He twitched again.
At first, it was subtle—a faint, involuntary tremor in his left hand.
Then suddenly—
His head jerked sharply to the right, like his body was trying to escape from itself.
It wasn't violent enough to snap bones, but the movement was wrong.
Tense.
Panicked.
Like a silent scream locked inside muscle memory.
His mother sat beside him.
Still.
Watching.
Asahi's fingers trembled in her grip—cold, distant, almost lifeless.
She didn't scream.
Not yet.
She just kept murmuring, her voice breaking with each repetition,
"…Please, come back to me… please, Asahi…"
The door creaked open.
His father stepped into the room, rubbing his eyes, yawning quietly as he scratched his head.
"Huh… what's going on in he—"
He stopped.
His eyes fell on the bed.
On the boy.
On Asahi.
Everything inside him went still.
"...A...Asahi?" His voice cracked like it had aged a thousand years in a single second.
Her eyes were red.
She had been crying again.
She always cried now.
"Dear…" she whispered.
She followed her husband's gaze.
Her knees buckled.
No screams.
No sobs.
Only tears that no longer had a voice.
The father stepped closer.
Slowly.
As if reality itself had become too heavy to walk through.
"I think… I was right…" he murmured. His voice was barely audible—like a man confessing his own nightmare.
Then—another twitch.
This time more violent.
Asahi's neck jerked unnaturally.
His body convulsed.
His eyes rolled backward until only the whites remained.
From the corner of his lips, a thick white substance began to pour. It foamed, spilled, hissed like some terrible truth escaping.
The father's breath hitched.
"Shit…" he whispered.
He turned, bolted.
A chair toppled behind him. A lamp crashed to the floor. None of it mattered.
He snatched the phone from the table.
His hands shook.
His soul shook harder.
"HELLO?!" he yelled into the receiver. "PLEASE—SOMEONE—COME FAST—IT'S MY SON—WE NEED HELP—NOW!"
The voice on the other end trembled.
"Yes—! We're dispatching—stay with him, sir!"
He didn't hear the rest.
The phone slipped from his hand.
He ran back.
Asahi's body was spasming.
His limbs jerked like marionette strings pulled by an unseen devil.
The white foam thickened, dripping onto the bed sheets.
He wasn't breathing properly.
He wasn't there.
And his father, strong all his life, collapsed beside him.
"Asahi—Asahi—" he cried, voice breaking, arms reaching out as if he could grab his son back from wherever he was sinking.
But Asahi didn't respond.
He couldn't.
The room was filled with a silence so loud, it crushed everything inside.
A mother crying without sound.
A father screaming without breath.
And a boy trembling at the edge of death, locked inside a body that had long stopped listening.
(Anari's Side)
The alarm buzzed softly.
No wind.
No birds.
Just the soft warmth of sunlight crawling in through the thin curtains, painting lazy golden lines across the wooden floor.
Anari stirred beneath the sheets.
Her eyes were shut tight, refusing to leave the comfort of sleep.
But the buzzing didn't stop.
A slow breath.
She turned over, arm reaching out to silence the alarm. Her fingers fumbled before pressing the button.
Silence.
She lay there for a moment longer, the world still hazy. Then—
A single tear slipped from the corner of her eye.
Not sadness. Just the way it happens when you've just woken up. Her vision blurred slightly. She blinked hard.
Her eyes opened.
Slowly.
Carefully.
Still half-asleep, she turned her head toward the calendar on the wall.
February 4.
"Hmm?" she muttered, her voice cracked and quiet from sleep.
She sat up, yawning.
Stretching her arms.
The usual tiredness in her bones.
She rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand.
"Huh… February 4?" she repeated softly.
Then, as if something clicked in the back of her mind—
A smile.
Small. Sleepy. But real.
"Tomorrow's special…" she murmured.
A little giggle escaped her lips.
She didn't even know why it made her smile this much.
Maybe it was the thought of him.
That idiot.
Her heart fluttered—not in a dramatic, racing way—but in that calm, familiar warmth she only felt when she thought of Asahi.
Behind her, footsteps padded gently on the wooden floor.
"Why are you laughing all alone, sweetheart?" her mother asked, amused, leaning by the doorframe with a cup of tea in her hand.
Anari blinked and turned, still smiling.
"NOTHING!" she blurted, her cheeks instantly flushing red.
Her mother laughed softly and stepped forward, handing her the tea.
"Here. Drink this."
Anari took it with both hands, sipping delicately—almost too cutely.
Her mother smiled playfully. "Don't worry… I won't be late tomorrow."
Anari's face went even redder.
"I-It's nothing like that, Mom!" she protested, cheeks puffing out.
From the hallway, her father's hearty laugh echoed.
"LET'S MAKE A BLAST TOMORROW, ANARI!"
She blinked. "Huh?"
"We're going shopping!" he declared proudly, then threw a glance at his wife. "Just the two of us!"
His wife met his gaze, eyes twinkling with quiet affection. For a moment, they were lost in their own little world.
Anari cleared her throat.
"Ahem…"
"Huuuh… what was I saying again?" her father mumbled, scratching his head.
"We're going shopping alone~" her mom chimed in, smiling.
"Yeah!" Her father threw a strong thumbs-up. "We'll bring back the best gift, don't worry! Might be late though—right, darling?"
Her mom giggled behind her hand.
"Mmm…" Anari frowned, then suddenly puffed, flustered again. "Wait… why are you two talking like… like I'm going on a date or something?!"
"LET'S GO!!" her father shouted, raising his hand like a victory flag.
And just like that, they left the room—giggling like high school sweethearts.
They were flying in their own little world.
Anari let out a long sigh. "Uhhhh…"
Then she looked up at the ceiling.
"I hope… he has a good tomorrow…" she whispered, clasping her hands together in a silent prayer.
Her smile returned.
"Alright! Let's go to school!"
She got dressed quickly, brushing her hair with excitement. But her thoughts were tangled with one name.
Asahi.
"What should I say when I see him…" she muttered, standing in front of her mirror.
She struck a pose.
"Hi, Asahi."
Then immediately winced. "No, no, no—too boring!"
She tried again—this time with exaggerated swagger.
"Yo, Asahi."
A pause.
She stared at her reflection, unimpressed.
"…No way. He's gonna hate that."
Suddenly, her eyes widened.
"Ah! I forgot to make him lunch!"
She bolted to the kitchen in a panic.
"What should I make him?" she murmured, tapping her chin thoughtfully. "Meat… yeah, that sounds good!"
Nodding to herself, she opened the fridge.
"The only thing I need to do is heat it up… cook it up… YES! Let's do it!"
Sometime later, a faint trail of dark smoke curled out of the kitchen.
Anari, unfazed, giggled quietly to herself.
"Hehehe…"
In the hallway, her father stood watching with folded arms and a soft smile.
"…I feel sorry for Asahi," he murmured with a bittersweet expression.
Her mother appeared beside him.
"Don't say that," she said gently. "Remember the first time I cooked?"
He chuckled. "Yeah… You didn't even like cooking. I used to go to the office on an empty stomach."
"I started getting thin…" he added with a dramatic sigh.
She smiled at him.
"But then one day—you made me breakfast."
His gaze grew distant, nostalgic.
"I still remember that day. It was… honestly, terrible. But it was the best thing I've ever eaten."
His voice softened.
"Because no one… had ever made breakfast for me before."
She looked at him quietly, the warmth of old memories shining in her eyes.
He smiled again. "When I see her… I see you. She's trying her best."
In the kitchen, Anari beamed at her burnt creation.
"I think he'll like it," she whispered happily.
"He will," her dad said under his breath.
Anari looked up.
"Thanks, Dad."
Her mom turned. "Let's go, dear."
"Bye, Dad! Bye, Mom!"
The couple stepped outside, hand in hand. But just before the door shut—
Her mom paused.
Anari tilted her head. "Huh?"
Her mother turned back and smiled.
"Do your best."
Anari returned the smile, softly.
"Hmm."
And then, they were gone.