There is something disconcerting about his composure. No, that’s not it. It’s her own composure that’s bothering her. Didn’t she come here looking for a safe space for an overdue breakdown? Wasn’t she hoping for one? But it wouldn’t come. Is it still the shock? Is it his presence, presence of a stranger,? Or is she really that hollow, unable to feel anything of note about the horribleness unfolding, about Geto, about Gojo--
Her eyes follow his movements. He hardly qualifies as priority in terms of triage. Her shoulders loosen in time with his, the rhythm of her breathing adjusts, too. All the while, he’s doing his own thing, without paying much attention to her introduction. Getting rid of some dirt and blood, uncovering the actual injuries underneath. Weird ones, too. Part cursed spirit, but very human in death, as his brothers already proved. But everything in between? Still a bit of a mystery to her. Was that a good enough excuse? She supposes the longer she stays, the more pronounced invading his privacy becomes. If he turned so suddenly, overcome by the urge to protect Yuji, what are the odds he will turn again, the other way?
„Nice to meet you, Choso.” No sign of malicious intent in his eyes. No imminent danger, maybe. And that’s enough. She feels heavy. Pins and needles go through her hands and feet and finally even her face. Eyelids slowly fall close, adrenaline rush coming to a sudden end. Too early. She buries her nails in the inside of her hands to prevent it. „Yeah. He’s actually a little freakish that way. What about you?”
