The days had become one long, white blur under the hospital's constant fluorescent lights. They bled into each other, measured only by the small, rhythmic beeping of the monitor and the quiet, steady rise and fall of Jun's chest beneath the blankets.
My life was simple now: school until three, then four hours of monastic devotion here, sitting beside him, talking, or just holding his hand. Then home for a quiet dinner, and finally, falling into bed from sheer exhaustion.
This afternoon, I was telling him the story of the Ten-Yen Coin. It felt like a silent confession of my own moment of weakness—that day I almost let the sea swallow me. I disguised it as reminiscing, but it was the quiet truth.
"The sea wouldn't take it, you know," I whispered, my thumb tracing the faint blue path of a vein on the back of his hand. His skin was always a little cool now. "The current just kept pushing it back toward the shore. That ten-yen coin you insisted on saving, the first deposit for our life together... it wouldn't let me give up."
I managed a soft, shaky laugh. "You were such a nuisance, Jun. Even when you weren't here, you wouldn't let me rest."
I leaned my head against the sheet, letting the sheer weight of five weeks of sleepless anxiety finally settle onto the bed. I was about to drift off, just for a moment...
And then, a shock of pure, impossible sensation jolted me upright.
It wasn't a spasm. It wasn't a random twitch. It was a conscious, deliberate pressure. His fingers—the ones I'd grown used to finding limp and cold—curled around my thumb. He squeezed. Once. Firmly.
I froze entirely. The sudden, overwhelming truth stopped my heart. All sound in the hospital room—the beeping, the distant cough, the hum of the air—went completely, violently silent in my mind.
I watched, holding my breath, as his eyelids slowly, agonizingly lifted.
The color was the same rich, warm brown I remembered, but they were no longer glazed with that terrifying stillness. They were focused, fixed right on my face, and instantly, they were lit up with that same, familiar, irritating spark that defined him.
A wave of pure, crushing victory washed over me. My faith, my insane certainty that he would come back, had finally become a solid, physical fact. I tried to speak, but a tight, burning sob jammed in my throat.
His gaze held mine, unwavering. His lips parted, and a dry, rusty sound escaped him. The air between us felt thick, vast, and utterly terrifying. All the doctor's warnings—the coma, the unknown trauma—flashed behind my eyes. I had fought for his body, but if he looked at me now and saw a stranger, that would be the true death. The victory would turn to ash. Please, Jun. Remember me. Don't let my waiting have been for nothing.
"Yui," he rasped.
That one word. It was the most precious, long-forgotten melody. He managed the faintest, teasing curve to his mouth—the exact, arrogant smile that always preceded his mischief.
My breath burst out of me in a tearful, shaky laugh that dissolved all the sterile tension. I had won the fight against fate.
He gave a dry, raspy chuckle. "Did I miss our marriage proposal or something? I totally proposed to you yesterday, didn't I?"
Yes, you did, dummy. Forty-one times in two years, you missed it.
I surged forward, burying my face into his neck, heedless of the tubes and wires.
"You're an absolute, terrible dummy," I sobbed into his gown, clutching his arm tight against my face. "Did you have a good nap? It's the longest you've ever slept, you idiot."
He weakly lifted his free hand—the left one—and clumsily stroked the length of my hair. The simple, familiar pressure of his palm was the final piece of the puzzle. The affection, the core of Jun, was intact.
I didn't pull back. The tears were still falling, but my eyes were blazing with a triumphant, almost terrifying joy. This wasn't a moment for waiting; this was a moment to rewrite two years of history right here.
I tilted my head, ignoring the wires and the sterile air. This kiss was different from all the rushed, playful ones of our past. This was an act of final, fierce confirmation. I pressed my lips against his—careful, soft, but fiercely possessive. His lips were dry and cool, but the warmth underneath was real, solid, human. This simple fact of skin on skin was the only thing that mattered.
I pulled back, my eyes shining with undeniable victory. I reached for the nurse call button. "I'm calling the nurse. They have to see this. Jun, we have so much to tell you—"
He reached out and gently cupped my cheek, his thumb brushing away a tear. His expression was tender, but then his brow furrowed with a sudden, confusing intensity.
"Hmm?" he interrupted, his gaze traveling from my face down to my uniform—the dark blue of my high school blazer. "Why are you wearing that uniform, Yui? And your hair... why do you suddenly look like a beautiful Onee-san?"
My smile remained, but it was now fixed, a brittle shield. The comment about my uniform and my age struck me with a cold, clear surprise, but it failed to deliver the final, crushing blow. My eyes stayed locked on his, seeing only the unwavering affection I'd fought two years for. I retracted my hand from the call button, letting my fingers drop back to the bed rail. I gently squeezed his hand, asserting my dominance over this strange, new reality.
"Don't worry about silly details like my uniform, Jun. And Onee-san? How rude! I haven't aged that much since yesterday," I scolded him, a sharp, relieved sound. "All that matters is you're back. You're here, with me. And I'm never letting go of this hand. Never."
Inside, the thought was fierce and triumphant: Let the world have its two years. Who cares if you skipped them? You remember me. We will simply write those years again.
The boy I loved was home. But he believed the world had only skipped a single, restless night.