"Ah—I… sorry, I didn't mean—" Ayase-san jerked back, snatching her hand from my forehead as if a spark had jumped beneath her fingertips.
"Wha—Mom?!" The words burst out of me before I could stop them. My gaze snapped toward the bed. "You're awake?!"
Mom's eyelids fluttered, barely open, her smile thin and weary. "Hard not to wake up," she murmured, "with all that… flirting going on."
"F–flirting—?!" Ayase-san collapsed into the armchair like her bones had given out, her ears flushing a warm pink that crept all the way down her neck.
I stared helplessly between them—the nurse who looked like she wanted the ground to swallow her whole, and my mother, still smiling through exhaustion.
My heartbeat pounded far too loudly in the quiet room, a frantic, unsteady rhythm against the hum of the monitors.
Mom's weak chuckle cracked into a cough, the sound scraping through the dim light. "Don't mind me," she wheezed. "Carry on."
"Mother…" I dragged a hand down my face, wishing I could disappear alongside Ayase-san.
She didn't look up. She didn't dare. Her shoulders were curled inward, her clipboard clutched like a fragile shield. She seemed so small for a heartbeat—small and overwhelmed.
And yet Mom looked at her with that knowing softness only mothers possess.
A smile that flickered with pride despite the weariness.
A smile that made something twist inside my chest.
Ayase-san shot to her feet so quickly her chair creaked. "I—I'll go prepare your dinner," she blurted, the words breathless and uneven.
Before I found anything to say, she was already halfway to the door. The panel slid open with a quiet hiss, spilling a sliver of cold hallway light across the floor. Then it closed behind her with a soft thump.
Silence flooded the room again.
I stood there, rooted to the spot—staring at the door as if it had taken the rest of my brain with it. Slowly, numbly, I turned to Mom.
Ahh… what am I supposed to say now?!
Mom let out a slow, amused exhale—thin as paper, but unmistakably smug. When I turned to her, she was wearing that smile. Weak. Crooked. But sharp enough to cut me clean through.
"Risa is a nice girl," she murmured, savoring each syllable like a piece of candy she didn't want to finish. "I like her."
Then came the side-eye—so blatant it felt like a spotlight.
Dear god…Even like this… she still finds the energy to tease me?
"You seem to like her too," she added, her head shifting just enough for her gaze to meet mine.
Heat flashed up my neck, shame and embarrassment tangled like wires. "Mom—please."
Her expression softened—melting from mischief into something quieter. Tender. "Rion," she said gently, "you do."
A simple sentence.
A soft verdict.
And somehow heavier than anything else in the room.
I opened my mouth. I tried to speak.
To deny it. To laugh it off.
But the words caught in my throat like thorns.
Because she was right.She's always right.
"I… can't." My voice cracked, barely a whisper. I lowered my gaze, fingers trembling helplessly. "Not like this…" My fist tightened, nails pressing crescent moons into my palm. "Not when my mother is—"
My lungs seized. The words refused to leave. As if saying them out loud would make them true.
Mom watched me—silent, steady, impossibly warm despite the exhaustion carved into her features. "You deserve someone who looks at you," she murmured, "the way she just did."
Something shifted in the room then.
A subtle, aching shift.
The sunlight that filtered through the blinds stilled—thin rays suspended midair like dust frozen in time. The hum of the machines seemed to dim, retreating to the edges of my awareness. Even the air grew fragile, brittle, as though a single wrong breath could shatter the moment.
Suddenly…
It wasn't funny anymore.
It was just real.
Terrifyingly, unbearably real.
"…Mom," I whispered.
She lifted a trembling hand toward me—slow, fragile, like she was reaching through water. "Come here, Rion."
I hesitated for a heartbeat before moving to her side. The look she gave me… Soft. Proud. And so unbearably tired it hollowed something out inside me.
The room sank into a deepening shade of blue as the last thread of sunlight slipped below the horizon. Shadows stretched long across the walls, gathering like quiet witnesses.
"It's okay to feel what you feel," she reached for my hand. "Even at a time like this." Her fingers were cold, but they wrapped around mine with familiar warmth.
My breath faltered. "No… I can't…" My vision blurred until her outline wavered. "I won't be able to forgive myself…"
"Rion."
Her hand rose, brushing my cheek with a touch so light it almost wasn't there.
"All my life, I only wished for you to be happy." Her thumb stroked the corner of my face. "So I will allow it."
My chest tightened painfully.
"Don't wait too long," she murmured. "Life… doesn't give as much time as we think."
The words landed deeper than anything before.
For all her teasing.
All her jokes meant to keep the room breathing.
She was still a parent.
Still my mother.
And I knew... that she wasn't just talking about Ayase-san.
I leaned in, pressing my forehead to her shoulder. Her nightgown smelled faintly of lavender and antiseptic. "…Alright…" My voice cracked. "Alright." The sob tore out of me before I could stop it.
Her hand—weak but gentle—moved through my hair in slow, trembling strokes.
"Please… forgive me for falling in love," I whispered.
She let out a breath that was half a laugh, half a sigh. "There's nothing to forgive..."
Then her tone shifted—soft but with that familiar motherly steel. "But I will personally drag you to hell if you don't live a happy life."
A broken laugh escaped me—wet, shaky.
"I'll be happy…" I choked out, clinging to her hand. "…if you get better."