The river flowed quietly under the soft afternoon light. The air carried the smell of wet soil and sun-warmed grass.
Kōki, younger and smaller, stood near the edge. The cool water brushed against his ankles, sending a faint shiver up his legs.
He bent down, picked up a flat stone, and flicked it across the surface. The ripples spread outward after the third bounce before it sank.
A quiet breath of laughter reached him from behind.
"You still can't beat me."
He turned at the sound. A girl stood among the tall grass, sunlight touching her hair.
She lifted a smooth stone, her arm steady. When she threw it, it skipped five times in quick rhythm before vanishing beneath the water's surface.
"See? You always lose."
Kōki's brow furrowed. "That's not fair. You get more time to practice."
She laughed, the sound light and even, blending with the slow murmur of the river.
A warm breeze brushed between them, carrying the scent of damp grass. Tiny insects drifted just above the water's surface, their wings catching the sunlight in quick, silent flashes.
Kōki crouched again, his fingers brushing against the damp stones scattered near his feet.
The air around him thickened, pressing faintly against his chest. The steady sound of the river began to drag, slower, heavier.
He looked up.
The girl now stood closer to the water's edge, her figure still, back turned toward him. Her hands hung loosely at her sides, fingertips almost grazing the surface.
"Hey… don't go too far," Kōki called out, his voice quiet but tense.
He reached his hand toward her, unsure, his arm trembling slightly.
She didn't move. The water darkened, its calm flow twisting into deeper currents. The warmth in the air faded, replaced by a chill that brushed against his arms and neck.
He stepped closer. The ground felt soft beneath his bare feet, each movement swallowed by the silence that surrounded him.
The stillness pressed against his ears until even his breathing sounded too loud.
The girl turned her head partway toward him. Her face was lost in the dim light, features blurred, unreadable.
"Do you remember me?"
The voice drifted out low and distant, carrying a weight that made the air tremble.
The river answered with a sudden rush—its sound swelling until it filled everything.
Kōki's eyes flew open. His breath came in short bursts. Sweat clung to his skin, running down his temple.
The ceiling above came into focus, pale and still, while the river's image lingered behind his eyes before fading into the quiet of his room.
…A dream… who was that girl by the riverbank…? I can't remember.
Kōki sat up slowly, the sheets rustling beneath him. His hands rested on his knees, fingers trembling faintly.
His vision blurred at the edges, colors dulling around the room. I'm so tired… this isn't normal.
A dry cough forced its way from his throat, rough and uneven. The heat on his forehead spread downward, settling heavy in his chest.
He sank back onto the bed, pulling the blanket tight up to his chin. Maybe I caught a cold… I just need a little rest.
His eyelids drooped, each breath longer than the last. The faint light filtering through the window softened, dimming as the room grew still.
He blinked once, then again—until the quiet swallowed everything.
The alarm blared, slicing through the stillness that clung to the room.
Kōki's eyes opened halfway, unfocused. He turned his head toward the small digital clock on the desk.
The red numbers glowed faintly against the pale morning light — 7:00 a.m.
His arm slid out from beneath the blanket, sluggish and unsteady. His fingers brushed the top of the clock until the ringing stopped.
Silence returned, thick and unmoving. He kept his gaze fixed on the faint glow of the digits, his body heavy, refusing to rise.
Just five more minutes.
His eyes drifted shut once more, and the quiet filled the space again, unbroken except for the faint rhythm of his breathing.
Ayaka pushed the door open, the hinges giving a faint creak.
Her eyes moved toward the bed where Kōki was still wrapped tightly in the blanket, his hair a mess against the pillow.
A quiet sigh slipped from her lips. "Honestly…"
Her voice broke the morning stillness. "Kōki, I'm heading off to work now. Go get ready for school."
She adjusted the strap of her bag over her shoulder, the faint rustle of fabric filling the small room.
Kōki stirred beneath the blanket, rolling onto his side, his back facing her voice. The fabric rustled faintly with the movement.
Ayaka's tone sharpened from the doorway. "You'd better not skip school today, or you're not getting dinner tonight."
A muffled groan came from under the sheets. "Just five more minutes…"
His voice was low and sluggish, barely more than a breath.
Ayaka exhaled slowly, her patience thinning.
The soft click of her heels marked each step as she crossed the room.
When she reached the window, she drew the curtains aside with one quick motion.
Light poured in, flooding the space and washing over the bed in a warm, sharp glow.
Kōki groaned and turned his face away, pulling the blanket over his head.
The brightness pressed against his closed eyes, making him flinch.
"I've had enough," Ayaka's voice cut through the air, firm and edged.
She grabbed hold of the blanket and yanked it away in one swift pull. "Do you think it's easy taking care of an ungrateful brat like you?"
The fabric fell from her hand, landing in a heap beside the bed.
Ayaka planted her hands on her hips, the fabric of her sleeves creasing under the pressure.
Her jaw tightened; a quiet exhale left her chest.
"You need to start taking your future seriously." Her voice cut through the air, steady but rising with restrained irritation.
She took another step, the crisp clack of her heels echoing closer to the bed.
"I know you're helping Sayoko—strange as it is, with her murder case—but if it gets in the way of your studies, I will give her ghost a proper scolding."
She tapped her fingers once on the windowsill, waiting for his reaction.
So annoying, Kōki thought, his brow tightening as Ayaka's voice lingered in the air.
"Alright, alright, I get it. I'll go to school," he muttered, rubbing the back of his head while pushing himself up from the bed.
His hand brushed against the sheets; they felt slightly damp with sweat.
A wave of warmth rolled through his body, making his arms feel heavier than they should.
The faint hum from outside the window thinned, leaving the room still.
He tried to stand, but the floor seemed to tilt beneath him. His vision blurred at the edges, shapes bending in and out of focus.
"Ay—"
The word slipped out faintly before his body gave in. His knees buckled, and his shoulder hit the floor first, followed by the rest of him.
A dull thud spread through the quiet room, the sound bouncing off the walls.
The air trembled with silence after. His arm slid from his side, palm open against the floorboards, unmoving.
Ayaka froze at the sudden sound, the sharp click of her heels stopping mid-step.
"Kōki?"
Her voice dropped, all irritation vanishing in an instant.
She rushed forward, the quick rhythm of her heels scattering across the floor before she knelt beside him.
The edge of her bag slipped from her shoulder and hit the floor with a soft thump.
"Kōki, hey—" She reached out, pressing her hand to his forehead.
Her fingers flinched at the heat radiating off his skin. "You're burning up…"
He didn't respond. His eyes were half-open, unfocused. Sweat clung to his temple, his breath shallow and uneven.
"Damn it…" Ayaka muttered, slipping an arm around his back and lifting him gently.
The movement drew another weak breath from him, his head resting limply against her shoulder.
"You should've said something if you were sick."
Her heels clicked again as she struggled to guide him back to bed, the sound softer now—hesitant, almost trembling.
When she finally laid him down, she pulled the blanket over him and sat at the edge of the bed, her jaw tightening.
"…You really don't make things easy, you know that?" she whispered, brushing his damp hair aside with a careful hand.
"It's not like you'd listen anyway."
Kōki lay on the bed, his head turned to the side.
His face was flushed, and the damp strands of hair clinging to his forehead glistened faintly under the morning light.
His breathing came uneven, the slow rise and fall of his chest barely moving the blanket.
"That's because you always try to lie your way out of school," Ayaka muttered, her tone sharp but threaded with worry.
She stepped closer, the sound of her heels clicking softly against the floor.
Sitting on the edge of the mattress, she reached into her bag and took out a thermometer.
Her movements slowed as she slid it gently under his arm.
The faint hum of the room filled the silence until a small beep broke through.
Ayaka lifted the thermometer and exhaled through her nose.
Her brow creased as she read the screen. "Over thirty-seven degrees… that's very high."
Her voice, though firm, carried a flicker of unease.
Ayaka rolled up the sleeve of her jacket, her movements quick but tense.
She stepped out of the room and into the bathroom, the sound of running water echoing softly off the tiles.
A small pan filled slowly beneath the tap.
When she turned to leave, the pan tilted in her grip, a few drops splashing near the cuff of her sleeve.
"Whoa, that was close," she breathed out, steadying her hand before heading back.
The quiet rhythm of her heels returned as she reentered the room.
Setting the pan on the bedside table, she reached for a clean rag, dipped it into the cool water, and wrung it out carefully.
The faint sound of dripping filled the silence.
She leaned over and pressed the damp cloth against Kōki's forehead.
His skin burned beneath her hand, the heat radiating even through the fabric.
Ayaka lingered by the bedside for a while, her eyes tracing the faint rise and fall of Kōki's chest.
His breathing was shallow but steady.
After a quiet moment, she exhaled, stood, and made her way downstairs.
The house felt still except for the muffled click of her heels against the floor.
She turned on the stove, the faint hum of the flame breaking the silence, and set a pot of water to boil.
Steam curled upward, fogging the air slightly as she added rice and a few ingredients, stirring in slow, steady circles.
The spoon scraped softly against the pot, a rhythmic sound that blended with the gentle bubbling of the porridge.
When it thickened, she turned off the heat and poured it carefully into a bowl.
The warmth spread through her hands as she climbed the stairs, taking each step with care to keep it from spilling.
Back in the room, the air felt heavier and warm.
Kōki's eyes were half-open when she entered, their dullness tinted by fatigue.
"Here, eat up," she said quietly, setting the bowl on the nightstand.
She sat beside him, slipping an arm behind his back to help him sit upright.
His body felt light and unsteady against her hold.
She scooped a small portion, blew gently on it until the steam faded, and brought the spoon close to his lips.
Kōki chewed slowly, each bite deliberate, his hands limp against the blanket.
The faint sound of the spoon tapping the bowl echoed softly through the room.
"Whenever you get sick, you always act like such a baby."
Ayaka's tone softened with a faint laugh, the corners of her mouth lifting just a little.
"Shut up…" Kōki's reply came out weak, his voice barely carrying past his lips.
"That's not a very kind thing to say to the one who's going to be late for work because of you," she murmured, brushing a strand of hair from her face.
A small smirk touched her lips, but it faded quickly.
Her expression shifted as she sniffed the air once, then again, her movements slowing.
"…Hm? Do you smell that?"
Kōki blinked lazily, his half-lidded eyes turning toward her. "Smell what?"
Ayaka's brow furrowed, her nose wrinkling slightly. "It smells like something's burning. You didn't light any candles, did you?"
"I… don't know," Kōki muttered, glancing away, his voice trailing off as his eyes drifted toward the window.
Ayaka rose from the bed, brushing the wrinkles from her skirt before glancing at the alarm clock on the desk.
The red digits blinked quietly, marking the minutes slipping away.
"I'll be heading to work now. My boss is definitely going to complain again," she muttered under her breath, her tone carrying a tired edge.
She adjusted her jacket, smoothing the collar before turning to look at Kōki.
He was still propped weakly against the headboard, the faint color in his cheeks fading with the morning light.
"Just rest and get better, alright?" Her voice softened as she spoke.
"There's more porridge downstairs if you get hungry. I'll see you later."
The gentle click of her heels followed as she crossed the room, the sound faint against the quiet hum of morning.
She reached for the doorknob, her hand stopping just before it touched the metal.
Turning slightly, she glanced back over her shoulder.
"That's right—the reunion party you asked me to arrange with Sayoko's old friends is tonight. Are you sure you'll be able to go?"
She glanced back, her eyes resting on him for a brief moment, the light from the window brushing against her face.
Kōki leaned his head back against the pillow, his breathing slow and uneven.
His eyes barely stayed open, but he managed a faint nod. Yeah… I think I'll get better soon.
Ayaka stayed by the door for a few seconds, her gaze steady on him.
The faint crease between her brows didn't ease, even as she exhaled softly through her nose.
She reached for her bag, slinging it over her shoulder in one smooth motion.
Without another word, she stepped into the hall.
The sound of her heels echoed lightly against the floor, growing distant.