The sound of the knife against the apple was the only thing filling the hospital room. Scratch. Scratch. It was the quietest sound in the world, yet right now, it felt like a thunderclap.
My hands were perfectly steady. They had been for two years, preserving a silence that everyone else called a delusion. But peeling an apple for Jun was one of those small, sacred acts that never left me. He always hated the texture of the skin, even the thinnest little bit. So I peeled, using the small, plastic hospital knife with a familiar, careful rhythm, creating one long, beautiful, continuous spiral.
He didn't take his eyes off me.
"You know," Jun said, his voice still a little husky from the drugs, "if I didn't know better, I'd think you actually missed me."
"Don't be ridiculous," I muttered, my focus still entirely on the fruit. It was the only way to keep my hands from trembling. "I just remembered you're too lazy to do it yourself."
"Ah, the truth comes out." He chuckled, a deep, warm sound that made my chest hurt in the best way. I had nearly forgotten the sound of it, how it always sounded a little too mature for his age, even now. "Scratch. Scratch.... That's a perfect spiral, Yui. You never lost your touch."
I finally finished. The skin fell away, and I held up the pale, beautiful orb of the apple, quartered neatly. "There. Don't choke."
I held out the first wedge, expecting him to sit up and grab it with the same careless ease he used to.
Instead, he just tilted his head back slightly against the pillow, opened his mouth, and looked at me expectantly.
My face went hot, instantly. A full, violent blush that started at my neck and rushed straight to my ears.
"What are you doing?" I squeaked.
"What does it look like?" he asked, his eyes crinkling just at the corners. He was two years older now, and the soft roundness of his face had sharpened, making him look less like the boy I remembered and more like the illegally handsome man he was quickly becoming. A man whose silent request to be fed felt much, much filthier than it had when we were thirteen.
"Just take it with your hand! You're not an infant!"
"Maybe not an infant, but I'm definitely a patient," he reasoned innocently. "And a very tired one, at that. My arms are heavy. Besides, you used to feed me all the time after I got that bad scrape on my knee."
"That was seven years ago!"
"A promise is a promise, Yui. Even one I didn't make." He waited, his expression unwavering.
I sighed, defeated. The truth was, my fingers were practically vibrating with the urge to feel my nails brush against his lips. If I didn't do it, I think I would combust.
"Fine. Just one."
I cautiously moved my hand closer, placing the crisp, sweet piece of apple just inside his mouth. His lips closed around it softly, and I immediately tried to pull my hand back, needing the space to breathe and cool down.
But Jun's hand shot out, wrapping gently but firmly around my wrist.
"Wait."
"Jun, let go," I whispered, my voice barely audible. The air suddenly felt thick, heavier than the two years we had spent apart. My heart hammered against my ribs, convinced the monitor next to him was about to start shrieking.
He didn't let go. He simply leaned forward a fraction—just enough so that his eyes, those deep, familiar brown eyes that had always been my home, were fixed on my face—and then he slowly, deliberately, put his tongue to the very tip of my index finger.
It was just a quick, damp swipe. It wasn't even wet enough to call a lick. But the sensation, the sheer, sudden, unexpected intimacy of it, sent a shock straight up my arm and caused a sound to escape my mouth that was less a word and more a pathetic little "Ahp!"
He let go, his smile wide and utterly unrepentant. "Mmm. Tastes like apple and... Yui."
I immediately snatched my hand back and slapped the remaining slices of apple into his open palm. "Eat it yourself, you disgusting pig!"
He caught them easily, still grinning. "But you like this pig, don't you?"
"I don't! You're terrible!"
He just laughed and started chewing the apple, already looking completely fine, completely Jun. The two-year hole in the world had shrunk into nothingness.
The brief truce was broken a minute later when the doctor arrived for his final rounds. He was a kind, tired-looking man with spectacles.
"Kuroda-kun, how are we feeling today?"
"Perfect, Doctor," Jun announced, sitting up straight. He looked the part of a model patient, all bright eyes and manners. "Honestly, I'm ready to be discharged. I feel great. My memory is completely back, no dizziness, no nausea. You can see my vitals are perfect."
The doctor adjusted his glasses. "Well, Jun-kun, physically, you're remarkable. But two years... that's a significant event. We really recommend keeping you for a few more days, just for observation and—"
"I appreciate your concern, sir, truly," Jun interrupted, deploying the full-power Kuroda Charm—the one that made every adult, from teachers to shop owners, instantly forgive his mischievousness. "But, Doctor, I've already missed two years of high school. I have a lot of catching up to do, and I have a promise I need to get back to keeping."
He tilted his head and gave the doctor a look of such earnest, profound apology that even I almost believed he was deeply regretful. Then he glanced at me, and his eyes softened.
"Besides," he added, "Yui here is going to make sure I take it easy. She's my warden."
The doctor looked at me, perhaps seeing the infamous "Silent Princess" and finding my blushing, flustered face more reassuring than I'd intended. He sighed, a small smile touching his lips.
"A warden, you say? Very well. I'll have the discharge papers prepared. But no lifting, no strenuous activity for a week, understand?"
"Loud and clear, Doctor. Thank you."
Jun was already reaching for his clothes before the doctor had even shut the door.
Ten minutes later, we were walking down the long, bright corridor of the hospital.
I had successfully managed to snag his arm and loop mine through it.
"You know I just convinced the doctor that I'm perfectly healthy," Jun observed, his voice dripping with amusement. "And now my wife is making me lean on her."
My entire face felt like it was on fire, but I refused to let go.
"A sick person needs support!" I insisted, squeezing his arm tighter. "And you're still a trauma patient, according to my common sense. I can't have you fainting on the sidewalk. Now walk straight."
"Yes, ma'am," he replied dutifully, but his hand immediately came up to rest over mine, holding my arm captive against his side. The warmth of his body radiated straight through my clothes.
As we reached the glass doors that would take us outside and back into the real world, I looked up at him. I had to tilt my head back further than I remembered.
Ah.
When did he get this tall? When we were last walking side-by-side, our heads were nearly level. Now, his shoulder was past my cheek, and I had to stretch to see his eyes. He had grown up without me.
But then he looked down, and he saw my face. The easy smile faded, replaced by that serious, old-soul expression I knew so well.
"Don't worry," he whispered, low enough that the passing nurses couldn't hear. "I haven't forgotten the way home."
He gave my arm a final squeeze, and we walked out, his promise now walking right beside me.