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"...Shu-san. Is this... a dream?" Yuma asks, blearily.
His body is tired. His mind is tired, too — and he can't trust what he sees in front of him, right now. He's still being targeted by that dream-controlling kaiju, after all; maybe it's just gotten better at showing him what he wants to see.
After all, it's Shu that he wakes up to, looking at him like — like that. Usually, Shu tries to hide that expression, but Yuma's caught it on his face a few times, after close scrapes and days where Yuma's feeling down. It's like Yuma's someone important, someone Shu thinks it's worth it to worry about...
(...Maybe he hadn't been dreaming when he'd heard Shu call him an irreplaceable friend. The words had been hesitant, or... or maybe they hadn't been what Shu really wanted to say. Yuma's not sure, and he's way too tired to think about it. Not when there's still a threat to Hoshimoto on the loose. Not when he still has something to run to.
Not even when Shu, it seems, wishes he could stop him.)
Shu's face shifts, the way it always does when he doesn't know what to do — and then he's reaching forward, taking Yuma's hand in his. "No," he says, firmly.
This is real, Yuma thinks, and the closest thing to a smile he can manage crosses his lips. This is reality, and Shu's hand on his is proof of that, so —
He tries to get up, but no — no, he can't. It hurts too much, right now, and Shu isn't letting go; Yuma doesn't have the energy to fight it. "Where's Guilebaku?" he asks, instead.
"You mean that kaiju?" Shu asks. Yuma nods weakly; Shu shakes his head. "Don't worry about that right now. Please, just... get some rest."
And Yuma wants to fight it. It isn't that he wants to run; he has to run. Arc is the only one who can protect the earth, and Yuma doesn't want to lose anyone, never again; what happens to him in the process doesn't matter. He knows it could kill him... no, it probably will kill him. And it's funny, because of course Yuma's scared of dying... but he's made a strange sort of peace with it, too. If the cost of a safe world is his life, he'll give it. He's fine with that.
But Yuma's head is tilting back before he can stop it; he's so tired, and Shu's voice, telling him to get some rest... his body listens before he has a chance to act.
He's used to exhaustion — it just hits, sometimes, though things have been better since he started working at SKIP. There have been days where he couldn't bring himself to do much more than sink into his bed and close his eyes after he got home, weeks when he couldn't bring himself to get out of bed in the first place — his body, and his mind, don't let him do anything else, when that happens. He always hates it (he always grows so restless, and it's never like he wants to be immobilized by his own mental and physical health — but it's not like he can control it, either), but it's something Yuma knows.
But even as Yuma sinks into sleep, Shu's hand stays there, warm, and steady — it's new, and it's good, and Yuma wonders if — if he's allowed to let himself have this. If he's allowed to run away, even if it's just for a little while, to — to keep himself safe. To just... rest, for a while. He wonders if he's allowed to say "no", and let whatever happens to the world happen. He could spend his last moments at Shu's side, holding his hand just like this...
...but the regret would kill him, if he didn't move.
For this exact moment, though, he can close his eyes and dream a little longer. He might live through this, after all. Maybe he can have a peaceful life, after this, helping people with SKIP and spending whatever days will come at Shu's side.
If he doesn't fight for that future, though, how can it be his?
When Yuma wakes up, Shu is gone. He listens to as much of his conversation with the rest of SKIP as he can; I don't have much time to get out before they see me, he thinks, steeling himself to the best of his ability.
Each step is a challenge, but there's no choice — not for Yuma himself, and not for the Earth. Not for the people he loves.
He exits SKIP's office with a deep breath.
Time to run.
