I've learned two things about Kousei Arima over the years.
One: he can survive on a frightening amount of stubbornness.
Two: if he isn't answering his phone, it means something's wrong—either with him, or with whatever world he's trying to carry by himself.
Today, it was the second one that made me walk down his street with my daughter trailing beside me like a small, talkative shadow.
"Maybe he fell asleep standing up," Koharu suggested, swinging her bag like it was a weapon.
"He's not a horse," I said.
"Or maybe he turned into a ghost," she continued like I hadn't spoken.
"Koharu."
"What? It happens in stories."
"This isn't a story," I muttered, eyes on the dark windows of the Arima house. "This is a boy who won't answer his phone."
Koharu leaned closer and whispered like we were breaking into a vault. "Maybe he's hiding from you because you'll make him practice."
I felt my mouth twitch. "That's... possible."
We stopped in front of his house.
I knocked once. Firm. Polite. Adult.
Nothing.
I knocked again, a little less polite.
Still nothing.
Koharu clasped her hands dramatically. "He's been kidnapped by evil piano spirits."
"If you keep that up," I said, "I'm leaving you outside."
She gasped. "You wouldn't."
I tried the handle.
Unlocked.
Of course it was.
I stepped inside, already annoyed at how relieved I was. "Kousei?" I called. "It's me."
No answer.
The air smelled normal—clean laundry, a faint citrus cleaner. The house looked... fine. A little too quiet, maybe. Everything in its place. Not scary. Just a little too controlled, like someone had been trying very hard not to spill.
Koharu tiptoed beside me like we were explorers in a haunted mansion. "Hellooo," she sang, spooky and long. "Kousei Arimaaa—"
"Koharu," I warned.
She slapped both hands over her mouth immediately, eyes huge.
I walked toward the living room, running through the list in my head. Passed out? Sick? Overworked? Avoiding me on purpose?
Then I saw him.
Kousei was sitting on the floor, legs crossed, elbow propped on his knee, chin resting in his palm like a philosopher in a textbook.
Across from him sat a black cat.
A full-grown black cat.
They were staring at each other.
Not like "oh cute, he found a cat."
Like... a duel.
Neither of them blinked.
Neither of them moved.
Koharu stopped so fast she nearly tripped over her own feet.
I stopped too.
The cat's eyes were yellow and unreasonably intense. Its tail was wrapped neatly around its paws like it had manners. It looked like it was judging Kousei's soul.
Koharu whispered, reverent and horrified. "...Are they fighting?"
Kousei didn't twitch.
The cat didn't twitch.
I stood there for two full seconds, trying to process what I was seeing.
Then I cleared my throat. "Kousei."
No reaction.
"Kousei Arima," I said, using his full name—because that usually snapped him back into the human world.
Kousei blinked.
The cat blinked a half-second later, slower, like it was disappointed the moment was ruined.
Kousei finally looked up at me and Koharu like we'd walked into a classroom late. Polite recognition slid into place.
"Oh," he said calmly. "Hi."
Koharu pointed at the cat like it had committed a crime. "WHY DO YOU HAVE A CAT."
Kousei glanced at the cat. The cat glanced at him.
"We're discussing boundaries," Kousei said.
Koharu's eyebrows climbed. "Cats have boundaries?"
"This one does."
The cat's ear flicked once, as if confirming.
I stared at him. "You weren't answering your phone."
Kousei blinked again, like the phone was a concept that lived far away. "Oh." He patted his pocket and frowned. "I forgot it existed."
Koharu gasped. "How do you forget a phone exists?! That's like forgetting your hands!"
"I didn't forget my hands," Kousei said.
The cat leaned forward and sniffed the air near Kousei's knee.
Kousei leaned forward too, the same distance, maintaining symmetry like a ritual.
I felt my irritation thinning, replaced by something familiar.
Because beneath the absurdity—beneath the cat staring contest—Kousei looked tired.
Not dramatic. Not falling apart. Just... the same worn-out look I'd seen on him too many times lately. The kind that sat under his eyes and made him feel farther away than the room he was standing in.
"Kousei," I asked more carefully, "where did the cat come from?"
His gaze dropped. The cat's gaze dropped too, like it followed his eyes out of loyalty or spite.
"I found him," Kousei said.
Koharu whispered, scandalized. "In the wild?"
"Yes," Kousei replied, completely serious.
I waited. "And?"
"And he almost died," Kousei said, like he was describing the weather. "So I brought him to the vet."
Koharu made a sound like a kettle. "HE ALMOST DIED?!"
"He's fine now," Kousei said quickly. "He'll recover."
My arms crossed on instinct. "You took him to the vet. Alone."
"Yes."
"And you didn't think to call me."
"I didn't want to waste time," he said simply.
That was the most Kousei Arima sentence I'd heard all week.
Koharu crouched down cautiously, hands on her knees, peering into the cat's face. "Does he bite?"
The cat stared back.
"I don't think so," Kousei said. "He hasn't yet."
"That's not comforting," I muttered.
Koharu extended one cautious finger, very slowly. The cat leaned forward and sniffed it.
Koharu froze. "He smells like outside."
"He is outside," I said.
"He was," Kousei corrected quietly.
The cat yawned—wide and dramatic—then shut its mouth like nothing happened.
Koharu gasped like she'd been chosen. "He's laughing at me."
"He's not laughing," Kousei said. "He's expressing superiority."
The cat's tail flicked once.
I exhaled hard. "Alright. So what's his name?"
Kousei answered immediately.
"Roadkill."
My brain stopped.
Koharu froze mid-crouch like someone had hit pause on her.
"...Excuse me?" I said carefully.
Kousei looked up like he didn't understand the issue. "Roadkill."
Koharu jolted upright, horrified. "THAT IS A TERRIBLE NAME!"
I felt my voice sharpen automatically—mentor tone activating. "Kousei. Absolutely not."
He blinked. "Why?"
Because I didn't want to hear a child say that word like it was normal. Because the fact he'd chosen it so easily made my skin crawl a little. Because it wasn't funny in the way he thought it was.
"Because that is not a name," I said, forcing myself not to snap. "That is a tragedy."
Koharu waved her arms like she was defending the cat's honor. "You can't name him after his almost-death!"
Kousei glanced at the cat. "He almost became roadkill."
The cat stared back like: Correct.
I rubbed my forehead. "That doesn't make it better."
"It makes it accurate," he said.
Koharu leaned closer to him with the desperation of a tiny lawyer. "Name him Shadow! Or Ninja! Or Mr. Midnight!"
"Mr. Midnight," Kousei repeated flatly.
"Yes!" Koharu nodded fiercely. "Mr. Midnight is polite and cool!"
The cat sneezed.
Koharu gasped. "He likes it."
"He does not like it," Kousei said.
I pointed at him. "Pick something normal."
Kousei's lips twitched faintly, almost a smile. "Normal isn't his style."
"It will be," I said. "Because you are not calling him Roadkill."
Koharu put both hands together like she was begging the universe. "Please. He has feelings."
The cat sat taller, as if agreeing it contained multitudes.
Kousei stared at us for a long moment, then sighed—soft and resigned.
"...Fine," he said. "I'll think of something else."
Koharu lit up. "Yes! You can name him—"
"No," Kousei said calmly.
Koharu deflated. "Oh."
I relaxed a fraction. "Thank you."
He looked down at the cat again. The cat looked up at him.
For a second, the staring contest returned, but quieter now. Less duel. More... familiar.
I cleared my throat and shifted to practical matters. "Are you keeping him?"
Kousei hesitated just a breath. "For now."
"And the vet bill?"
"I paid."
My eyes narrowed. "With what money?"
He blinked innocently. "Money."
"Kousei."
"It's handled," he said, slightly firmer, still polite. Still evasive. "He needed it."
I could argue. I could push. But I'd learned pushing Kousei too hard only made him disappear behind manners and "I'm fine."
So I let it go.
For now.
My gaze drifted toward the hallway where the piano sat closed, silent like it was holding its own breath. Then the calendar in my head.
Maihou.
Soon.
"Kousei," I said lightly, like I wasn't placing the words carefully, "the finals are coming up."
His face didn't flinch. He didn't stiffen. He just picked once at the edge of his sleeve and stopped.
"Yeah," he said. "I know."
"You ready?"
"Yeah," he replied quickly. "Yeah yeah. I got it."
Too fast. Too smooth.
Koharu perked up. "Are you gonna win?"
"Koharu," I warned.
"What?" she said, scandalized. "It's a competition! You're supposed to win!"
Kousei looked at her like he was trying to remember what winning felt like. Then his mouth curved faintly.
"I'll play," he said.
"That's not the same as winning," Koharu muttered.
I kept my eyes on him. "Just don't show up exhausted," I said simply. "Eat. Sleep. Answer your phone."
He nodded like he'd been taught how. "Okay."
The cat chose that moment to stand, pad forward, and sit directly against Kousei's shin.
Koharu gasped softly. "He picked you."
Kousei looked down, and something in his eyes softened—one small break in the armor.
"He's stubborn," Kousei murmured, almost fond.
"Like you," Koharu said.
He didn't deny it.
I exhaled quietly. Fine. Let the cat stay. Let this moment stay light.
I turned toward the door. "Alright," I said. "We came to make sure you weren't dead."
"I wasn't," Kousei said.
Koharu waved at the cat. "Bye, Roadkill!"
"Koharu!"
She slapped both hands over her mouth, eyes huge again.
Kousei watched us go, then looked down at the cat.
"Don't worry," he murmured, almost to himself. "I'll rename you."
The cat blinked once—slow and satisfied.
As I stepped out with Koharu bouncing beside me, I glanced back one last time.
Kousei was still on the floor. Still too tired around the eyes. Still avoiding what was coming.
But for the first time in a while... he wasn't alone in the room.
And maybe that counted for something.
___
The door clicks shut.
The sound is small, normal.
Everything that follows it isn't.
For a few seconds I just stand there in the entryway, watching the little sliver of light under the door fade as Hiroko and Koharu's footsteps disappear down the hall outside. It's quiet again. The kind of quiet that feels like the world holding its breath.
Behind me, the cat—the cat that I am absolutely not naming Roadkill anymore—pads across the floor with soft, deliberate steps. He stops at my heel, circles once like he's deciding whether I'm worth the effort, and sits.
I look down.
He looks up.
We stare at each other.
"...They didn't like your name," I tell him.
The cat blinks slowly.
I take that as agreement.
I crouch and set a hand on his head. He lets me—barely. Like he's granting a permission slip. His fur is warm and clean now, and the vet's faint disinfectant smell still clings to him if I breathe close.
"You almost died," I say quietly.
His ear flicks.
My throat tightens for no reason that makes sense in the present.
I pull my hand away and stand.
The house feels too still without people in it. Even the air seems more careful.
I should be practicing.
I should be eating.
I should be doing anything that looks like a normal boy preparing for a finals competition.
Instead I walk into the kitchen, open a cabinet, and stare at the contents like I've never seen food in my life.
There's rice. There's miso. There are crackers. There are things that require effort. I close the cabinet again.
The cat follows me like a shadow that decided it liked my shape.
When I sit on the edge of the couch, he jumps up beside me without asking, settles against my thigh, and closes his eyes.
I stare forward at nothing.
The day sits on my shoulders like wet clothes.
Maihou.
Finals.
That word has been circling me for days like a bird waiting for something to die.
My phone buzzes.
My body reacts like it's a siren. I snatch it so fast my fingers almost fumble it.
Kaori:
I want canelé.
A second message pops up immediately.
Kaori:
The real one. Not the cheap one. I can taste sadness through frosting.
My chest loosens and tightens at the same time.
I type before I can overthink it.
Me:
You're in a hospital. Why are you threatening my pastry decisions?
Kaori:
Because I'm sick and fragile and it's my right.
Kaori:
Also I have a surprise for you so hurry up.
I stare at the screen.
Surprise....?
That word feels dangerous in her mouth. Kaori's surprises are rarely small. They tend to involve rope, stage lights, emotional violence, or all three.
I type again.
Me:
What kind of surprise.
Kaori:
If I tell you it's not a surprise.
Kaori:
Duh.
I exhale a laugh that doesn't fully become one.
The cat opens one eye at the sound, judges me for it, then closes it again.
"Okay," I whisper, as if saying it out loud makes it real. "Canelé."
I stand up. The cat immediately stands too like he thinks we're going somewhere together.
"...No," I tell him. "You're staying."
He sits back down, tail flicking once. Offended.
I hesitate. Then I crouch and scratch under his chin. His eyes half-close.
"I'll be back," I promise, which is ridiculous. He's a cat. He doesn't care.
Except his tail wraps around his paws again like he's decided he will care anyway.
I grab my jacket, check my pockets, and step out into the cold.
The bakery is only a few blocks away, but the walk feels like a corridor between two worlds.
Every step forward makes my lungs feel tighter.
The sky is pale and flat, winter light stretched thin like paper. Cars move past with their tires hissing on asphalt. The world is normal in a way that makes my skin crawl.
Because the last time the world looked normal on this day... it still ended.
That's the thing I can't explain to anyone.
The world doesn't change its face when it plans to take something from you.
It smiles at you in bright weather and lets you hold a pastry bag like nothing is wrong.
Inside the bakery, warm air hits my face. Sugar. Butter. Coffee. The smell is so comforting I almost feel angry at it.
A woman behind the counter greets me. "Welcome!"
I nod like a person. "Canelé, please."
She smiles. "How many?"
My throat catches.
In another life, Kaori never got to eat it.
I force my voice to work. "T-Two..."
"Two! Good choice."
She packs them carefully into a small box, ties a ribbon like she's wrapping a gift and not an anchor.
When she hands it to me, the warmth presses through my gloves. Solid. Real.
My hands shake anyway.
⸻
The hospital comes into view.
My steps slow without permission.
The building is the same as always: white walls, glass doors, too proud of itself.
I stop at the crosswalk and stare at it like it's a cliff.
In the other timeline, this is where my legs turned into stone.
This is where the air tasted like panic. This is where Watari talked too much to fill the space because silence felt like dying.
My breath catches. I swallow. My lungs don't feel deep enough. Like they've turned into small cups instead of full lungs.
I inhale.
It's too shallow.
I try again.
The same.
My heartbeat pounds in my throat like it's trying to escape.
Stop.
The light turns green.
I step forward.
One foot. Then another.
The automatic doors whoosh open and the hospital breathes its antiseptic air at me, clean and indifferent.
The lobby is bright. The floors are polished. People walk by with coffee cups and clipboards and tired eyes. A place built for waiting.
I walk to the elevator.
My reflection is in the metal doors. I look like a kid holding a pastry box like it's a bomb.
The doors open.
I step in.
The elevator rises.
I count floors like counting seconds.
Every number that lights up feels like a drumbeat.
Ding.
The doors open on her level.
My chest tightens again. My breath stutters. I grip the pastry box harder.
This is where everything went wrong last time.
This is where the timeline snapped.
I step into the hallway.
It's... calm.
No nurses sprinting. No raised voices. No "please go home for today." No ICU sign blocking the world.
Just quiet beeps behind doors. Soft footsteps. Someone coughing far away.
My brain doesn't know what to do with calm.
The calm feels like a trap.
My breathing speeds up anyway, a little too fast for no reason.
I walk. One door. Two. Three.
Her name is on the little sign.
My hand pauses on the handle.
My pulse is in my fingertips.
I open the door.
Kaori is sitting up in bed, sunlight spilling over her like the world is favoring her.
Her hair is messier than usual, golden strands slipping over her shoulder. There's IV tubing taped to her arm. A blanket is gathered around her waist. She looks like someone who belongs in bed with a book and not someone whose body tries to betray her.
She looks up.
Her whole face changes.
"Arima-kun!" she sings, like I just walked into a classroom late. "You're finally here!"
The way she says finally makes it sound like a joke, not a fear.
My throat closes for a second.
I stand there like I'm frozen in the doorway.
Kaori squints. "Why are you doing that."
"...Doing what," I manage.
"That." She points at my face. "That tragic statue thing."
"I'm not doing anything," I lie.
"You are," she says immediately. "You look like you just watched a sad commercial."
My fingers lift the pastry box slightly. "I brought your canelé."
Her eyes light up like fireworks. "YES."
She pats the bed beside her. "Come here. Give it to me."
I step forward and set it gently on her tray table like it's sacred. She reaches for it with both hands like a greedy squirrel.
"You got the real one," she says, proud. "I knew you loved me."
"I feared you," I correct.
"Same thing," she replies, and tears the ribbon off like it's insulting her.
She opens the lid and inhales dramatically.
I watch her breathe.
Just that.
Just the fact that she can.
My lungs catch again, too shallow, like they're copying her breath instead of mine.
Kaori glances up at me mid-sniff. "...Kousei?"
My name in her voice makes my chest hurt.
"Yeah," I answer too fast.
She tilts her head. "You're doing it again."
"Doing what?" I repeat, because pretending ignorance buys me seconds.
"That look..." She points again. "Like you're far away."
I force my mouth into something that should be a smile. "I'm here."
"Mm," she says, unconvinced. "You're here physically."
She takes a bite of canelé and closes her eyes like it's a religious experience. "Oh my god."
Her shoulders relax. She chews slowly.
Then she opens one eye at me. "Okay. Now I can tell you my surprise."
I stiffen.
"You look scared," she observes cheerfully.
"I'm not scared," I say, which is exactly what a scared person says.
She laughs. "Relax! It's a good surprise."
Kaori wipes her fingers with a napkin, then pats the bed again. "Sit."
I obey because my body always obeys her. Like she has a remote control.
The mattress dips beside her. Her warmth is close enough that I can feel it through the air.
She leans toward me slightly, lowering her voice like we're conspiring.
"I want to go outside."
My stomach drops.
"...Outside," I repeat carefully.
"Yes."
"Kaori—"
"Not like, running a marathon outside." She rolls her eyes. "Just... out. On the rooftop. The bench."
The bench.
My breath hiccups.
The rooftop air in the other timeline tasted like farewell.
My lungs tighten. I try to inhale and it catches halfway.
Kaori notices. Of course she notices.
She narrows her eyes. "Hey."
"I'm fine," I say immediately.
"Liar."
"I'm not—"
"You are." Her voice softens. "Kousei... look at me."
I do. I can't not.
Her eyes aren't empty. They're bright. Tired around the edges, sure, but bright. Alive.
"I'm not asking to do anything crazy," she says. "I just want... snow. And air. And the bench."
My heartbeat is too loud.
I swallow. "It's cold."
"I have a blanket," she says smugly. "And I have you."
That last part makes something in me crack in a way that isn't painful.
"Fine," I whisper. "We can go. If the nurses allow it."
Kaori beams like she won a war. "They'll allow it."
"How do you know."
She taps her temple. "I'm charming."
"You're threatening," I mutter.
"Also true." She swings her legs carefully toward the side of the bed.
My hands move without permission, ready to catch, ready to support. I hate that my body reacts like this. Like she's made of glass.
Kaori sees it.
She pauses, eyes softening. "Kousei."
"I'm just helping," I say quickly.
"I know." She smiles a little. "But you're holding your breath."
I blink.
Am I?
My lungs feel like they're locked.
I force a breath in. It's shaky. Wrong.
Kaori doesn't call it out. She just lets me do it.
A nurse walks in right then—perfect timing. She smiles at Kaori. "Miyazono-san, are you behaving?"
"I am always behaving," Kaori says, angelic.
The nurse looks like she doesn't believe in angels anymore. "Mhm."
Kaori points at me. "Can we go to the rooftop? Please."
The nurse hesitates. "It's cold."
"I'll wear my blanket," Kaori says instantly.
"And you won't overexert."
"I will not," Kaori lies with confidence.
The nurse sighs like she's lost this argument before. "Ten minutes. And only if you feel dizzy you come back immediately."
Kaori salutes. "Yes ma'am."
As soon as the nurse leaves, Kaori grins like a criminal.
"Knew it," she whispers.
"You're a menace," I tell her.
"I'm inspiring," she corrects.
I help her stand.
Her weight is lighter than it should be. It always is.
My lungs tighten again, a sharp little panic stab, like my body remembered the last time I held her like this.
Kaori steadies herself. "Okay," she says, breath slightly heavier. "Let's go before anyone changes their mind."
⸻
The hallway is longer than it should be.
Not physically. Mentally.
Every tile looks like a memory.
Every beep behind a door is a reminder.
Kaori leans into my side. I keep my arm firm around her waist. My hand is flat against her back through the blanket, feeling her breathe.
Each step is slow.
In my head, another version of this walk overlays it.
Kaori weaker. Paler. Wheelchair. ICU smell. Nurses moving fast.
My chest tightens and my breath begins to speed up, shallow, stacking on top of itself.
I try to slow it.
It doesn't listen.
Kaori glances up at me. "Stop making that face."
"What face."
"That face where you're trying to be calm but you look like you're about to explode."
"I'm fine," I say, automatic.
She huffs. "You're not fine. You're just quiet."
I swallow hard. "I'm trying not to ruin your rooftop moment."
"You can't ruin it," she says firmly. "I'm dragging you out there for a reason."
"A reason," I echo, because my brain is catching on that.
Kaori nods, lips curving. "A surprise."
I follow her to the rooftop door.
My hand grips the handle.
The metal is cold.
My breath catches halfway again.
The door opens.
The rooftop air hits us like a clean slap.
Cold. Fresh. Sharp enough to wake a dead person.
Snow drifts down in slow, lazy flakes, like the sky is bored and decided to decorate.
The bench sits where it always does.
Simple.
Wooden.
Ordinary.
Like it hasn't held the weight of a goodbye.
Kaori smiles immediately. "See? Pretty."
My vision blurs for a second, not from tears—just from memory pushing too hard.
This is where she stood last time.
This is where she pretended to play the violin.
This is where I didn't know it was the last time.
My breath speeds up again.
Kaori doesn't seem to notice for a second. She's looking around like a kid at a festival.
Then she turns back to me and her smile softens, because she does notice.
"Hey," she says gently.
"I'm here," I say, too fast again.
"I know," she replies. "Come on. Sit with me."
I guide her to the bench. She lowers herself carefully, blanket gathered around her shoulders. She breathes out after sitting, a small sign of effort.
I sit beside her.
The wood is cold through my pants.
Kaori bumps her shoulder lightly into mine. "Okay."
"...Okay," I repeat.
She looks up at the snow. "It's like sugar."
"It's water," I say.
She glares. "Don't ruin my metaphor, science boy."
Science boy.
The word twists something in my stomach.
I try to inhale deeply.
My lungs refuse.
My chest feels tight like a hand is squeezing it from the inside.
Kaori's voice shifts. "Kousei."
"Yeah?"
"You're shaking."
I blink. "I am not."
She puts her hand on my sleeve.
I realize my fingers are clenched so hard my knuckles ache.
Kaori leans closer, voice softer. "You brought me canelé. You got me out here. You're doing perfect."
Perfect.
That word makes my heart spike.
Because last time I did perfect too.
I played my heart out.
And she still—
My breath stutters. My vision sharpens painfully.
Kaori watches me, her expression changing from teasing to real.
"Kousei..." she whispers, like she's stepping toward a frightened animal. "What's happening in your head."
I swallow. My throat is dry.
"I don't..." I start, then stop.
My breath speeds up again. Too shallow. Too fast.
Kaori's eyes widen a little. "Are you—"
"I'm fine," I lie again, but my voice cracks.
Kaori's hand slides from my sleeve to my back. She rubs small circles like she's trying to convince my body it's safe.
"You don't look fine," she says quietly.
I try to breathe.
It comes out wrong.
Kaori's voice turns firm. "Okay. Stop. Just... look at me."
I force my eyes to her face.
Her cheeks have color. Her eyes are alive. Her mouth is soft and stubborn.
She's here.
She's here.
"She asked me to come out here," I whisper, like a confession.
Kaori's brows lift. "I did."
"And you said you had a surprise," I manage.
Her smile returns, smaller but bright. "I do."
She shifts on the bench, then grips the edge with both hands.
My body tenses instantly.
Kaori sees it and gives me an annoyed little look. "Don't panic."
"I'm not panicking," I say, breathing too fast, which is panicking.
Kaori rolls her eyes and stands.
Slowly.
Carefully.
Her legs tremble slightly. Her movements are a little choppy, like the cold is stiffening her joints. But she's upright.
Standing.
On her own.
My throat tightens.
Kaori looks at me, proud, like she's just proven something. "Ta-da."
"Kaori..." I breathe, half warning, half awe.
She lifts a finger. "Shh."
Then she raises her arms.
No violin.
No bow.
Just empty air.
And she begins to play anyway.
Her left hand curves like it's on a fingerboard, shifting up, pressing invisible strings. Her right hand moves like a bow cutting through air. Not perfect. Not smooth. A little shaky. But unmistakable.
Kaori Miyazono.
Playing the violin that isn't there.
My world tilts.
In my mind, another Kaori appears beside her.
Paler. Ghostly. The Kaori from the bad timeline—standing in the same snow, doing the same motion, smiling like she's already halfway gone.
And next to her, this Kaori—brighter, warmer, more colorful—fighting the cold with stubborn life.
Two versions of her overlap in my eyes like a double exposure.
My chest squeezes hard.
My breath catches.
Tears spill before I can stop them.
Kaori finishes the last motion, the final invisible note, and lowers her hands slowly like a performer ending a song.
For a second she just stands there, breathing heavier, cheeks pink from effort.
Then she sways.
A small wobble.
My body moves instantly.
I'm up before I know it, hands catching her shoulders, pulling her in so she doesn't fall.
"Kaori—!"
"I'm fine," she says immediately, the same lie I keep telling her.
But she's smiling up at me, breathless, pleased with herself.
"How was that," she murmurs, "Kousei...?"
My throat hurts.
My eyes are wet. My breathing is still too fast, too messy.
"It was..." My voice breaks. I swallow. "Amazing."
Kaori's smile softens. She lifts a hand, touches my cheek with her fingertips.
"...You're crying," she says gently, like she's surprised.
"Shut up," I whisper.
She laughs quietly. "You're such a crybaby."
I hold her tighter, because if I loosen even an inch my body feels like she'll vanish.
Kaori's hands slide around my back. She rubs slow, comforting circles.
"It's okay," she whispers. "It's okay, Kousei."
My chest heaves. My breath tries to turn into a panic spiral again.
Kaori's voice drops even softer. "Breathe with me."
I try.
Inhale. Too shallow.
She presses her forehead to my chest. "Again."
Inhale. A little deeper.
"Good."
Exhale.
My heartbeat is still loud, but the edges stop cutting.
I nod against her hair. "I remember," I whisper without meaning to.
Kaori pauses.
"...Remember what," she asks carefully.
I shouldn't say it. I can't explain it. If I open that door, everything spills out—operating tables, bloodless hands, my older self waking up in a lab.
So I swallow it down and shake my head.
"Nothing," I lie.
Kaori doesn't call me out.
She just holds me.
"I'm here," she whispers. "I'm right here."
I nod again, over and over, like the motion keeps her anchored.
"I don't want to go," I confess, voice muffled against her shoulder.
"Go where," she asks, though I know she already knows.
"Maihou," I whisper.
Kaori's arms tighten.
My chest tightens too.
"I don't want to leave you here," I say, words tumbling out now that the dam cracked. "I don't want to play while you're..." I choke. "While you're in a hospital."
Kaori pulls back just enough to look at my face.
Her eyes are soft, but sharp too. "Kousei."
"I promised," I whisper. "I said I would. I always say yes to you."
Her lips curve faintly. "Because you love me."
My throat tightens again.
"I do," I admit, helpless. "But I hate it."
Kaori blinks. "You hate loving me?"
"No," I say quickly. "I hate... this." I gesture vaguely at the sky, the snow, the date, the bench, the whole universe. "I hate that it's happening like this. I want to be with you in your room. I want... I want you laughing at stupid TV shows. I want you cuddled up and warm and safe and not—" My voice breaks again. "Not me on a stage while you're alone."
Kaori's hands slide up to my face, cupping my cheeks like she's forcing me back into my body.
"Kousei," she says firmly. "Look at me."
I do.
"You're not leaving me," she says. "You're playing. For me."
My breath stutters.
She presses her thumbs gently under my eyes, wiping tears like she's annoyed by them.
"I asked you," she continues, softer now, "because I want you to feel alive again."
"I feel alive when I'm with you," I whisper.
Kaori's smile flickers. "And I want you to feel alive even when I'm not holding your hand."
That sentence hits like a knife even though it's gentle.
My breathing wobbles again.
Kaori sees it immediately and shakes her head. "No. Not that. Don't run there." Her voice turns urgent, anchoring. "Kousei. I'm not gone."
I swallow hard.
"I'm here," she repeats, slower. "So stop saying goodbye to me with your eyes."
My chest aches.
I nod. Barely.
Kaori's expression softens again. "Tomorrow is scary," she admits quietly. "Because it's big. Because it matters. Because you're going to stand on a stage again."
My throat tightens.
"But I'm going to be okay," she says, like she's deciding it. " I'm feeling better lately.... The doctors said my numbers are better as well... I'm not in ICU. I'm not..." She swallows, voice small for a second. "I'm not disappearing today."
I close my eyes.
My body shakes once.
Kaori leans in and presses her forehead to mine. "So you're going to play."
I whisper, "I'm scared."
Her eyes soften. "Me too."
The admission hangs between us like a snowflake that refuses to melt.
Then Kaori inhales, steadying herself.
"Kousei," she says, voice suddenly lighter—like she's changing the channel before I drown in it— "I have to tell you something."
My heart jumps. "What."
She smiles up at me, mischievous and bright.
"I'm gonna come to your competition."
Everything inside me freezes.
My head snaps back. "W-What?!"
Kaori nods, delighted at my face. "Mm-hm."
"That's—" My throat locks. "You can't."
"Sure I can," she says.
"Kaori—"
"I have a plan," she announces proudly, as if she's revealing a magic trick. "A wheelchair. A blanket. Possibly hostage-taking."
"You're not going," I say immediately, because the thought is too impossible, too dangerous, too hopeful.
Kaori's eyes narrow. "Excuse me?"
"It's cold. It's crowded. It's—" I struggle for logic. "It's a long time sitting."
"So?" she says.
"So y-you're sick," I snap, then regret it instantly when her expression flickers.
Kaori looks at me for a long second, then her voice goes quiet.
"I know I'm sick," she says softly. "But I'm still me."
My chest aches.
She smiles again, smaller now but stubborn. "And I want to see you."
My throat closes.
"You said I couldn't even be there," she adds, teasing, but her eyes are honest. "So I'm fixing it."
I stare at her like she's rewriting the world.
"You're serious," I whisper.
Kaori nods. "Very."
My breath catches again, but this time it isn't panic.
It's something else. Something sharp and bright.
Hope.
It terrifies me more than fear ever did.
I pull her back into my arms like I'm afraid the sentence will evaporate if I don't hold her down.
Kaori laughs softly against my shoulder. "Hey—hey—don't crush me. I'm still fragile."
"Sorry," I whisper, tightening anyway.
She rubs my back again, steady. Warm.
"It's okay," she murmurs. "I'm here."
I nod into her hair, breathing in the cold air, the faint scent of her shampoo, the sweetness of canelé clinging to the moment.
Snow falls around us like the world is trying to be gentle for once.
And for the first time all day, my lungs finally take a full breath.