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CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO,
extra large

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༇ "DO you want to talk about it?"

Chishiya brought Kaede home last night, a few hours past midnight, and Kaede only hugged his parents— didn't talk to them whatsoever. Now, nearing noon, he's seated on the couch with both Usagi and Arisu next to him. Miyu is playing upstairs and Souta is babbling about things on the carpet.

Kaede shrugs.

"We forgive you, alright? We're not angry or anything like that."

He stares at the floor, eyes unfocused, legs curled up beneath him. The room is warm, but he wraps his arms around himself like he's cold. Usagi shifts closer and gently places her hand on his back. He doesn't flinch, but he doesn't lean into it either.

"I... don't know what to say," Kaede mutters eventually. His voice is hoarse, like he hasn't used it in days, even though they heard him sobbing last night through the walls when he thought they were asleep.

"You don't have to say everything at once. Or anything at all. But if you ever want to, we're here. Okay?"

Kaede swallows. "I know."

Silence stretches again. Souta giggles at something and smacks a plastic hammer on the carpet.

Usagi's hand rubs slow circles on his back. "You don't have to hold everything in. You don't always have to be the sweetest, neatest person alive."

He nods once. Then again. Then the third time comes with a shudder. "I didn't want to be a problem," he finally says. "You've got the little ones, and you're working, and I didn't wanna add more."

Usagi's breath catches, and Arisu goes completely still. "Kaede, you're not some kind of burden. You're our son."

Kaede sniffles. "It got so heavy," he admits. "And I don't even know why. I thought I was just being dramatic. But then I got mad at Shush. And you guys. And everyone. And I hated myself for it, but I didn't know what to do."

Usagi wraps her arm around him now, pulling him into a hug. He resists for a second, then melts into it. "You're not dramatic. You're overwhelmed, and tired, and carrying things you shouldn't have had to carry alone."

"We've been talking, and..." Arisu continues, "we wanted to ask how you'd feel about seeing someone. A therapist. Not because we think something's wrong with you, but because you deserve help working through all of this. Someone safe to talk to. Maybe that's the best option."

Kaede hesitates. "Would I have to go alone?"

"You don't have to do anything unless you want to," Arisu says. "We can help you find someone you feel comfortable with. You can meet them first. And if you want one of us to stay with you during the first session, we will. Or wait outside. Or both come. You decide."

Kaede sits quietly for a long time. Then he lifts his head. "Okay," he says. "I think... I think I'd like that."

Usagi kisses his temple. "We're proud of you."

Kaede lets out a breath, a tiny laugh breaking through his tears. Souta squeals somewhere near the coffee table and throws a pillow onto the floor. Three seconds later, footsteps run down the stairs before Miyu appears, wearing her favorite pajamas. She's dragging a stuffed unicorn by one leg, blinking sleepily, until her eyes land on Kaede. Instant alertness.

"Kaedeeeee!" He barely has time to straighten before she launches herself across the room. The unicorn gets left behind. Her small arms wrap around his neck, her entire body climbing onto him with such ease that it's like she has done it a million times before (she has).

"I missed you," she says, all out of breath.

"I was gone for a few hours only," Kaede mutters softly.

"That's so long!" she protests. "I thought you went to space or got eaten by a big monster and forgot about me."

He laughs a little. "No monsters. No forgetting."

Miyu squishes her cheek to his. "You smell like you were out."

"I was."

"I knew it!" she shouts triumphantly, then narrows her eyes. "But why didn't you tell me? I could've come. I have my boots."

"Miyu," Usagi says, "Kaede needed a little break. People need space sometimes, remember?"

She pulls back slightly and cups his cheeks in her small hands, staring at him. "You're not allowed to be sad anymore, okay? Because I'll fight the sad. I will karate kick it so hard that it'll hit the moon, and then the moon falls down and we all die!"

"You'd do that all for me?"

"Yup." She nods seriously. "And if the sad still comes back, I'll hit it with my unicorn. Twice."

"That's really brave of you."

"You're welcome. Don't forget about my performance tonight," she says, then immediately starts rearranging his hair with both hands. Souta crawls over from the carpet and begins pushing a toy car along Kaede's leg. He babbles something unintelligible and pats Kaede's knee.

"You're back," he says, proud of himself.

Kaede ruffles Souta's curls. "Yeah."

In the house next door, Chishiya sits at the dining table, flipping through a journal that looks the exact same as all the other journals he owns.

He hears her coming before he sees her. Baya never moves quietly. Her footsteps are uneven and something clinks loudly, probably a key she forgot was in her pocket.

"Hey," she calls from the doorway.

He looks up. "Mm?"

She doesn't smile. That's the first sign something's off. Baya always smiles, too brightly, too widely, often at the wrong time. But now her mouth is set in a thin, serious line. She steps into the kitchen. "Have you apologized yet? To Kaede?"

"I talked to him and patched him up—"

"Have you," a short pause, "apologized," another pause, "to Kaede," and then lastly, sharply, "Shuntarō?"

Chishiya's mouth opens, probably to retort, but something makes him stop. "I hate when you're right," he mutters.

She breaks into a wide smile, as if she didn't just almost ascend him into hell with that glare. "I know. That's why I do it so often. Always, actually," she says brightly.

A final sigh. "Fine. Whatever. I'll go tomorrow—"

Her expression changes again, and she coughs. "Repeat that."

"Okay. I'll apologize to Kaede tonight," he mutters.

"Can't hear you."

"Okay, Yuzuki, I'll apologize to Kaede tonight," he repeats. "Properly."

"Awesome! Oh, they grow up so fast yet learn so slowly..." she kisses his cheek. "Come on. Grocery shopping time."

He decides to just not protest and silently stands up.

"I asked Hana if she wanted to come, but she's in a phase."

"Perhaps because yesterday, her best friend told her she's ugly and annoying and that no one would date her," Chishiya points out.

"Speaking of that..." Baya clears her throat. "I don't want to... force anything upon her, or say this like it's a shameful thing— but who, exactly, are her friends?"

Chishiya counts with his fingers. "Nozomi, but only sometimes because apparently, one year is too much age difference to hang out. Kaoru, sometimes, because they're siblings. Kaede's already crossed off."

"Can you think of a cause?"

"Of Hana having literally zero friends?"

"Shuntarō," Baya hisses.

He shrugs. "The cause? I don't know. Maybe just hasn't met the right people yet."

Baya grabs her tote bag from the counter. "She's fifteen. That's the age for making friends that'll either haunt you forever or attend your wedding." They step outside into the bright daylight, and Baya immediately puts on her sunglasses despite the sky being more cloudy than clear. "She had friends when she was younger, right?" she continues as they make their way toward the car. "Back in elementary?"

Chishiya thinks. "Sort of. There was that girl... the one who ate her own pencil. Hana was terrified of her."

"That's not a friend."

"There was also the other one. They used to draw together during lunch."

"Oh, right. But she moved."

"Exactly. After that, I think Hana just stopped bothering."

They both climb into the car. "Is that normal?" Baya asks as she clicks in her seatbelt. "To just stop trying?"

"Define normal."

"I mean—" she cuts herself off, then exhales. "Hana's amazing. She's pretty smart, and kind, and she laughs at literally anything. But outside of us? She just vanishes."

"She's withdrawn."

"She's lonely. I've asked her before, you know," Baya says. "I've tried to make it casual. I'll say things like, 'Anyone you want to invite over?' or 'What about that girl from your art class?' and she just brushes me off every time."

He doesn't reply right away. Instead, he takes a left, heading toward the grocery store. "She's fifteen. Teenagers go through phases."

"Don't give me that garbage," Baya snaps. "You're smarter than that. This isn't a phase. This is a kid slowly fading into herself because she's convinced no one wants to hear her speak. Because every time she has tried to make friends, it's gone nowhere. I think ever since she split up with Kiyoshi..." Baya sighs. "I want her to have someone. Just one person. Someone who gets her. Someone who likes her exactly how she is. Maybe we should ask Kaede if he knows anyone who's not cruel like half the people at their school."

"You want to make Kaede spy on Hana?"

"I want to know if he's noticed anything. If she's opened up to him about anything. If he thinks there's someone at school she clicks with and we just haven't heard about it."

They pull into the lot. Chishiya parks in the far corner. Baya doesn't get out right away. Her eyes stay fixed on the dashboard. "She's bright and kind and a little strange in the best way. But I think she believes none of that matters because she doesn't see it reflected anywhere at school. No one tells her they want her around. No one says she makes them feel better."

"She hears it from us."

"We're her parents, Shuntarō. Maybe it's time we helped her find her people. I don't want her to spend the next five years thinking loneliness is just part of growing up."

They get out of the car and start walking toward the sliding doors.

And just as the tension begins to settle, Chishiya casually adds, "While we're in here, I need to get condoms."

Baya stops walking. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me."

"We're having a serious conversation about our daughter's social development."

"Yes, and I'm developing a very serious need to avoid becoming a father of four."

"You're not even... no, you're done. Don't talk to me."

"I'm just saying we're out."

"You could've waited. You didn't have to say it like that."

Just to make it worse, he adds, "I'll get the extra large—"

"I'm walking to the other end of the store."

"I'll text you pictures for comparison."

"If you even look in my direction, I will report you to the manager."

Chishiya grins smugly to himself as Baya stomps away down the produce aisle. He takes the long way through the pharmacy section.

By the time they reunite near the dairy aisle, Baya is holding two packs of cheese she doesn't need and inspecting them.

"You know," she says, "at some point, I'm going to tell Hana that the reason she has no friends is because her father likes to discuss his sex life in the grocery store."

"Maybe she'll find it empowering."

She glances at him, side-eyed.

They walk in silence for a moment, tossing essentials into the cart.

"Okay, so, did you get them?"

"I knew you were desperate as well," he accuses.

Baya glares down at the shopping basket. "You know what? Use them alone. See how far that gets you."

"I have a very vivid imagination."

"You're disgusting. I don't even want to know about what that imagination includes."

"The second we're in the car, you're going to ask."

Baya ignores that. They pay, leave the store, and head to the local pharmacy (Baya practically drags him there). Chishiya immediately suspects this will not be a quick stop.

"I just need a few things," Baya says. She's already radiating excitement. "Just sunscreen, a new lip balm, maybe some conditioner, oh, and that exfoliating scrub I liked. You remember the one?"

"No."

She grins over her shoulder. "Yes, you do."

Chishiya doesn't argue. He just follows her inside, his hands shoved in his coat pockets. Baya flees toward the beauty aisle.

"I don't need another moisturizer," she says aloud as she lifts one off the shelf and studies the label, "but this one has weird acid and smells like cucumbers." She turns it over. "Should I get it?"

"Why ask me?"

"You're a doctor."

"Not that kind of doctor."

"You still went to med school. You should know how to spot good oil."

"I specialize in hearts, not cucumbers."

Baya tosses the moisturizer into the basket. "I'll take that as a yes."

Chishiya mutters something that sounds suspiciously like a grumble, but follows her as she moves down the next aisle.

"Let's see... shampoo, serum, that face roller I keep losing..." She picks up a jade roller and holds it out toward Chishiya. "Try it."

He stares at her like she's offering him a live rat, which he would probably prefer over this roller.

"Just for fun!" she insists, rolling it along her own cheek with a dramatic sigh. "It's supposed to depuff your face."

"My face is fine."

"Come here."

"No."

"Shuntarō."

"No."

He stands there, stiff and expressionless, while she gently rolls the stone over his cheekbone.

"There. Now you're radiant."

"I feel nothing."

"You're glowing."

"Probably from the internal screaming."

She laughs and drops the roller into the basket. They move on, and she continues plucking things from the shelves with a level of interest Chishiya can't comprehend. Eye masks, nail polish remover, a couple of cotton pads, a new mascara even though she already has three—everything goes into the basket. Chishiya walks silently beside her, occasionally reading a medicine label with mild disapproval.

She bumps into him playfully. "Admit it. This is fun."

"You assaulted my face with a cold stone."

"Romance is alive and well."

He shakes his head but doesn't pull away when she laces her fingers with his.

"You know what I think?"

"I'm mostly just surprised you're capable of that."

She rolls her eyes. "Let's fill three baskets with gifts. For each kid. They all deserve it." She spins on her heel and heads toward the gift section, dragging him behind her.

They split up to be efficient. Chishiya takes Kaoru's basket. Baya grabs Hana's. Sakiko will be a real quest, because Sakiko is two years old and all both know she'd never accept a gift unless it deeply aligns with her bizarre sense of aesthetics.

Chishiya grabs a fountain pen. A new leather notebook. New noise-cancelling earbuds. A Rubik's cube, one of the absurd ones with like, fifteen sides, because Kaoru solves them like it's breathing. He considers a math puzzle book but frowns. Too easy. He adds a blank manga sketchpad instead. Kaoru doesn't draw often, but sometimes, when he's in the right mood, he does.

Baya grabs pastel pens. A pretty book. Press on nails with stars on them. Stickers of flowers and frogs. She throws in a candle that smells like vanilla. A heart shaped mirror. Pauses at a display of charm bracelets. It's simple, just silver and glass beads. She picks the one with a sun and moon hanging from it.

Together, they turn their attention to Sakiko. A toddler with the vocabulary of a philosophy major and the sass of someone twice her age. She wears sunglasses indoors. She calls Baya 'mother' when she's annoyed.

They grab her a plush frog with a glittery crown. A picture book about weird animals. A tiny backpack shaped like a jellyfish. Scented markers. Dinosaur slippers. A plastic tiara. A bubble wand.

"She'll like the frog best," Chishiya says.

"She'll name it something terrible. She named her last stuffed animal Gregory the Third."

When they get home, Kaoru's upstairs, door slightly open. Hana's on the couch with her tablet, a single earbud in. Sakiko is in the middle of the living room floor, wearing fairy wings.

"We brought gifts," Chishiya announces flatly, lifting the bags.

Kaoru emerges from his room immediately. Hana pretends she's above it, but is already sitting up straighter. Sakiko throws down her toy block and shouts, "I knew it!"

The baskets are passed out one by one.

Kaoru goes still as he sorts through his. "These are... really good," he says after a moment, almost like he doesn't want to admit it, or like he doesn't know how to thank his parents. "Thank you."

Hana carefully lifts each item, face unreadable. Definitely hasn't recovered from Kaede's words yet. Baya squishes her daughter's hand. "Is it alright or do you want to trade something?"

"No, it's alright." Hana nods. "Thank you, Mama."

At that name, Baya's smile brightens. "You're welcome."

Sakiko squeals and declares the frog's name is Detective August. Then she hugs it so hard she almost knocks herself backward. "He has secrets," she whispers ominously.

The kids are quiet for a few moments, everyone absorbed in their baskets.

Then Sakiko pipes up, pointing to the bubble wand. "Can I use this inside?"

"No," Baya says.

"I wasn't asking you. I was asking my other parent." Sakiko turns to Chishiya. "Well?"

"If you aim the bubbles away from the electronics, yes."

"Yay!"

Baya glares. "Are you serious? You're cleaning it up."

"Koko will help me, right?" He looks at Sakiko, who nods solemnly.

Baya suddenly gasps. "Shit! We have Miyu's violin performance tonight!"

"Performance?" Hana asks.
"Tonight?" Kaoru asks.
"Miyu?" Sakiko asks.
"Miyu plays violin?" Chishiya asks at last.

"Yes, yes, yes, yes! Her entire music school will be performing. We need to be there— well, of course, Kaoru, you can skip it if you want. I've heard Miyu play, and... no offense, but it might... be triggering."

Chishiya and Sakiko share a glance. When Chishiya grins, Sakiko copies the exact same expression. Hana snorts.

Kaoru considers it for a moment. "Okay." He nods slowly. "I think that would be better."

"Excuses," Sakiko whispers. "If you can listen to your own farts, you can also—"

"Koko! Where are you getting all these words from?" Baya peeps. "Why do you speak better than me?"

"Papa teaches me." She points at her father.

"Of course," Baya sighs. She turns back to Kaoru. "Are you okay with staying home alone? It's from five to eight, maybe nine, I don't know. You'll have to make dinner alone, because snacks are served at the performance itself, so we don't have to eat."

"I can handle that," he promises.

"Yeah? I don't want you to feel excluded."

"I won't," he promises again. "I'll call you if anything happens."

Baya kisses his forehead. "Okay. I trust you. You can also call me if you change your mind about anything at all."

"Mom," Kaoru sighs, "it's not that big of a deal."

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Kaoru closes the fridge with the heel of his palm and exhales. No clattering, no sounds from Sakiko, no teasing from Hana, no Baya humming in the next room. No flickering kitchen lights, no radio static, no clinking earrings or scratchy wool sweaters against skin. A perfect evening.

Cooking, for him, is a system. There's a kind of math to it. Ratios. Temperatures. Timing. The empty spaghetti box sits perfectly parallel to the cutting board. The timer on the stove is set to the exact minute. His eyes flick to it every twenty seconds.

The bubbles rise. He's added a pinch of salt and a few drops of olive oil, even though Hana once said oil in pasta water was a scam. He doesn't care. It's part of the process. Kaoru stirs the pot once. The steam hits his face.

Too much. He blinks and steps back. He hates that part. The wet heat on his skin. Steam is soft but wrong.

He rolls up his sleeves even higher and grabs the sauce from the counter. He's already prepped the garlic and basil, measured the oregano, opened the can of peeled tomatoes, and set out the cheese. Everything is laid out exactly the way he likes it.

Though the kitchen's light is awful. It sputters, flickering and then stays on, but something about it feels off. The color. The buzz. The sound.

He turns away from the stove for a second, hands pressed against the cool counter, breathing through his teeth. Just a second. He can keep control of it. His brain is too loud right now. The sound of boiling water is too erratic. The flickering light above him flicks again. Somewhere outside, a car door slams. Then another. Then two dogs bark. Then a notification buzzes on the counter. His phone. He knows better. If he picks it up, he'll spiral. He'll scroll for too long. He'll forget the heat. The water.

For a moment, he considers already calling his mom, but that would be lame, considering nothing is actually going on. He's just making dinner for himself.

But now the flickering light buzzes again and he sharply inhales. He swipes his phone off the counter, purely out of impulse, needing something to anchor his brain, anything—

His hip knocks the pot handle. He doesn't even process the impact until the sound hits. A hiss. A metal clang. The sound of a pot tipping.

Boiling water. Everywhere. His arm. The floor. His socks. His skin.

A tight and sharp scream leaves his mouth. The water melts his skin instantly. His forearm burns like nothing before: boiling water through fabric is worse than direct. The shirt traps the heat, somewhat cooking his arm alive.

His whole body stiffens. He can't think. He drops the phone. It bounces once. He doesn't see it land.

Pain. Pain. Pain. His first instinct is do not move. That's what pain does to him; it paralyzes. It's like everything inside his head is vibrating at the wrong frequency. His ears are ringing. It's as if the nerves in his skin can only focus on the pain.

Glass from a measuring cup shatters near the edge of the counter. The steam rushes up around his face. His brain goes white. Everything is too much. The wet floor. The air. His own breath. The logic that usually steadies him is buried.

His thoughts don't connect. He grabs a kitchen towel. Wraps it loosely. Moves like a robot. Goes to the shoe rack. Slips on his sneakers. Puts on his hoodie with one arm half in. Leaves the other hanging. Keys.

No note. No text. No call. He doesn't even consider it. It doesn't occur to him that anyone would want to know. He walks out the door. Closes it behind him.

And walks toward the ER with his dominant arm scorched, heart pounding, water still dripping from his clothes. His arm throbs in time with his heartbeat. Sharp pulses that don't let up for even a second.

He's not sure if he's sweating or if it's the steam and heat from earlier still clinging to his skin. The towel he wrapped around his arm is soaked through now. Even red has started to seep through it.

The ER is a fifteen minute walk. He could've called a cab, but... he didn't think to. It didn't even enter his mind as an option. The only thought in his head is go. Go where help is. Go where it's clean. Go where it's quiet and they know what to do.

People pass him on the street. He doesn't make eye contact. A woman with a stroller. A man walking a dog. Two teenage boys biking past him. His breathing becomes shallow. The overstimulation hasn't faded, it's just shifted.

Every car horn, every flickering streetlight, every voice that cuts through the city air. He's trembling, but he keeps walking. Always forward. Straight lines. He's good at straight lines.

The emergency room doors slide open, and he steps inside. Fluorescent lights hit him like a gunshot to the skull. The waiting room is loud: kids crying, people coughing, nurses on phones, a man shouting. Kaoru's pupils shrink. His breathing speeds up, and for a moment he just stands frozen in the middle of the entrance, unable to move forward, unable to go back.

A nurse glances up. "Sir? Are you—"

Kaoru doesn't answer. He walks past her toward the reception desk, keeping his eyes on the floor. He doesn't even know how to start this. He knows how hospitals work. He's read the books, he knows his father works with some of these people. But now his brain won't remember the process.

The receptionist frowns as he steps forward. "Hi. Can I help you?"

"I burned it," Kaoru says evenly.

His voice is so emotionless that it startles her more than the injury.

"How bad?" she asks, already reaching for a clipboard.

Kaoru lifts the towel slightly.

She tenses. "Okay. Okay, alright. Sit here. Don't touch it. Let me... someone get a trauma nurse!"

He does what she says. Sits on the closest chair. Folds his good hand into his lap. The other arm just dangles.

When the nurse rushes over, Kaoru doesn't look at her. He doesn't look at anything.

"Sweetheart, we're gonna get you to a room, okay?" she says gently, crouching down beside him.

"I don't like that word."

"Sorry. I'm sorry. What's your name?"

"Kaoru."

"Okay, Kaoru. Do you know your date of birth?"

He nods but doesn't speak.

"Can you tell me what happened?"

"I spilled boiling water on myself."

"Were you cooking?"

"Yes."

"Is there someone with you?"

"No."

She glances at the receptionist, then back at him. "Where's your phone?"

"I didn't bring it."

"Can you tell me your parents' names?"

Kaoru blinks. He knows the answer. But his mouth isn't moving. His brain knows, but his voice doesn't want to.

"That's okay," the nurse says. "You're doing great. We'll just get you inside first."

They move him quickly down the hall, past beds, into a bay where two more nurses join in. One peels the towel away. Another cuts the sleeve of his shirt, carefully lifting it off.

The cool air touches the raw flesh and Kaoru nearly throws up.

The nurses murmur between each other. Third degree burns. The flesh is a deep red with patches of white and yellow, blistering already. He doesn't feel much because his nerves are damaged, as the burn involves all layers of the skin.

"Kaoru, we need to cool the burn more before we cover it. We're going to run water on it, okay?"

As they start to run water over the burn, Kaoru flinches. Not from the pain. From the sound. The spray of the water echoes too loud. His eyes squeeze shut, his jaw clenches.

"Kaoru, it's okay. You're safe," a nurse says. "Do you have sensory issues we should know about?"

He nods without looking at her.

"Is there anything you need us to change? The lights, the noise—"

"Just don't talk too much."

She nods to the others. The room gets a little quieter. They cool the wound, gently pat it dry, coat it with a clear gel, then wrap it in gauze. The burn is so bad that Kaoru can't feel all of it anymore. He knows that's not a good sign.

"Kaoru, I'm Dr. Okabe. I want to talk to you about pain management and follow up care. But first we need to call someone to come get you. Do you remember a phone number?"

Kaoru blinks. His face is starting to pale. The adrenaline's wearing off.

"No."

"No?"

"No."

"Do you remember your dad's name? Or mom's?"

Kaoru opens his mouth like he's about to answer, but no words come out. He closes it again. His throat bobs.

Of course he knows. His father's name is Shuntarō Chishiya. But right now, there's a wall of fog between knowledge and speaking. It's not that he's forgotten. It's that he can't reach it.

Dr. Okabe doesn't frown. Doesn't sigh. She just nods once and rises, stepping aside to speak quietly with one of the nurses. Kaoru doesn't hear what's said. The buzzing in his ears has returned, and it's louder now.  His jaw tightens again. His fingertips twitch.

"Kaoru," a new voice says. "Do you feel cold?"

He doesn't answer. But yes. He's freezing. His skin is clammy and sweat has started to pool at the back of his neck. His lips tremble, not with tears, but with some internal earthquake working its way outward.

"We're going to put some warm blankets on you, okay?" the nurse continues, already moving. "You don't have to say anything. Just blink twice if that's alright."

He blinks. Once. Twice.

She lays the blankets on him. One over his torso. One across his legs. One she tucks around his feet. The warmth is sudden and too much at first, and he nearly recoils from it, but then it's comforting.

The nurse adjusts the final blanket and glances at the monitor beside Kaoru's bed. His heart rate is still too high. His eyes are open, but they don't move much. She speaks softly. "Kaoru, you're in shock. Do you know what that means?"

He blinks. One long breath. Then another. He doesn't answer.

"Shock is your body's way of trying to protect you after something painful or traumatic. It's a physical response. Your blood flow shifts, your heartbeat changes, and your temperature drops."

He swallows. His throat feels raw, like he hasn't had water in days. "I'm cold," he says quietly, even though he's bundled under layers.

"I know," she nods. "That's part of it. We've got the blankets on you, and we're going to start fluids soon to help bring your body back to where it needs to be."

Another nurse comes in with an IV kit. She works quickly, but gently. Kaoru doesn't flinch when the needle enters his arm. "You're going to be okay," the nurse says again. "But you need to stay with us a bit. You're showing signs of what we call acute stress response, too."

He hears her, but it's like she's underwater.

"Shock can make even simple things impossible. The part of your brain that handles decisions and planning just... shuts down. It prioritizes survival. Getting to safety. That's all. You did that. You came here. You did the right thing."

Kaoru's mouth opens, then closes again. His lips are pale. He presses his back deeper into the pillow, trying to melt into the bed.

"I feel—" he stops. Swallows. "I feel like my head isn't real."

"That's shock too," the nurse replies. "You're dissociating a little. It's your brain trying to give you a break from what happened. If, at any point, you remember a name, from anyone at all, let us know, okay? We're searching for your name in the system as well."