Eijiro

It's a busy night, a noisy night, and it breaks his heart a bit, hearing the children he's been feeding and taking care of for months screaming in terror.

Screaming because of him, partly, and that's why he doesn't respond to them. It's better that way, letting them work things out between themselves, and he can tell from the rattling of doors and the clicking of lights and the stumbling of tired feet that they're doing it. They're taking care of each other, something they've gotten very good at, and they don't really need him.

It doesn't change the fact that he wants to go, aches to go, especially when it's Natsumi screaming.

He remembers her crying as a little girl. Remembers going to comfort her, telling her stories, keeping the monsters at bay.

He wonders, now, if it's real. If the memories he has, the memories she has, are truths or lies or a combination of the two.

It doesn't really matter. He's himself again now, as normal as he's ever been, and he plans on staying that way. No more capes, no more belts, no more technology and magic and darkness taking him away and making him hurt the children he's supposed to be helping.

He strokes the top of Kivala's head, comforting the little bat as it sulks because he won't let it out to go see what's wrong with Yuusuke.

Yuusuke doesn't need to see her right now.

Just like Natsumi doesn't need to see him right now, because as painful as it's got to be to see Yuusuke and especially Tsukasa after all that happened, at least she knows what to make of them.

At least she knows what they are.

He sighs, turning over, away from the light still burning in the hallway. They're finally quiet, though the boys are still in Natsumi's room, and he hopes that now, maybe, they'll all be able to sleep better.

Though whether they do or they don't, he'll make sure they get a good breakfast in the morning.

It's the best thing he can offer by way of apology and promise.