I pulled back from my consecutive kiss attack, but only enough to frame his face in my hands. I needed to see his eyes—those familiar, rich brown eyes—to maintain my composure. His confusion over my uniform was still hanging in the sterile air like a threat.
"Don't interrupt me when I'm kissing you," I scolded, my voice still rough with tears, but my tone firm. "And certainly don't call me Onee-san. It's rude. I was waiting for you, not aging a decade."
He managed to raise his left hand just enough to press his thumb against the dry corner of his mouth where I had just kissed him. "Ah, but my first memory back is this beautiful older girl crying over me, smelling like my favorite shampoo and wearing a blazer I definitely haven't seen before." He gave me a slow, infuriating smirk. "I must have slept well to deserve that."
"You look awful," I countered immediately, ignoring the compliment. "Your hair is a mess and you're talking nonsense."
"My body feels like it's been replaced with cement," he admitted, the teasing fading slightly as he shifted his weight. "But my mind is sharp. I know my favorite girl's uniform by heart, Yui. That is not the uniform of our middle school. So, what did you do, skip ahead a semester? Did you change schools without me? That would be a contract violation."
I took a deep breath. "It's called high school, Jun. And I didn't change schools. I simply… waited." I paused, letting the truth sink into the small space between us. I needed him to see it, not just hear it. My eyes flicked toward the small whiteboard the nurse used to update the patient schedule. Today's Date: April 12, 20XX.
His gaze followed mine. His brow knitted into a sharp, intellectual crease—the look he got when he solved a complex math problem. He saw the year. He saw the current month. Then he looked at my uniform again.
Before he could process the difference between one restless night and two years, the door slid open. The noise of the outside world, muffled for so long, flooded back in.
It was the main nurse, followed by the doctor. The change in the room's atmosphere was immediate. Jun was no longer the patient in Room 402. He was the focus of intense medical observation.
The doctor, a kind-faced woman with tired eyes, approached his bedside. "Welcome back, Jun-kun," she said softly. "I'm Dr. Tanaka. Can you tell me your full name, please?"
Jun answered clearly, his voice still raspy but his tone cooperative. He aced the standard questions—his parents' names, the name of the town, the school—but stalled when they asked for the current date. He calmly supplied the date of the day he had vanished.
The doctor nodded gently. They checked his reflexes, monitored the tubes, and then, with a professional calm that I wanted to shatter, they ushered me and my parents out of the room.
The Confirmed Reality
Outside, in the cramped, airless hall, the doctor explained the clinical reality.
"His physical recovery is exceptional," Dr. Tanaka told my parents, who were clutching each other's hands. "Waking up this fast after being found unresponsive on the beach is a very positive outcome. However, the temporal displacement is a consequence of the severe trauma. His mind is exhibiting localized, retrograde amnesia—he is locked into the day he was reported missing two years ago. To him, only a night has passed."
My mother started to cry softly. My father just kept his head down, gripping a small handkerchief. But I stood perfectly still. This was not a surprise. This was just the paperwork. I didn't need a doctor to tell me what I was fighting.
"Will he... will he ever remember the last two years?" my mother whispered.
"We can't say," Dr. Tanaka said gently. "Sometimes those memories return on their own, triggered by familiar people or places. Sometimes they don't. Our job now is to minimize stress. No sudden shocks. He needs stability and gentle reassurance."
Stability and gentle reassurance. I knew exactly what that meant. Me.
A few minutes later, we were allowed back in. My parents rushed to his bedside, offering relief and tears and endless gratitude. I waited by the door, watching as Dr. Tanaka leaned over him again.
"Jun-kun," she said kindly, "we need to talk about what happened. You were in a deep coma. You need to know that two years have passed since you were last conscious."
Jun just looked at her, his hands resting on the sheet. When she finished, he didn't panic, didn't scream, didn't even widen his eyes. He just gave her the quiet, calm smile I had only ever seen directed at teachers or officials—the one that suggested he was ten steps ahead of them.
"Two years, huh?" he said, a faint chuckle leaving his chest. "I guess that explains why Yui suddenly decided to level up her fashion game. Good to know I made the right investment in her taste before I checked out. Don't worry, Doctor. It sounds like a problem, but it's just a data gap. We can fill that in."
My parents looked confused, relieved, and slightly horrified all at once. Anyone else would think he was just trying to be brave. But I knew better. This was Jun Kuroda at his most serious—using flippancy and intellectual detachment as a shield to protect himself and everyone in the room from the actual terror. He was the one who always kept his head.
When the medical team and my parents finally left, promising to return in the morning and leaving us with the familiar silence, I was ready. I took my seat by his bedside, picking up his hand again.
He spoke first, his voice softer now that we were alone.
"Hey, Yui," he started, a hint of his usual mischief returning. "So, two years. That's Twenty-three missed proposals. Did you get a boyfriend during that time? Tell me his name. I need to get better fast so I can sneak out and beat the absolute hell out of him."
I didn't answer right away. Instead, I just looked at him.
Of course. Of course, the first thing he thought to ask after being told he'd lost two years of his life wasn't about his memory, his grades, or his future. It was about me. It was about the contract. It was about making sure his position as my anchor was intact.
"Who cares about moving on?" I retorted, my voice dropping to a fierce, low whisper. "You told me you'd always come back." I managed, fighting a fresh wave of tears.
His playful tone instantly disappeared, replaced by the genuine, quiet seriousness that always stripped me bare. He squeezed my hand weakly. "I'm sorry, Yui. I know I promised I wouldn't leave you alone, and I broke the contract. I didn't mean to take such a long nap."
He didn't have to say another word. His apology, quiet and heartfelt, was the only thing capable of breaking the composure I'd spent two years cultivating.
I didn't reply verbally. Instead, I stood, leaned over the bed, and carefully jumped onto the mattress beside him, sliding my arms under his head and around his neck, burying my face into the junction of his neck and shoulder. I didn't care about the wires, the sterile air, or the fact that I was crying into his gown again.
He doesn't need to apologize. The fierce, unwavering certainty swelled in my chest. He didn't leave me. He was taken from me. The sea stole him, but I waited. He didn't break the contract; he simply honored it by returning.
I pulled back just enough to look into his eyes, my face wet, but my expression triumphant.
"Who cares?" I whispered, my voice thick with emotion. "You are here with me now. You belong to me. And we will rewrite those two years together. Every single missed day, every missed kiss, every missed proposal."
I knew then that the waiting was over. The fighting was just beginning.