Arashi sat on the stool beside her bed, his gaze fixed on Mizuki. The room was still. Only the faint hum of the hospital machines broke the silence.
Then she coughed.
A soft, weak sound — but it was enough to make Arashi sit up straighter. A moment passed. Then another. And slowly, like someone fighting their way back from a long and exhausting dream, Mizuki opened her eyes.
Her lips parted.
"Arashi..."
She hadn't even looked at him yet. Hadn't turned her head. Hadn't seen him sitting right there. But his name was the first word her mind reached for — the first thing her heart called out before her eyes could even find him.
Arashi leaned forward and gently took her hand in his.
"I'm right here, Mizuki," he said quietly. "Don't push yourself. I'm not going anywhere."
She turned her head slowly and found him — really found him — sitting there with tired eyes and a steady grip on her hand, like he'd been holding on for both of them this whole time.
"Oh..." she breathed. "Arashi. You came."
"Don't talk," he said softly. "Rest. Nothing happened. You're okay."
Mizuki held his gaze for a moment, then looked up at the ceiling. Her chest rose slowly with a long, quiet breath.
"Oh God..." she whispered. "Thank You. Thank You for putting me in the love of someone who cares about me this much."
A pause. Sincere. Unhurried.
"Thank You... so much."
Then she looked back at Arashi.
The door opened.
The doctor walked in, and behind him came Mizuki's father — his face carrying the particular kind of exhaustion that only comes from a night spent waiting and worrying.
"Alright," the doctor said, glancing between the two of them. "For now, I'd like one person to stay with Mizuki and—"
"I'll do it."
Arashi said it before anyone else could even draw breath. No hesitation. No pause to think it over.
Mizuki's father looked at him, then opened his mouth to speak.
"Arashi—"
"Uncle." Arashi's voice was calm but firm. "You already have enough on your plate. You've been carrying too much as it is. Let me take this one. Please. Don't worry."
Her father looked at him for a long moment — the kind of look that holds a dozen things it doesn't know how to say — and then quietly stepped back.
The doctor, however, wasn't so easily moved. He turned to Arashi and gave him a slow, measured look. The kind that sizes a person up.
"That's a kind thing to say," he said. "But this isn't as simple as you might think."
"Yeah. I know," Arashi replied. "I'm not saying it'll be easy. I'm saying I'll do it."
The doctor studied him a second longer, then gave a small nod.
"Alright. Then I'll send you a detailed list shortly — everything that needs to be done tomorrow, what to watch for, what to avoid. You'll need to go through all of it."
"Understood, sir."
"Good." The doctor glanced at Mizuki one last time, then back at Arashi. "For now — let her rest. I'll get that list to you." He paused at the door. "It's already six in the morning, by the way."
A beat.
"Best of luck."
And with that, he left.
The moment Mizuki father eyes found her lying there, everything else in the room ceased to exist.
"Mizuki—"
He crossed the room in quick, unsteady strides and reached for her hand, gripping it with one of his. His eyes filled almost instantly, and he brought his other hand to her face, cupping her cheek like she was something fragile — something he was terrified of losing.
"Mizuki... my daughter..." His voice cracked. "What happened to you? Please — please get better soon. Please."
Arashi was already moving. He stepped forward and gently placed a hand on the father's shoulder, steadying him.
"Please, uncle — don't," he said quietly but firmly. "It'll stress her out. Her condition... it could get worse. You have to be strong for her right now."
The father blinked. Something in Arashi's words reached him. He exhaled slowly and turned away, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand.
"Right. Right, yes..."
Across the room, Mizuki's vision had gone blurred. The edges of everything softened — shapes, faces, voices. She couldn't make out what was being said. She couldn't even be sure of what she was seeing.
But she felt the hand.
Dad.
She didn't need her eyes to know.
"Dad..." she said softly, her voice barely carrying. "Don't worry. I'll get better soon. I promise."
From across the room, her father heard her — and broke all over again. His shoulders shook. But he stayed where he was, far enough that she wouldn't notice, far enough that she wouldn't worry.
Arashi guided him further to the side, giving him space. And once they were out of earshot, the father exhaled — long and shattered — like a man who had been holding something too heavy for too long.
"Son..." he began, his voice low. "I don't know what to do anymore. I really don't." He pressed a hand to his forehead. "The hospital fees alone are more than I can manage. And then the medication costs on top of that. And her younger brother's school fees..." He shook his head. "I can't keep up with all of it. I can't."
Arashi looked at him steadily.
He said. "Don't worry about the money. I'll handle it. You just focus on staying strong — for her."
"No, no — you can't carry all of this alone. I'll figure something out, I—"
"Uncle."
The word was gentle. Final.
Before either of them could say anything more, the father's knees gave slightly — and he lowered himself, reaching for Arashi's feet.
"Son..." he whispered, his voice breaking completely. "Thank you. Thank you for everything you're doing for my daughter. I don't have words—"
Arashi dropped down immediately. He caught the man before he could go any lower and pulled him into an embrace — firm, quiet, without hesitation.
"Don't do this," he murmured. "Please." He held on for a moment, then pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. "She means everything to me too. So don't worry. And don't stress. Just be here for her — that's all she needs from you right now."