bloody terror repeating over and over in his mind. Gathering an arm's full of his only solid resource, he had shuffled down the quiet, dark hallway to Shiori's room and spilled the moonstone pile at her doorstep. Nothing was going to get in her room, not as long as he lived. Back pressed to the wood paneled walls, he slunk to the floor. He was so exhausted. When was the last time he had actually slept? Well, truthfully, he hadn't slept well since his mother had gone missing that fateful day when he was a child. Sleep was no friend of Suga.

It was deep into the night. He figured he should head back to his room and at least try to sleep…well, at least, that's what he was going to do before he imagined those children clawing their way through the walls, their voices taunting and singing and carrying on as they prowled their way to Shiori's bedside.

He decided he'd just sit where he was.

Eventually, his tired blue eyes began to droop. Exhaustion could do wonders for cutting through even the steeliest of resolves.

The next thing he knew, he was thrust back into the waking world at the crack of shattering glass. Shiori had gotten up and stumbled out into the hallway, her feet becoming the ironic victim of Suga's stonework sanctuary.

And that is precisely how the pair had ended up here, nursing wounds in the latest of hours.

"Thank you so much, Suga," she expressed her gratitude, rubbing her newly-bandaged foot. A curtain of her tawny hair draped her tired face as she slumped in her chair. Deep circles ran in parallel beneath her eyelids, a testament to her fatigue. "Really, what would I do without you?"

They both stared at the kitchen tile quietly before he removed his familiar memo pad from his pocket and scrawled out a message. He hadn't gotten used to having his voice back yet, and this was far more comfortable. He slid the paper across the table.

MEMO: I'll make us some tea.

"The time for midnight snacks has long since passed, y'know?" A little amused smirk played on the corners of her lips. "But I'd love that. I'd love that a lot."

. . .

The tea leaves had dissolved under intense heat, leaving them with boiled cups of slightly-flavored water. Yes, Suga managed to even burn tea. In all pursuits of cooking, he was a calamity- not that that ever stopped him from trying.

Shiori sat at the table, stirring the contents of the chipped teacup with great focus. She wore a concentrated, distant expression.

The rickety, aged chair let out a creak as Suga sat down across from her. They drank their tea-abomination in the absence of conversation. She was reticent as they drank in the dim light of the kitchen lamp. Suga watched her despondent behavior with great worry. He placed his writing pad on the counter.

MEMO: Are you okay?

"Yeah," she replied in hushed tones, "I'm just fine."

MEMO: Why were you getting up to leave in the dead of night?

"Couldn't I ask you the same thing? Seeing as how you were sitting outside my room and all."

Her flippant answer wasn't expected by Suga, whose cheeks began to flush pink as he stared down at the table. That brand of curtness was very unusual for her. What a defensive response.

MEMO: Sorry. I shouldn't have. I was worried.

She looked up finally- was it just him, or were her eyes watery?- and sighed.

"I'm sorry for being so rude, please forgive me..."

Now fiddling with the hem of her nightshirt, her gaze averted from his own once again.

"I just had a nightmare is all," she blushed, "and I was…and…I don't know, I guess I…I was going to your room."

Caught off-guard, his eyes widened. They were an uncomfortably sterile shade of bleached blue, and they made him seem like a ghost of sorts, merely passing through this world for the most fleeting of moments. It was a strange thought for sure, and he didn't know why it had occurred to him in a moment like this, but he wondered what Shiori thought of that. Quite often, he wondered what Shiori thought about him. For the first few days after they'd been reunited, she had seemed horribly frightened by him…did she still feel the same way?

He decided to do something he wasn't quite comfortable doing yet. He sat his pen down atop the paper and pushed it aside. Resisting the urge to clear his raspy throat first, he spoke.

"You can always come get me, Shiori. No matter what."

She didn't look up, but she did smile, which was a positive sign. His tense shoulders loosened up a bit in relief.

"I still really miss my old house," she confessed. Suga sat patiently, waiting for her to continue.

It'd only been about two weeks since everything had happened, in which time Shiori had made the decision to sell her parents' house and move into the museum. Suga speculated that it hurt her to leave her old place behind much more than she let on. He was no stranger to the pain of losing your parents, after all. It was his most selfish thought, but he was infinitely thankful to have her back in the village- even more so under the same roof. While life had suddenly become very difficult for Shiori, it had inversely become much better for Suga. This revelation only furthered his feelings of guilt.

Her fingers played with the rim of the teacup plate, tracing it with an absentminded look. Her eyes didn't leave the table.

"But…you know, when I think about nights like right now…"

Nights with bloody feet and burned tea? Suga thought.

"If I were in my old house all alone…only surrounded by memories of my f-family…"

Her voice cracked, streams of tears spilled out and streaked down her face.

"And well, what I'm trying to say is that I'm so, so happy I'm here instead."

He stood quickly, pushing his chair away and joining her side. She was soon enveloped in his arms, wrapped gently in a reassuring hug. To his surprise, she held on tight, giving him a little squeeze. Warm drops of water seeped through the shoulder of his sweater, her tears beginning to fall faster.

Her speech continued on, her small voice muffled in tiny black fibers of wool.

"Actually, I'm just really happy I have you," she cried. "I'd be…I'd be so lonely if it weren't for you. Y-you're the only person in the world I have left."

His hand awkwardly rubbed her back in the most comforting way he knew how, all the while his heart pounded through his chest. He really hadn't expected all this tonight. Well, he really hadn't expected all this ever.

"You'll always have me," he croaked, chest feeling heavy. "I promise."

Maybe it was just his imagination, or maybe he had finally poisoned himself with his wretched cooking skills, but Shiori did something incredibly strange.

She slid her tiny warm hands to meet the sides of his face, leaned up on the tips of her bare toes, cold against the tile floor, and kissed him.

He forgot how to breathe.

She only grinned in response, holding back a laugh at the beet-red color pooling in his cheeks. She didn't have any right to laugh- her own cheeks were flushed with light pink glow. Her smile was beaming as she swiped a sleeve across her eyes and sniffled the rest of her tears aside.

"Now," she said, turning away and leaving him staring agape with wide doe eyes, "How about I make us a fresh pot of tea?"

She poured the teapot's old contents out into the sink.

"No offense," she winked, "But your cooking skills…well, they could use a little work."

Author's Note: Dedicated to the person I wrote this for: Abby (user portalshipping) (check out her stories, she is ~*THE BEST*~), one of the best friends anyone could ever have. I can only hope you enjoyed this piece of trash, Abbs! I LOVE YOU.