CW:Medical themes, psychological distress, Emotional Distress
Hikari's stomach twisted. She turned away, pressing her forehead to the cold window again. The rain felt like tears against the glass.
Ahead, the decoy SUV braked hard, peeling into a derelict warehouse complex. Jin followed, tires screeching on slick concrete. As they skidded to a halt under rusted steel beams, masked figures emerged from shadowed doorways—Jin's men, sterile gloves already on, a gurney ready.
The medics flung the SUV doors open. "Go! Go! Trauma bay three—now!"
Jin was already out, barking orders. He paused, turning back to her, his expression unreadable in the downpour.
Hikari slid out of the SUV, her legs unsteady beneath her. She watched, detached, as Kuro's stretcher vanished through a heavy steel door, flanked by masked figures moving with lethal efficiency.
〖Forty-three seconds dead.〗
The number hammered against her ribs like a second heartbeat.
〖He looked so… peaceful. Was it easier to stay gone?〗
The image of Kuro's serene, bloodied face flashed behind her eyes—utterly still, untouched by the violence that had shattered him.
〖Did he find it? The quiet he talked about? The stars?〗
The bleak longing in her own chest tightened, sharp and painful.
The warehouse swallowed Kuro whole, leaving Hikari stranded in the drumming rain. Jin reappeared at her side, his silhouette sharp against the industrial gloom. "Inside. Now," he commanded, already striding toward the entrance without glancing back.
Hikari followed, her steps dragging through puddles that reflected the flickering security lights. The sterile corridor inside reeked of antiseptic and the coppery after-scent of trauma. Jin pointed to a plastic chair outside a heavy steel door marked with a red light. "Sit. They'll stabilize him or…" He trailed off, jaw tightening. "…or they won't."
She sank onto the cold seat, the adrenaline leaching from her bones. The red light above the door glared like an accusing eye. Muffled voices spilled from the operating room—tense, clipped commands, the whir of machines, a low, rhythmic beep that felt like a countdown.
〖Forty-three seconds.
He came back from the stars. But for what?〗
Hikari sat rigid on the cold plastic chair, the sterile corridor lights humming overhead. Her mind was a battlefield—phantom hands clawing at her ripped shirt collar, the sour stench of the enforcer's breath flooding her nostrils again, the crushing weight of Kuro's broken body collapsing into her. She hugged her stomach tighter, nails digging into her sweater where his blood had soaked through.
〖Hands… everywhere… can*t breathe…〗
Her vision blurred, the red operating light smearing like blood on glass.
〖Forty-three seconds. He was gone. He looked… free.〗
A voice pierced the fog, distant and muffled. "...miss?"
Hikari didn't move. Didn't blink.
"...miss?"
The voice came again, closer. Soft. Female.
Hikari's gaze drifted upward, slow and unfocused. An older nurse stood before her, her face lined with weary kindness. She held out a thick, gray blanket. "You*re freezing, dear," the nurse murmured. Her eyes—sharp, clinical—flicked over Hikari's thin frame, the violent shivering she hadn't even noticed, the ghostly pallor of her skin.
〖Blanket. Wool. Rough. Like the one… mother... had…〗 Hikari flinched as the blanket touched her shoulders—a reflex born from years of unwanted contact. But the wool was warm. Heavy. She pulled it tight, burying her chin in its scratchy folds. The nurse vanished silently down the hall.
The red light above the door glared. Muffled sounds leaked out—the metallic snick of surgical tools, a low-toned command ("Clamp here—"), the relentless, fragile beep-beep-beep of Kuro's heartbeat on the monitor.
〖He fought for me. But why? I'm nothing. Ash. Wind.〗
Hikari's stomach clenched, a white-hot spike of pain cutting through the numbness. She doubled over, a whimper escaping her lips.
〖Forgot. The pills. Always forget.〗
The nurse reappeared. This time, she held a steaming paper cup and a small plastic cup with a single white pill. The rich, sweet scent of hot cocoa cut through the antiseptic air.
"...miss?"
Hikari remained hunched, lost in the phantom grip on her wrist.
"...dear?"
The nurse's voice finally registered. Hikari lifted her head. Her eyes—dull, distant—focused slowly on the offering. Hot cocoa. Steam curling like smoke. A pill.
"For the pain," the nurse said gently, nodding toward Hikari's white-knuckled grip on her stomach. "It's just an antispasmodic. Nothing strong."
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