There was a small bench just outside the ICU wing, nestled between the vending machine.
Kyouko sat there now.
Her purse in her lap.
Hands clasped tightly.
Eyes fixed on the closed doors.
Somewhere behind them, Haruki was lying alone—silent, surrounded by machines, his breath regulated by a rhythm not his own.
She could still feel the warmth of his arms around her.
The way he kissed her neck just this morning.
The way he whispered her name.
"Haruki…"
Her phone vibrated sharply.
The screen lit up:
Satomi.
Kyouko sniffed, wiped her face quickly, and answered.
Before she could speak.
"Mom!! Where are you!? Do you know how long we've been waiting outside!? We thought you went to the supermarket!"
Kyouko stared ahead, jaw clenched.
She wanted to scream.
To throw the phone.
To tell them everything.
Her voice came out low. Cold. Controlled.
"…Are you both stupid or blind?"
"What? What do you mean?"
"Check your messages."
A pause.
"Check LINE."
