(Yuuta's Apartment)
The sound of their struggle, scuffling feet, heavy breathing, the quiet crackle of frost forming on the coffee table, drifted across the room.
Yuuta's hands were wrapped around Erza's wrists, holding her back from the balcony, from the night, from the war that waited beyond the glass doors. His arms trembled. His knuckles were white.
He was not strong enough for this.
But he held on anyway.
Erza's aura pressed against him, not choking or crushing, but wrapping around his skin like a second layer of warmth.
It should have terrified him. Instead, it felt like standing too close to a fire on a winter night. Dangerous. Destructive. But warm.
"Wait!"
She turned. Her eyes were wrong too, glowing faintly, unfocused, looking past him at something he couldn't see.
Her lips moved, but the words came out in a language he didn't recognize, old and sharp and cold.
She was serious this time.
Yuuta held on. "Erza, my queen, please."
