The sunlight was weaker now, slipping through the blinds at a sharper angle, warming Jun's face. His eyelids fluttered open slowly, adjusting to the pale room.
The faint beeping of the heart monitor still filled the silence, a steady reminder of life. The drip of the IV sounded sharper now, each tiny splash punctuating the quiet.
Four months in a coma, huh... The thought moved through his mind as he gazed at the ceiling. Then again... who was I before my memory loss? I don't know, honestly. He pressed his eyes shut with a heavy exhalation.
The door opened suddenly, soft and tentative.
"Good morning, Jun. I hope you're feeling better today." Nurse Shiraishi's voice murmured as she peered slightly through the door.
"I'm honestly not sure," Jun muttered dryly, the air raspy in his throat.
"Close enough. You have visitors today, though they are unauthorized to visit within seventy-two hours of when you woke up. The doctor made the exception." A click sounded as she drew the door fully open.
"You can go ahead now, Miss Hashimoto."
An older woman, middle-aged, stepped inside. She bowed slightly to the nurse, and her eyes widened as they landed on him. "Jun!" she cried, her voice trembling.
She rushed forward, wrapping him in an embrace as he lay there, confused. The scent of her perfume—floral, faint, comforting—mixed with the sterile antiseptic. Jun felt the pressure of her arms around him, warm, firm, and desperate, as her body convulsed uncontrollably.
She pulled back only slightly, tears streamed down her cheeks.
"I was so worried… so worried," she whispered, pressing her forehead to his. "You're awake… oh, Jun… My son, you're really awake!"
Jun blinked slowly, his throat tight, words failing him. "Mom…" he croaked, barely audible, the word tasting like dust on his tongue.
From the doorway, a girl in her uniform stood still. Her dark hair framed her pale face, and she hugged herself as she watched him. Her eyes glistened, but there was something distant, a faint hesitation. Her lips pressed together, and she didn't move forward.
"Can you try sitting up a little, Jun?" His mother articulated softly. "I'll peel some of the apples I bought for you." She moved to the small bedside table, peeling the apples with a knife. The crisp scent of fresh apples filled the air.
Jun tensed slightly under the blanket, wincing as his stiff muscles protested. The effort made his chest ache, and his ribs scraped uncomfortably against the thin hospital gown.
He flexed his fingers again, slowly, feeling the joints creak faintly. Each tiny movement was a reminder of months lost in stillness.
"Don't push yourself. Here, let me help you." She slid a supportive hand under his shoulders. The heat of her palm pressed against his back, grounding him.
He pushed lightly against the mattress, the sheets crinkling under the motion. Slowly, he swung his legs over the side of the bed.
The first attempt made his head spin; the dull throb in his temples worsened, and the heart monitor's steady beep seemed to reverberate louder in response.
"That's it… take it slow," his mother murmured with a slight smile, adjusting her grip. Her other hand brushed damp hair from his forehead. "We'll go one step at a time."
She stepped back, giving Jun space as he sat up and took a deep inhalation.
She then used a fork to pick up the apple slices. "Say 'aah'," she spoke gently, holding it up to his mouth. He hesitated, but then he ate it.
"You've been gone for so long… everyone at school—your teammates, your friends—they've been worried sick. And Jun… you were doing so well on the baseball team. You were their ace."
Jun's fingers contracted against the sheet. He frowned, feeling the strange weight of the words. So I was a baseball player, huh... he thought to himself. His gaze wandered to a broken clock in the corner of the room, dusty and faded.
"I… don't remember any of it," he spoke softly. His voice cracked. "Who… are you?"
His mother froze. Her hands plunged to her sides for a fraction of a second before she smiled quickly, masking her pain. She then rushed back, wrapping him tightly in another hug.
"I… I'm your mother, Jun. Mayumi Hashimoto. And this," she articulated, glancing toward the doorway, "is Suzune—your younger sister."
Jun's eyes scanned her face, then Suzune's, wide and uncertain. "I… don't remember you." His voice was short, a grating sound, the words tearing at him. He moved a hand to the side of his head, pressing his palm to his temple, visibly clutching it in pain.
"Are you okay?" Mayumi pressed. "Looks like I've pushed you too much. Come on, go back to the bed and rest." She guided him back to the bed and covered him with the blanket again.
Suzune's lips quivered at the sight. She stepped back, biting her lip hard, tears spilling down her cheeks. She turned slowly and walked toward the door, her small frame shivering. The soft click of her shoes on the tiles echoed lightly.
Jun shifted under her embrace, stiff and weak. "…Mom…" he whispered again. Short, uncertain. His voice had no warmth, only the hollow sound of a man trying to grasp the shape of familiarity.
"I know it's… confusing, sweetheart," Mayumi murmured, brushing wet hair from his forehead. "I… I just wanted to see you awake. And for now... that's enough."
Jun's gaze tracked Suzune's retreating figure. Her small hand lingered on the doorknob for a moment before she disappeared down the hall. The soft thud of the closing door left a hollow echo in the room.
The hours stretched into a long, hushed vigil. Mayumi pulled the visitor's chair closer to the bedside and settled in. The initial, desperate energy of the reunion was replaced by a deep, weary stillness.
The afternoon sun, which had been pale and warm, slowly descended. The light that slipped through the blinds grew dimmer, turning from a soft gold to a bruised, dusty purple.
The temperature in the room cooled subtly, making the blanket feel heavier against Jun's legs. The scent of Mayumi's perfume, which had been sharp, mellowed and faded into the sterile hospital air.
Mayumi remained silent, her fingers resting lightly on the blanket near Jun's forearm. The rhythmic beeping of the monitor was the loudest sound.
As the room grew heavy with twilight, a low, breathy humming sound began to vibrate softly near Jun's ear. It was faint, almost inaudible, resonating just above the low frequency of the internal ringing.
The tune itself was simple, a melody of ascending and descending notes without words.
When the sound touched his consciousness, Jun's chest pulled taut instantly. A powerful, unnamable feeling—a sharp ache mixed with a profound, gentle comfort—swept through him. His body recognized the vibration, the rhythm, the emotional tone of the song.
It felt like a missing piece lurching briefly into place, a sudden warmth that momentarily pushed back the cold emptiness of amnesia.
His jaw locked as he listened intently, his brow corrugated in desperate effort. He strained, attempting to grasp the identity of the melody, to anchor it to a specific memory, a face, a place. But the tune, though deeply familiar, remained formless, a ghost of joy or sorrow locked just behind the wall of his trauma. The internal effort made the dull pounding near his temple intensify.
Mayumi's humming faltered. She sighed, the sound soft and tired.
She carefully moved her chair back. Her dress rustled softly as she stood up. The light was now almost gone, leaving the room bathed in a uniform gray.
"I'll come visit you tomorrow, young man. So rest up and try to remember as soon as possible." She smiled and walked away, closing the door behind her with a gentle click.
Just outside the closed door, Mayumi's footsteps ceased. She had been leaning against the pale wall, her hand pressed to her mouth, stifling a deep, agonizing sob that shook her whole frame. Nurse Shiraishi stood a short distance away, pushing her cart quietly.
Mayumi straightened, wiping the moisture from her cheeks with the back of her hand. She approached Shiraishi, the click of her shoes sharp on the linoleum.
"Nurse Shiraishi," Mayumi articulated, her voice strained and rough with effort. "Thank you so much for looking after him. My son is very lucky to have you."
Shiraishi inclined her head slightly. "It is my duty, Miss Hashimoto. I will monitor him closely. We are just happy he is awake."
Mayumi's gaze flickered back toward the door of Jun's room, her expression etched with worry. "Please... ensure he is comfortable. This memory loss must be difficult, I can't imagine how he feels now but... I believe he will come back to us."
"We will do everything," Shiraishi assured, the metal frame of the cart clinking faintly as she adjusted her grip. "Please go home and rest, it's getting late."
Mayumi inclined her head, her shoulders slumping with exhaustion. She turned and began to walk, her footsteps fading down the hall, slower now.
Jun returned to looking at the ceiling. My mind is a complete blank... I don't even know why I existed in the first place or any of their faces. He closed his eyes.
A soft scrape sounded as Nurse Shiraishi eased the door open and stepped inside, pushing her cart. The wheels made a low, distant rumble on the floor tiles. She approached the bed and observed the patient's face. His features were still, his breathing measured and deep. He's already asleep... she noted.
She moved with extreme caution, performing her routine checks. The plastic on the IV clicked faintly as she adjusted the flow rate, and the rhythmic beeping of the monitor provided the only steady sound in the room.
Shiraishi went to the window and gently drew the blinds open. The plastic slats clicked softly into place, allowing the dim, cooler evening light to filter in. She then lifted the window a fraction, securing the latch to allow air to circulate.
The cool, moist current of the outside air entered the room. Shiraishi felt a sudden pressure build in her chest and quickly raised a hand to cover her mouth, stifling a large yawn.
As she lowered her hand, she heard it: faint, sharp laughter followed by quick, light taps and shouts carried on the air. She moved toward the window, her rubber shoes making a slight squeak as she turned, and looked down.
Below, in the hospital courtyard, several children wearing gowns over pants were running and tumbling across the lawn. The sight was energetic and vivid. Two other nurses stood nearby, their white uniforms bright in the dusk, their heads inclined as they shared a quiet smile, watching the activity.
Shiraishi allowed herself a moment then she pulled the window latch to seal the small gap and turned back to the room. She gathered her cart, ensuring the monitor settings were stable. Her uniform rustled lightly as she finished her preparations. She paused for a moment, her gaze fixed on the quiet boy, before easing the door shut with a slow, careful hiss.