The hallway felt longer than it ever had before.
Mizuki's hand rested on the door handle for a moment — just a moment — before she pushed it open.
And then she saw him.
Her feet stopped moving on their own. Her mind went somewhere else entirely, somewhere she hadn't meant to go — back to the snow, back to the sound of it, back to the image that had been living behind her eyes ever since. Her chest tightened. She stood in the doorway, her fingers still curled around the handle, and she just looked at him.
Arashi was lying still. An oxygen mask covered his nose and mouth, fogging faintly with each shallow breath. His eyes were closed. His hands rested at his sides like he was only sleeping, like he might turn over at any moment and say something. The room was quiet in the specific way hospital rooms are quiet — not peaceful, but held. The heart monitor filled the silence with its steady, indifferent rhythm.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Mizuki stepped inside.
She didn't know when her legs had decided to move. She crossed the room slowly, like she was afraid to disturb something, and stopped at the side of his bed. Up close, he looked smaller than she was used to. That bothered her more than she expected.
"Arashi."
Her voice came out barely above a whisper. It didn't sound like her own.
He didn't move. The monitor kept its rhythm. The oxygen mask kept fogging.
Her eyes burned. She blinked, and the tears she'd been holding somewhere in the back of her throat finally made their way forward — slow, quiet, almost reluctant, like even they weren't sure they had permission. One fell. Then another. They hit the floor without a sound.
She said his name again.
"Arashi."
Like saying it twice might do something the first time hadn't.
Behind her, she heard the soft shuffle of feet, the nearly silent agreement of people deciding at the same time to leave. Miyu. Hina. Ayane. Takumi. Satoru. One by one, or maybe all at once — she wasn't paying attention anymore. The door clicked shut, and then it was just her.
Just her, and him, and the sound of a machine confirming he was still here.
Out in the corridor, they walked without speaking. The elevator, the lobby, the automatic doors — all of it passed in a blur until they found themselves in the parking lot. The cold air hit them, and nobody said anything about going back inside.
It was Miyu whose legs gave out first.
She didn't fall dramatically. She just — stopped holding herself up. Her knees bent and she sank down onto the concrete, and she sat there with her hands in her lap and her head bowed, not making a sound. Takumi stood a few feet away with one hand pressed to his temple, jaw tight, eyes fixed on nothing in particular. Hina and Ayane stayed close together, their faces turned slightly away from each other the way people do when they're trying to cry privately in a public place.
Then Ren appeared.
He'd come from somewhere behind them — the lobby, maybe, or a different exit — and he stopped when he saw them, his eyes moving from one face to the next, trying to read the situation.
"Where are you guys going?"
Takumi looked at him. "Just come with us."
Ren followed without asking again. He looked at Miyu on the ground, at Takumi's hand pressed against his head, at the way Hina had her arms crossed tight over her chest. He opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened it again.
"What happened?"
Nobody answered right away.
It was Satoru who spoke. He was standing slightly apart from the group, hands in his pockets, his expression the quietest it had ever been. Not unaffected — just contained. Like he'd made a decision somewhere between the room and the parking lot about what shape he was going to hold himself in.
"We had to leave Mizuki alone for a while," he said. His voice was level. "Just wait here. Please — just wait here for a while."
Ren didn't say anything else.
There was something in the way Satoru had said it. Not the words themselves, but the weight underneath them — the weight of someone who understood exactly what was happening in that room and had chosen, very deliberately, not to put it into language. Ren heard that weight. He recognized it.
He stood still.
The parking lot was empty except for the six of them. Somewhere above, the sky had gone the pale grey color it gets in the late afternoon, the kind of light that doesn't cast shadows properly. No one spoke. Miyu stayed on the ground. Takumi's hand stayed at his temple.
They waited.