Chapter Text
Maybe this is hell.
It's a white ceiling, off-white walls, bright white lights, white bedsheets. It's the bland meals, kind but insincere conversations, background noise of the news. Sad, prolonged looks from Mom, regretful frowns from Dad, the overall lack of feeling from her legs. The monotone beep of the heart monitor and drip of the IV. Hell can't be dark and fiery and the screams of the damned-- it has to be this.
Ann is a light in this place. The blonde of her hair offsets the white entirety of the room, the radiance of her smile breaking the solemn air that's been stagnant. She can't always visit, but Shiho looks forward to the times she can. She's the inch of normalcy left in Shiho's life-- she tells her about things that have been going on in school, a cool photoshoot she was in, a dumb thing Ryuji was up to, a shiny A on a test that she only passed because Akira helped, a new restaurant the three of them went to-- she's glad, so glad that Ann hasn't let this change her, hasn't let the wobble of her lips when she looks towards Shiho's legs keep her from looking her in the eye and talking as if they weren't in a hospital.
More often than not, Ann isn't there. She isn't there, and sometimes Shiho thinks it may have been better to land differently, breaking more than just her legs. She's confined to bed, confined to sleep and watching tv and staring at the wall. She's stuck, legs basically useless, and she has to sit through looks of pity from the doctor, her nurses, her physical therapist, her parents.
Her skin crawls whenever her parents visit. They know what happened, but they don't know. They're so quiet when they visit, so sad, so pitying, and she has no idea what they're thinking. She hopes and hopes for the door to slide open whenever they're here, hopes the doctor does a checkup on vitals or the therapist takes her to learn how to use her legs again or Ann to come bounding in and dispel them.
She's not lucky. They stay and they speak of things so mundane-- at least it's nice to talk with Ann, but with her parents it all feels awkward and forced and Shiho wishes she had the gut to tell them to stop, they don't understand, don't act like you understand.
They aren't in the room the day Ann enters, eyes both bright and watery. Ann basically crashes in the seat next to her bed, grasps her hand so tight she's momently scared it'll snap, and tells her it's all over, he's in jail, he got what he deserved, he's gone.
Shiho cries and Ann cries with her, and maybe, just maybe she'll be able to walk those wretched halls again and graduate side-by-side with Ann like they imagined and maybe she'll meet Ryuji and Akira and give them the biggest hug possible and hopefully hang out with them at Big Bang Burger or the Arcade. Her hopes soar, and she wishes she could stand so she could hug Ann and leave this awful room.
Her parents walk in the next day, faces drawn in, and tell her we're going to move when you're released from the hospital. We're sorry, Shiho.
Shiho doesn't cry. She just hopes her legs will stay broken, so she can still at least stay here and see Ann regularly.
—
Her legs ache the moment she steps off the train into the Yaso-Inaba Station. They've ached the moment she stepped on the train and throughout the whole ride. Shiho takes this as an ill omen.
The car ride to the house is in a terse silence with occasional awkward conversations between her parents, similar to the train ride over. Inaba, her parents had told her, was a tiny rural town. A big difference from the metropolitan style of Tokyo. A good place for a fresh start, they said. Shiho can see between the lines and know they chose this place because nothing happens here.
(She knows that they think if it's a peaceful place, there's less of a chance of her ending up in an ambulance midday and missing two months of her life. If it's peaceful, bad things won't happen. They won't.)
It takes less than twenty minutes flat to drive to their house-- in Tokyo, on good days it would have taken twenty minutes to drive a mile. It's a small house, different from their even smaller apartment in Tokyo. They actually have a backyard. It's on the edge of Inaba and supposedly not too far from her new high school.
Unpacking is quiet aside from the occasional 'put that in the kitchen' and 'can you help me carry this?' Thankfully it's cloudy outside, so it isn't too much of a chore. Most heavy things, like furniture, were delivered before hand, which cuts the labor. They apparently make enough noise for a neighbor to come out and greet them. Her mom ends up side-tracked talking to them, so she and her dad finish unpacking to avoid being dragged into the conversation.
It's a single story house, small kitchen, small living room, two small rooms, two small bathrooms, and yet its still more spacious than their old apartment. Shiho claims the bedroom facing the backyard. Her dad helps bring in some boxes and offers to help set up furniture before Shiho shoos him off.
Her room slowly comes together. She slowly puts things on the dresser, on the wall, in the closet, until it looks vaguely like her old room. It has all the same elements, but it doesn't register in her mind as her own yet. She goes about it in a detached sense, like her body is on autopilot.
One year, Shiho thinks, this is my home for one year. She comes across her next uniform that her parents snuck in her boxes-- a black seifuku with a glaringly bright yellow ribbon and houndstooth patterned skirt. It's... something, to say the least. Not the worst uniform she's ever seen, but... well, it's definitely something. She guesses she can call it stylish for a school uniform.
She lays it out on her bed, smoothing it out absently. There's no true blazer, so she can't exactly get away with just wearing the undershirt. She misses the plaid of Shujin, regardless of how ugly she thought it was at first. Her first day is... tomorrow, maybe? The day after? Her mom had told her, but it felt like fuzz in her ears. She doesn't want to think about school.
Belatedly, she takes a picture to send it to Ann later. Ann was at a photoshoot right about now-- she couldn't exactly check her phone every now and then and respond to her. The lack of consistent buzzing from her phone made the whole unpacking process more quiet.
Half-way through the next box, her dad reappears at the doorway, leaning in a casual way against the frame. He whistles in awe at the progress she's made, saying, "Wow, already this far? Sorry, sweetie, but you're gonna have to do the kitchen and living room at this pace."
She rolls her eyes. "Sure thing. It'll probably be useless, though-- you'd probably reorganize it to your liking."
He shrugs. "It's going to take weeks before your mother and I find an equilibrium in that kitchen. Ya close to a stopping point? I was kinda thinking bout getting dinner."
She isn't, but the dust is starting to get to her. Besides-- this is might be the first time he's looked her in the eyes in a week. Maybe things are turning for the better. "Sure. I think I saw a take out place not too far away on the drive here." In a blocky motion, she pulls herself to her feet. Getting up to her feet was no longer easy. It was a struggle, even after so much physical therapy. She liked to think it was okay now. Yet-- her leg twists and twinges painfully, her breath catching in her throat as her world tilts. There's a flash of movement from the corner of her eyes in her dad's direction, but she manages to catch herself by slamming a stabilizing hand against the wall.
Shiho swallows thickly, breathing slowly to calm the spike of her pulse at the sudden feeling of falling. She glances up warily. Her dad's hand is halfway towards her, as if to catch her if she didn't regain her footing, with the other braced against the door frame with white knuckles. There's a pause, a bit deafening, and her father retreats his hand and crams it in his pocket. A scowl sits on his face, the corner of his mouth twitching with unspoken words, and he quickly pulls on a grin that doesn't fit his face.
"That was close," he laughs, a bit wheezily and with a tremor in the undertone. He shifts awkwardly, maybe debating to check if she's fine or to let her be. I wonder what went through his mind just now, Shiho thinks, throat tight, did he see my leg breaking? or them shattered, beneath hospital blankets? or maybe-- "Ah, you may have to start wearing your brace more often, kiddo. It's kinda hilly and rainy around here."
Grimacing, she nods. "I'll put it on before we go." It's on her dresser, where she threw it after taking it off earlier to give her leg some air. She hates that thing-- it's hot and sweaty and itchy and it always seems to get disgusting in less than an hour. It's going to be miserable to wear it in the rain-- it'll become soggy and she'll have to deal with the spongey feel of it the whole school day.
A moment passes. Her dad still lingers by the doorframe. He clears his throat and scratches his arm absently. "Are you going to be alright?" he asks, looking anywhere but her.
"Yeah," she says quickly, and back tracks. "Yeah. I-- I'm alright. Just a little sore from the ride." Her legs are never not sore nowadays. Not that they need to know.
There's a solemn look on his face. Shiho grits her teeth and thinks please don't.
He nods-- she can't tell if he's satisfied with that answer or not-- and leaves. For a second, she just stands and breathes. Everyone around her has been walking on eggshells since she landed in the hospital, and she's so tired of it. She wonders how long it'll take until it's all gone and done for.
Her mom trusts them with dinner, saying that she's in unpacking mode and doesn't want to drop out of it now that she's in it. The car ride is quiet for the most part, with the two of them peering out the window to spy a places to eat or figure out what something is. There's plenty of tiny mom-and-pop stores just a walk away from their house, and the Main Street isn't too far of a walking trip, either. Shiho has a feeling she'll become familiar with these streets in due time.
The sun had set enough to the point where it was fairly dark out with the overcast. The clouds aren't lit up orange with city lights, and there's an underwhelming amount of obnoxiously neon signs on these streets. Some store signs aren't even lit up-- just how rural is this place? Oh!-- then, maybe when the nights aren't cloudy, she'll be able to see the stars?
They end up parking at a brightly-lit grocery store and wander to a nearby takeout restaurant. The air's thick with rain soon to come and is quite chilly for spring-- the warmth of the restaurant they slip into is more than welcoming. It's a small place-- a few tables are set up inside with a couple tables occupied. Shiho very pointedly avoids their wandering curious stares.
Three boxes of noodles ends up being the price of a single nice meal in Tokyo. And even better, from what she could peer at in the restaurant, they're possibly the best looking noodles she's seen in years. Not grossly greasy, or dangerously overcooked. The chunks of beef and chicken shine with just the right amount of sauce, and the vegetables don't seem still half frozen from the freezer. Sweet n Sour, General Tso's, Teriyaki-- the smell makes her want to crack a box open in the car, and from the pace her dad walks at, he wants to, too.
Ah. The lack of city lights also makes the lights of a police car much more stark. Both her and her dad falter-- they aren't near their car, were they? God, what if the police around here were crazy strict about parking between the lines. Her dad didn't have a great streak with being completely center, and the parking lot was empty, so he didn't exactly try-- what luck would that be, not even six hours in Inaba and they've already gotten a ticket.
But as they step closer, the car is parked in a side street close to the market. Her dad's shoulders drop in relief when there's no-one by his car. There are some standing outside the police cars, like there's something going on.
One glances up and spots the two of them ogling. He smiles disarmingly at them, nods to his companion, and approaches.
"Good evening," the officer says kindly. His hands are neatly tucked into his jacket pockets, posture open yet with a tension along his shoulders. "Sorry to bother the two of you this evening. I'm required to ask anyone I see, though— have you seen any suspicious activity nearby, recently? Biker gangs, suspicious figures, anything?"
"No," her dad says curtly, his eyes drifting in the direction of the side street with a confused frown. Biker gangs? Suspicious people? Shiho thinks absently, shifting the bag on her arm anxiously, wait, didn't they say— didn't they say nothing happens around here? "We moved in today. Is something wrong?"
A dawning realization crosses the officer's face. "Ah. No, not-- not necessarily. We're just keeping watch." The officer seems to mentally juggle what he should say. He ends up frowning and says, "Well... a first-year at Yasogami by the name of Tatsumi Kanji went missing recently, last seen by his mother's textile shop. He's possibly involved with activity in biker gangs. If you hear anything about him or see any activity, be sure to report it, yeah?"
The smile her dad gives the officer is tense. "Understood. Thank you."
Dinner isn't going to be as pleasant as she thought it would be.