[ In another, Akira hears his name, stammering out an apology to his teacher who is just as bewildered as he is, nearly overturning his chair in scrambling out of the classroom in response to Amami's yelling. His left arm is in a sling, and one of his feet drags as he pulls himself to the door, stomach clenching at the sight of blood, at Rokkun who still hasn't let go of Komaeda's hand even as he doubles over in shock and pain, his hand a vicegrip in Komaeda's.
He should let go. He should've let go, one hand to clamp over his throat and stem what blood he can, the other to grab at whatever is trying to burrow into his neck and fling it aside, but he only has one free hand and he weighs his options.
Blood spills down his front as he wrenches something off his neck, fingers digging deep until he can feel them puncture and give, hot and wet as his own blood that coats his hand. He sidesteps, the image of a """soccer ball""" in his mind as he brings his foot down hard and feels something crunch beneath his shoe— scoop, toss, leg sweeping and shin slamming something that hits the ground thirty feet away. The one on his arm skitters up his shoulder with needle claws, digging in so Rokkun can't shake it off but he doesn't mean to— he turns and drives the shoulder straight into the wall, gritting his teeth against the screech that sounds right against his ear.
His knees give. His breath gurgles through his throat. ]
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He should let go. He should've let go, one hand to clamp over his throat and stem what blood he can, the other to grab at whatever is trying to burrow into his neck and fling it aside, but he only has one free hand and he weighs his options.
Blood spills down his front as he wrenches something off his neck, fingers digging deep until he can feel them puncture and give, hot and wet as his own blood that coats his hand. He sidesteps, the image of a """soccer ball""" in his mind as he brings his foot down hard and feels something crunch beneath his shoe— scoop, toss, leg sweeping and shin slamming something that hits the ground thirty feet away. The one on his arm skitters up his shoulder with needle claws, digging in so Rokkun can't shake it off but he doesn't mean to— he turns and drives the shoulder straight into the wall, gritting his teeth against the screech that sounds right against his ear.
His knees give. His breath gurgles through his throat. ]