"You've lost blood. You need real rest today."
Sosuke Kitahara packed away the last of the gauze, paused, and added, "Even if you heal fast, it'll be three to five days before you can move freely…"
Mrs. Yuigahama's brows knit. "You mean… we have to stay here that long? Before all this, I wouldn't have worried, but now…"
"You have to let the leg recover. Even if it doesn't heal completely, you at least need to be able to walk without tearing it open again. Force it, and you'll just invite more trouble."
He wasn't afraid of retaliation. Now that he'd broken through to Stage Two, ordinary people posed little threat. But Kasumigaoka Utaha, Yukinoshita Yukino, and Haruno's fates were unknown; he couldn't sit here for days waiting on one wound. After a moment's thought, he said, "Tomorrow I'll take you out of here."
"But… my leg?"
Her worry was more than the pain it was what it implied: eating, washing, even using the toilet would all mean relying on him.
"Don't overthink it," Sosuke said with a small smile. "I'll figure it out."
He took two steps, then stopped, conflicted. Mrs. Yuigahama noticed. "What is it?"
"I should tell you something," he decided. "We've actually met about a week ago."
"Have we?" She blinked. "Were you nearby then?"
"Not exactly," he exhaled. "I found a phone in a car. It had photos of you and Yui. Someone traveling with me is Yui's classmate she recognized you. And… there were messages you sent your husband."
"What?"
She lurched upright pain speared her thigh and she froze, teeth clenched, staring at him, disbelieving. Her fingers snapped around his hand. "My husband where is he?"
Sosuke's face tightened. He shook his head and said nothing for a long time.
"I see…"
The words seemed to hollow her out. She released his hand, lashes trembling; tears gathered, then spilled. In moments, her lovely face was streaked with them.
He hesitated, sat beside her. He wanted to say something to ease the blow; nothing felt right. In the end, he simply pulled tissues from the bedside drawer and set them in her palm. "I'm sorry. Try to breathe. It… it will pass."
She glanced at him, eyes dulled, then looked down and blotted her cheeks. Her shoulders shook; she wept quietly for a while, then tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and said softly, "I'll be all right, Kitahara. Could you… help with dinner? I can't make it to the kitchen like this."
"Mm."
He eased off her shoes, helped her lie back, drew the covers up and tucked the corners as if bundling a child against the cold. Hand on the doorknob, he said, "Grief slows healing, too. If you need anything, call me."
She didn't answer. She hid her face beneath the blanket and cried into her hand small, muffled sounds.
Sosuke could only shake his head and go fry a couple of simple dishes.
Half an hour later, he knocked lightly and stepped inside. "Let me help you sit up and eat a little."
"I can't," she said, voice low and dull. "Not now."
"You still have to eat." His tone firmed. "Even a little. If you won't be strong for yourself, no one can do it for you. Starve, and you're just making yourself suffer."
Silence. At length she whispered, "You eat. I want to be alone."
She pulled the blanket back over her face; tears seeped into the pillow again.
Sosuke stood at the threshold. "In those messages… Yui left with you, didn't she? Why isn't she here?"
No reply only the blanket tugged higher.
He sighed, crossed the room, and whisked the covers back. Then he picked her up.
She wriggled weakly, flustered. "W-what are you doing? Put me down!"
He didn't move. "Not eating is bad for your leg. If you won't listen, I'll be 'impolite.'"
She let out a small breath of defeat. "There's no arguing with you… All right, carry me back. I'm not even wearing socks."
"That's better." He smiled, turning back toward the sitting room. "Being a good patient suits you."
"Cheeky."
She shot him a look that was more embarrassed than angry and pointed at the wardrobe. "Bottom drawer black socks. Bring them."
His back long, lean, unbowed filled the doorway. In the hush of evening, it drew her eye. It was a back a grown woman could lean on. The ice around her heart thinned; for all her poise, a widow's heart is never empty for long.
He's right, she told herself, when tears pricked again. I still have Yui. I have to be strong. But when he turned and those dark eyes met hers, the ice melted and a warm current spread in her chest.
No matter her age, a woman can't live on strength alone. After what almost happened this afternoon, that truth bit deeper.
"Give them here," she said, reaching out. "I can do it."
"It's awkward like that."
He crouched. Some impulse made her lift her foot. Sosuke chuckled. "All right, all right consider it a perk of being the patient."
He cradled her foot and slid on the short sock. Her arch was delicate, warm even through the chill of autumn. The jolt that shot through her at the touch made her snatch back her uninjured foot, cheeks coloring. "Honestly who asked you to do that?"
She turned her face aside, then faltered, contrite. "Sorry… forget it. I'll change into a clean robe. There's one in the closet."
He fetched it with a quiet laugh, handed it over, and stepped out. In the hall, the memory of that photo surfaced she looked as beautiful now as then.
I already have Utaha… and I'm not letting go of Yukino, either. What will they think? That I'm lying to them?
And Sayuri… pretending she doesn't exist? Impossible. I could never hand her to anyone else.
Living again had its gifts and its knots.
…
When she called, he went back in. The slacks with the ruined leg were gone; the robe set off the soft fullness of her figure. Bare, pale feet rested in slippers; the small curve of her ankle and the clean line of her arch gave off a quiet, domestic allure.
"All right, sorry to trouble you again oh!"
Before she finished, she was weightless, arms looping Sosuke's arm by reflex.
He glanced away a beat too late, having noticed the elegant line of her throat and the proud rise beneath the robe. "It's no trouble. I'm skinnier than I look, but I'm strong. You're light. I could lift two of you."
She pursed her lips and pushed a lock of hair behind her ear. "Since you insist, I'll try your cooking. But I'm not expecting much. Men in kitchens are all thumbs more mess than help."
"That's not always true," he said, setting her by the low table, rolling up his sleeves. He filled a bowl for her and grinned. "The top chefs in Japan are mostly men. In any field, if a man studies hard enough, he can match sometimes surpass women."
"Says who?" She shot him a look, half teasing, half chiding. "You're young to be this chauvinistic."
He let it go. "In your texts you said Yui's uncle got you out. Why are you here alone?"
Her expression dimmed. She didn't answer.
No way, he thought, a chill prickling. Did something happen to Yui?
"Did she… die?" The words escaped before he could stop them.
Her brows pulled tight. "Don't talk nonsense. Yui isn't dead." She sighed, gaze drifting. "My brother got us to the airport. Seats were… priceless. He had three, for his own family, and managed one more. I… I couldn't fight Yui for it."
"And then?"
"Then word came of mutant birds a dangerous sky. Fewer flights. Riots after that. The airport stopped being safe. I asked a friend of my brother's to take me out. I ended up here."
She tried a slice of potato. Not awful. Edible. When she looked at Sosuke's face, it seemed… easier to look at than before. If I see Yui again, she thought suddenly, maybe I'll nudge them closer.
"Kitahara," she said, "I suddenly want a drink. Check the pack you brought back anything in there? I want to talk. Tell you a story. Pass the time."
"Give me a second."
He rummaged in the short man's bag and returned with a bottle of red. One look said it wasn't cheap. "Cheval Blanc," he said with a crooked smile. "Half gone, though." He pulled the cork, sniffed, brightened. "Still good. We can drink this."
"I don't know good from bad," she said. "My hus … my husband did." A breath hitched in her throat; she steadied it. "Leaving it to go to waste would be a shame. And I'm not alone tonight. Let me see what the expensive stuff tastes like."
She inhaled at the mouth of the bottle fruit and spice and oak, a clean, elegant bouquet. "It does smell wonderful," she admitted. "Here let me pour."
She filled his cup halfway, then her own. The first sip washed cool and clear, lingering. She nodded. "It's gentler than most, but there's something that hangs on."
Sosuke took a long drink; she refilled him at once.
"I should be toasting you," she said, lifting her glass. "You saved me from humiliation and brought word of my husband. Even if it wasn't what I wanted to hear… I'm grateful."
They clinked lightly. She tossed back her half with a practiced tilt.
A few glasses in, her words began to flow. Weeks of fear and solitude, the shock of the attack, the grief that followed everything she'd dammed up for so long finally found a way out.
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