The first time he managed to speak again was on the day after he woke up.
Even then, his voice was frail—barely more than a whisper. In the quiet hospital room, one had to lean in close to catch the sound of Haruto's words.
He had been lying in bed for over a month. His body hadn't yet recovered, and the long period of immobility had drained his stamina to its limits. Simply staying awake with his eyes open for two or three hours left him exhausted and slipping back into sleep.
When he finally stirred again after half an hour, he opened his eyes to the familiar sight of the hospital room—and the figure of his mother, who remained faithfully by his side, always caring for him.
"Does your body feel itchy? Do you want me to wipe you down?"
Unable to move on his own, Haruto had been entirely dependent on the care of his mother during his coma. At times, when she took a break, Mai would also step in to help—wiping his body clean and changing his clothes.
As Futaba recalled the days of looking after her son, her thoughts drifted back more than ten years ago—when Haruto was only five or six. Now, seeing him grown, her eyes inevitably carried a trace of the bittersweet weight of time.
"For now, there's no need. When was the last time you changed my clothes?"
"It was about two days ago," his mother said softly. "While you were in a coma, I usually changed your clothes once a week. But every night, I made sure to massage your arms and legs. As for underwear… it was too troublesome, so I didn't put any on you during that time."
"..."
Haruto fell silent.
As a grown man, hearing his mother taking care of him like, left Haruto both touched and faintly embarrassed. Gratitude swelled in his chest, but alongside it lingered a trace of shame that made him press his lips together.
"Are you feeling shy?" she asked gently.
"No," Haruto replied quietly. "I know how hard all of this must have been on you. Compared to a little embarrassment, what I feel most is gratitude. And… I'm thankful you didn't let Mitsuha come here to see me like that."
"Mitsuha?"
"If she had been the one looking after me… when I woke up, I imagine it would've been… well, awkward."
"That girl… who knows."
Even Futaba fell into silence at those words. She knew her daughter's personality well—if Mitsuha had been the one there when Haruto woke up, it was entirely possible she'd have greeted her older brother with a cheeky, face-to-face jab.
Still, as a mother, Futaba felt she had to defend Mitsuha at least a little.
"That child was very worried about you while you were in a coma. More than once, she wanted to come to Tokyo to take care of you herself."
Remembering last night, when she told Mitsuha that Haruto had finally woken, Futaba could still see the excitement in her daughter's voice, her eagerness to speak with her brother. And if Haruto had actually taken that call… there surely would have been some sparks.
Lying in bed, Haruto slowly closed his eyes. He still couldn't move freely, and with no distractions or entertainment, life confined to a hospital bed felt, in some ways, even harder to endure than unconsciousness.
"When you were in a coma, could you sense what was happening in the real world?" Futaba asked.
"No. I couldn't feel anything at all. It was like being submerged in a black-and-white world… just fragments, scattered images of recent events. But once I woke up, I couldn't really recall them anymore."
"Like dreaming?"
"No… maybe even more chaotic than that. My thoughts wouldn't form properly. I couldn't wake, couldn't pull myself out. It was uncomfortable, but… hard to describe."
Haruto frowned as he tried to recall the sensations of his coma, but the memories slipped away, elusive and incomplete.
"You've been through so much," his mother said softly.
"I think I've had it the easiest," Haruto replied, forcing a faint smile. "By the way… that girl?"
"The one you saved? She only had a scratch on her arm, nothing serious. She even came to visit you while you were unconscious."
"..."
He had little to say. Back then, when he saw the girl in danger, he hadn't even thought—his body had moved on its own, shoving her aside, only for him to be struck in her place.
"That car must've been going at least fifty kilometers an hour," he said with a wry grin. "Definitely not domestic. It hurt like hell when it hit me."
The corners of his mouth tugged upward at his own remark, but Futaba pressed her lips together, unsure how to respond. She understood he had done something noble, but the price—over a month spent lying in a hospital bed—was one no mother could accept with a smile.
"Please… don't be so reckless again," she said at last.
"...Ah. Yes."
Meeting her worried gaze, Haruto's smile slowly faded. After a pause, he gave a gentle nod.
"With injuries this bad, I doubt there'll be a next time."
Futaba bit her lip, staring at her son. Even with his promise, she couldn't feel relief. The room fell into silence, the two of them choosing not to speak further of the accident.
Since Haruto's awakening, Futaba had turned away many visitors.
What he needed most was peace and time to recover. Those who came understood, leaving gifts before quietly departing.
"Your recovery seems to be going well," the doctor said during his rounds. "At this rate, you might be able to get out of bed in about a month."
"A month?" Haruto repeated.
"You fractured three ribs, dislocated and partially broke your wrist, suffered internal bleeding, a concussion, cochlear damage… Honestly, it's lucky you were in such good health beforehand. Otherwise, you wouldn't be lying here recovering—you'd…" The doctor trailed off.
"Ha…" Haruto gave a short laugh.
"Given your current progress, one month is an optimistic estimate. How's your left ear?"
"..."
"It's only your left ear. For daily life, it won't be too much of an issue. A hearing aid can help."
"Mm."
Haruto's expression tightened subtly. His eyes lowered, a rare shadow crossing his face.
Most of his injuries would eventually heal, given time. But the damage to his inner ear had been severe—his auditory nerve had been compromised. Though not fully deaf, his left ear could no longer catch sounds with the sharpness it once had. Words that rang clear in his right ear grew faint and muffled in the left.
It wasn't debilitating, not truly—but psychologically, it left a mark.
When the doctor left and he was alone again, Haruto sighed softly, his thoughts tangled and heavy. Yet in the end, he accepted the price of his impulse. The world didn't reward good deeds. Saving a stranger didn't earn him compensation. The fact that he had lived at all—that his life hadn't ended under that car—was blessing enough.
"Haruto."
Futaba returned after seeing the doctor out, her gaze soft but searching.
"I'm fine," Haruto said, forcing a smile. "It doesn't really affect my life. I rarely go out anyway. I don't talk much with other people. Most of my time is spent alone in my apartment, writing. So it's not a big deal."
It sounded like he was reassuring himself as much as her. Normally, he'd have said only, 'It doesn't affect life, so it's fine.' But now, his lengthy explanation only made Futaba look at him with greater complexity, stirring a faint discomfort in Haruto's chest.
"Medicine is always advancing," she said quietly. "Maybe, if we find the right specialist, they'll be able to treat it one day."
"When that time comes, I'll go with you."
"You don't have to. I'm not a child anymore. Once I recover, I can handle it myself. Mitsuha and Yotsuha in Itomori need you more than I do."
Haruto gave a faint smile and closed his eyes.
Futaba opened her mouth, but no words came. Instead, she pressed her lips together, swallowing back all the unspoken comfort she wanted to offer.
In the days that followed, it was mostly Futaba and Mai who looked after Haruto. On weekends, Setsuna and Sekai stopped by to chat, bringing him stories of school life and rumors from outside.
Every evening, Mai came to the hospital with a home-cooked meal tucked in a warm bento box. While Haruto had been unconscious, his body had survived on glucose infusions. Now awake, he could at least manage mild, liquid foods. Compared to Futaba, who needed a heavier diet to sustain her constant care, Haruto's meals remained light and plain—his biggest torment. It was almost like the life of an ascetic monk, he thought wryly.
"Your manuscript has already passed review," Mari told him one afternoon, stepping into his room with a report in hand. "It'll be published soon."
Rather than rushing to see him the moment she heard of his recovery, she had waited—settling all the paperwork and ensuring everything was ready before bringing him the good news.
Futaba sat quietly through the discussion, not understanding much about publishing matters but staying nearby, ready to help with whatever her son might need.
"One month, then," Haruto murmured.
"Five days before you woke up, the manuscript passed review. Since then, it's all been about preparing for publication—planning events, handling promotions… That's why it took me until now to come see you."
"No, this is fine. To hear my work is finally being published—that's probably the best news I could ask for right now."
"At first, the publishing house even planned to use what happened to you as part of the publicity campaign. But for some reason, they suddenly called it off."
"My accident? …Good. Better it's been canceled. The last thing I want is a swarm of reporters digging into my life and broadcasting that I was in a car crash."
He was a little surprised. He hadn't expected the publisher to even consider using his personal tragedy to promote his novel. Honestly, it was a relief the plan had been scrapped. Otherwise, he'd surely have been hounded by nosy journalists.
"How's your health?"
Once the business talk was done, Mari shifted to asking about Haruto's current condition.
"Not bad. The doctor says I should be able to walk again in about a month."
"So not yet?"
"Not really… Even small movements make my whole body ache. The wounds haven't healed completely."
"If only I had driven you that day, maybe none of this would've happened."
"This isn't your fault. No—this has nothing to do with you. It was my own decision. You don't need to carry that weight. By the way, do you think my new book might have a shot at any literary awards?"
A clear change of subject. Mari understood immediately—Haruto didn't want her to blame herself. Looking at the boy's faint smile, she felt a tangle of emotions, then drew a long breath to steady herself and went along with the new topic, dropping the guilt-ridden one.
They talked for about half an hour before Haruto started looking worn out. Mari noticed his fatigue and turned to Futaba who had been quietly watching from the side.
"Since he's still in recovery, Haruto is very weak right now. He can't keep his focus for long," Futaba explained softly.
"…I see. I'm sorry, I didn't realize. I kept talking without noticing. In that case… you should rest. I'll take my leave for today."
Hearing Futaba's words, Mari finally understood. She'd been so absorbed in their conversation that she'd forgotten he was still a patient, still fragile. Offering her goodbyes to Futaba, and telling Haruto to rest well, she left the hospital room.
"So tired… Luckily, not many people visit me. If too many did, I don't think I could…"
Even his breathing grew heavy with exhaustion. Haruto slowly closed his eyes.
"Get some proper rest," Futaba whispered.
She gently pulled the curtains shut, dimming the room. Haruto's expression relaxed slightly.
This hospital stay had been nothing short of a prison sentence for him. He could do nothing—absolutely nothing—but lie in bed and rely on others for every little thing. For someone like him, it was suffocating.
And yet, whether he liked it or not, there was no choice. Each day, when the gentle, pretty nurse came in to change his urine bag, he could only shut his eyes tightly, pretending to sleep—doing anything to lessen the embarrassment they both felt.
~~~~~~~~~~
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