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What’re you afraid of?
She’d asked him that once, eager to hear what got under his skin and broke the calm surface of his reserved nature. He'd told her getting hit with a pitch, and at the time it was true. It was a relevant fear, an experience he disliked having to endure.
He wishes his fears were still that small.
It’s the middle of November when he gets the phone call, right before he's about to set out for his evening jog to keep in shape for next year's season. In hindsight he should’ve known something was wrong because it’s Chiaki that’s calling, and it's rare for her to call him these days, seeing as he’s not in town and able to keep tabs on Chizuru like he used to.
He answers with a simple greeting, but the words he hears next leave him frozen to his core.
“Ryu, sweetie. There’s been an accident. It’s Chizu—”
His mind blanks, and he’s barely aware of what else Chiaki says. He catches the important words, such as car crash, and hospital, and alive, and then he’s tearing out of the building and down the street towards the train station, bringing nothing with him but his phone and the clothes on his back.
“I’ll be there as soon as I can,” he tells Chiaki, and then hangs up. He’s never run so fast in his life, and when he reaches the station cold sweat is beaded on his forehead and his hands are shaking so bad it’s hard to select the right buttons on the kiosk. He manages to get a ticket, and by pure luck or the grace of the gods he doesn’t have to wait long for the train to arrive.
It’s a three hour train ride, but it might as well be an eternity as Ryu sits and stares at the seat in front of him, his heart pounding uncomfortably against his tight chest. He feels like he's nine years old again, sitting in the corner of that tatami room while people wail around him, his eyes trained unseeingly on the body of his dead mother. A part of his heart shattered that day, and it's only because of Chizuru that he managed to hold himself together long enough to heal.
If he loses her in the same way, he'll never recover. He'll be broken beyond repair.
His throat tightens and the air in the train car feels stifling, and it's an effort to remind himself to keep breathing. The only thing keeping him lucid is the knowledge that she's alive—that he's not coming home to a lifeless body. But he doesn't know how bad the crash was, or how hurt she is as a result. He’s not sure he wants to know, not until he can be there in person and be by her side.
But not knowing is just as worse as the agony of waiting.
He gets a text from Toru about an hour later, asking if he needs a ride back home. Ryu tells him he's already left, and then belatedly asks him to check on his dorm room. His roommate is out of town, and he's pretty sure he left the door unlocked. Maybe even wide open. It's not like him to be so careless, but his only priority right now is Chizuru. Nothing else even compares.
His father calls shortly after, but they don't talk for long. Ryu can hear the strain in dad's voice as he briefly explains that Chizuru was driving the van, heading to the warehouse for the shop's weekly supply run. He says it’d been raining all day, and another truck skidded on the wet pavement and hit the van straight on, and that she was brought to the hospital straight after.
His dad offers to call a cab to pick him up once he arrives, but Ryu declines. The hospital isn't far from the station, and running means he doesn't have to talk to anyone, or wait even a second longer to be by Chizuru’s side.
He hangs up with a short goodbye, and then he’s waiting. And waiting and waiting for what feels like an eternity.
Ryu's always been a still, quiet person, but for each minute that ticks by he feels his body shutting down, becoming stiff and leaden as he remains frozen in his seat. The coldness seeps into his limbs and the familiar numbness is encompassing him again, just like it did all those years ago.
He doesn't want to endure it again—this feeling, this helplessness. He can't. He's not strong enough, not without Chizuru.
He tries not to think about the worst case scenarios that plague his mind, or let his thoughts linger on the past and the aftermath that followed. He tries not to think about how mangled and broken his dad's van is, and how his dad had to offer a cab to pick him up instead.
He tries not to think about Chizuru in the moment of the crash, scared and hurt and alone.
He doesn't know how to stop his thoughts, so instead he just sits and stares, and lets the numbness overtake him again.
**
Night has fallen by the time he arrives home. He forces his stiff muscles to move, almost mechanically, as he jogs down the familiar streets and passages, moving on autopilot as his feet carry him toward the hospital. It's a Sunday evening, and the streets are quiet and serene. The pavement glistens in the low light of the street lamps, and there's a heavy mist in the air that weighs down on him like a cold blanket of foreboding.
He remembers how hard Chizuru studied and practiced to pass the driving test, and how elated she was when she finally received her own license. She'd taken picture after picture and sent them all to his phone, and he'd saved every one of them, her enthusiasm warming him in a way only she could. She's a good driver, and it's unfair—it's so painfully unfair—that she's suffering because of circumstances outside her control.
By the time he arrives at the hospital his heart is beating wildly in his chest, but not from the exertion of running. The doors open with a quiet swish and he makes his way to the front desk, forgoing any greetings and simply asking, “Yoshida Chizuru. What room is she in?”
The receptionist graciously ignores his abrupt rudeness and types at her computer. “Second floor, room 207,” she reports, and Ryu is off before she’s even finished speaking.
It doesn’t take him long to find Chizuru’s parents and his father, along with a rare appearance from her older brother, too. They’re all in a waiting area near her hospital room, and immediately look up at the sound of him approaching.
“Oh, Ryu, you’re here,” Chiaki says with evident relief, a smile breaking through the weariness etched on her face. “They’re doing an x-ray on her wrist right now, so they asked us all to step outside the room.”
Ryu takes in each of their expressions, and sees no telltale signs of grief or bad news. “Is she okay?” he asks, and his throat is tighter than he anticipated.
“A mild concussion, some whiplash, and a small cut on her head,” his father relays. “Her wrist might be broken too—they’re checking on it now because it was giving her some pain.”
Ryu absorbs each bit of information like a sponge, turning it over and analyzing it in his head as the pressure in his chest eases just slightly. None of her injuries sound like they’re life threatening. Not like before—not like when they found his mother, and immediately concluded that it was too late to save her.
“Can I see her?” Ryu asks, and it’s not until Chiaki reaches out to put a comforting hand on his arm that he realizes how tense he still is, and how unnatural his own body suddenly feels to him.
“Of course, honey. As soon as the doctor finishes up you can have her all to yourself.”
Ryu nods stiffly, and then waits again. It’s not as long as he had to wait before, but every second seems to drag by agonizingly slow, especially with the knowledge that Chizuru is so close yet still out of his reach, and his mind won’t rest until he sees her with his own eyes. When the doctor finally exits, he informs them all that Chizuru suffered a hairline fracture in her wrist, and would be fitted with a cast that she’d have to wear for at least four weeks while it healed.
“She should heal up fine,” the doctor promises with a smile, but Ryu doesn’t want to hear his comforting drivel—he feels like he’s going to jump out of his own skin, and it takes all the restraint and patience he’s ever had to keep still and not push the doctor aside to see Chizuru himself.
“Just make sure she receives lots of rest and doesn’t lift any heavy objects for a while,” the doctor finishes and then finally—finally—steps away and allows him to enter the room. Ryu is hardly aware of moving; his body moves with a mind of its own as his feet lead him towards Chizuru, and then he sees her—propped up on the hospital bed in a white gown, looking bored and irritated and alive.
Ryu doesn’t cry often. He can count on one hand the amount of times he’s been moved to tears, and he’s fine with that. He shows his emotions in other ways, and that’s something he’s always accepted and known about himself. But the sight of Chizuru lying there, and the realization that he almost lost her—his Chizuru, his favorite person and the absolute love of his life—hits him harder than any baseball pitch ever could.
“Oh, Ryu!” Chizuru’s entire face lights up at the sight of him, then immediately falls as her eyes widen in concern. “Ryu, are you okay?”
It’s only after she says that does the room grow blurry, and he realizes that tears are pooling in his eyes, turning the room and her face into an abhorrent haze of color. He somehow manages to make his way to her side, and then he’s grasping at her hand—the uninjured one—and his entire body is shaking at the feel of her pulse against his palm, a steady beat that reminds him over and over again, alive, alive, alive.
“Ryu,” Chizuru says again, her voice softer than he’s ever heard. “Ryu, I’m okay. I promise.”
He doesn’t speak for a long moment. He’s not sure that he can, actually, so instead he brings her hand to his mouth, and places a light kiss against her knuckles. It’s gentle and tender, and he hopes it says everything he can’t. He turns her hand and presses another kiss against her palm, and then another on her wrist, right above her pulse. Her skin is warm and soft, and he’s all too aware of the tears continuously streaming down his face as he finally lets himself acknowledge that she’s truly, thoroughly okay.
“Ryu,” Chizuru says again, and he looks up at her through his hazy vision. Her own eyes are clouded with tears, and there’s a look of pain on her face that has nothing to do with her injuries. “I’m so sorry. I never wanted you to have to go through this type of situation again.”
“It’s not your fault.” The words slip out on instinct, and he hardly recognizes the rough rasp of his own voice. He swallows heavily, and his grip on her hand tightens. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be here sooner.”
Chizuru tsks lightly. “Also not your fault,” she says pointedly. “I’m amazed you got here as quick as you did, actually.” She offers a wane smile, and it’s amazing how such a small thing can ease so much of the pain and worry weighing down on his heart.
It gives him the courage to finally voice the fear that’s been at the forefront of his mind all night. “I thought I lost you,” he whispers, his voice catching on the last word.
Chizuru’s eyes soften, and she frees her hand from his grip to reach up and cup his cheek. “You haven’t lost me, Ryu. I’m right here, and I’m not going anywhere.”
He leans into her touch, closing his eyes and savoring the warmth of her palm against his skin. “I need you, Chizuru. More than anything,” he murmurs. He sounds desperate, almost theatrical, yet it’s the truth that’s been buried deep in his heart for years now. He knows it’s not healthy to be so codependent, but he doesn’t think he’d be able to live in a world without Chizuru in it.
He feels the warm press of her lips against his forehead, and his eyes flutter open to see her leaning forward, looking at him both tenderly and with exasperation.
“Don’t be an idiot,” she says, but the insult is endearing. “I need you too, which is why I don’t plan on going anywhere. I promised I’d always be here for you when you return, and I don’t break my promises. You should know this by now.”
He meets her gaze with a depth of emotion he rarely shows to anyone but her, and for the first time all night, he starts to smile. “I know,” he says, and he does. It’s obvious that death is out of their control, but part of him starts to believe that maybe Chizuru really is too stubborn to die before he does.
“Good,” she states, letting her forehead rest against his. They don't say anything for a long moment, simply breathing together in unison, as if their hearts beat as one. After a moment Chizuru tilts her head slightly, so that her nose brushes against his, and he’s overcome with her familiar, comforting scent. He closes the small distance, capturing her lips is a soft, tentative kiss, and Chizuru immediately returns the kiss in fervor. He relishes the feeling of her affection, always so passionate and headstrong, just like everything else she does, and he commits this feeling of relief and exhilaration to memory.
Before their exchange can turn too heated, Ryu pulls away reluctantly, much to Chizuru’s vocal displeasure. “Sorry,” he says. “But our families are right outside the door, probably watching us.”
“Oh.” Chizuru’s cheeks turn a light shade of pink, and for a second it’s so familiar and endearing that he almost forgets where they are and everything that’s happened. “Yeah, I don’t want my parents watching us make out.”
Ryu smiles again, and it’s easier this time, despite the anxiety still stirring in his chest. He settles for holding her hand and listening to her talk about all the things she won’t be able to do while she wears her cast, and after a while the rest of their family come in, and it’s so different than the last time—instead of weeping and the cold, sterile numbness overtaking his body, there’s warmth and laughter, and the promise of life.
Ryu stays by Chizuru’s side for as long as he can, but even when he has to leave, an unusual sense of calm washes over him. The fear and worry that had gripped him so tightly earlier begins to fade, because he knows he hasn’t lost everything—Chizuru is alive, and she’s smiling, and she’s going to be okay.
And that is enough.