otohama medical center has become a battlefield

A day and a half later, at last, he can go back to work again.

For better or worse, Fujinomiya hasn’t left.

Toshi knows Otohama Medical Center has become a battlefield the moment he climbs up the stairs (all three stories of them) and is welcomed by metal screams across the hallway. While the specialized room is the only one on the third floor, it’s still noise pollution, so he reaches the clinic in record time, slams the door open, and says, “Ms. Fujinomiya! Turn down the vol…”

Her lipstick is black and so are her nails. Her mascara is heavy. She’s also headbanging.

Toshi watches the scene with resigned detachment. “It hasn’t even been a week and you’re already showing signs of clinical insanity. It might be best to send you back.”

Fujinomiya mutes her phone, thank fuck. “Nope.”

“Absolutely yes.”

“What do you think?” She gestures at herself. “I’ve been practicing for hours now.”

“The headbanging? Because that’d explain a lot.”

“No. The makeup.” Fujinomiya gestures to an alarming, yet unsurprising, amount of tissues on the floor. “It’s just heavier than what I’m used to. I don’t want to look like a phony once I take my morning selfie.”

“I mean.”

“So? How do I look?” She does a peace sign next to her face with a single eye closed.

Toshi responds, “Anyway, good morning, Ms. Fujinomiya. I hope you’ve been well.”

“You’re just gonna ignore me!?”

“Any pain? Dizziness? Whiplash?”

“...no.” She rolls her eyes. “Fine. Be that way.”

He has to push aside the tissue mountain to reach the stool, to take her vitals. Despite himself, he has to fight back the smile at her reaction to his non-reaction. “How has therapy been? No complications, from what I’ve read.”

“Nope. I’m better than I’ve ever been in my life.”

“Riiight. You also haven’t been eating, and you don’t seem to want to get out of bed.”

“I have been eating. If I hadn’t eaten, I’d be dead. Besides, I don’t see a point in moving that much if I’ll just stay in a wheelchair and see that… garden.”

“Though the garden might be small, getting fresh air is important for your mental health.”

“Then open the window,” she says.

Toshi confirms that it’s closed with a glance. It has probably been closed ever since he left.

“Why can’t we go to the beach?”

“Ms. Fujinomiya, have you seen that wheelchair? What do you think will happen if I put that thing on sand? With your weight on it?”

“Not the beach beach, but… isn’t there some sidewalk next to it? Also, I’ve been in many movies where they take characters in wheelchairs to the beach. It’s not that hard.”

“Real beaches and real wheelchairs?” Toshi asks.

“Yeah…” Toshi stares at her, and she stares at him, and she says, “Fine, maybe not, but I want to use the sidewalk, anyway. Take me there. Please.”

Toshi opens his mouth, but nothing comes out.

Fujinomiya breaks their staring contest. “Not now, obviously. After the checkup. It's not that I dislike this place or anything. I just don’t like being trapped in this room.”

“...which is why we want you to get fresh air.”

“Not that fresh air.”

For some time now, Toshi has been wondering why the other hospital was so eager to transfer her despite Otohama’s… limitations… but it all makes sense now. Urban centers might as well be run by a different species; they can do nothing but smile and endure these tantrums. Deploying her elsewhere is an act of self-care he can’t resent them for. “Well… sure. It’s quiet today anyway.”

“Yay!” She even makes a Y formation with her arms.

Toshi checks the time on his phone. “If your assistant is around, we can ask him to–”

“Nope.”

“Stop. Interrupting.”

“Soujiro also has days off, Nagumo. Don’t be so rude.”

He doesn’t engage.

Upon taking the magenta suitcase off the wheelchair and throwing the tissue mountain away, he… wait.

If she has been practicing for hours, doesn’t that mean that she hasn’t slept? Gaillard must’ve checked on her during the night rounds, but Fujinomiya probably told her that nothing hurt, that she was fine, and Gaillard just took it at face value. Mr. Oda hates taking his meds. He probably told her that he already did and she believed him. Mr. Sato–

“Nagumo?”

“Fujinomiya. When, exactly, did you ‘practice’ with that makeup?”

“Last night.”

“Last night, huh? Must’ve felt uncomfortable to sleep with that on your face.”

“Yeah… no…” She groans. “I can’t sleep if the window isn’t open. Does that mean no beach?"

“No, I just… whatever. Come on, arms on my neck.”

As he carries her to the wheelchair, he catches a whiff of some bourgie perfume. Glad to see that’s higher on her list of priorities than eating, sleeping or riding a bicycle without knitting. She’s practically bouncing by the time they reach the danger box.

“Don’t move so much or the elevator rope will snap,” he says. “That happened twice already.”

She stops immediately. “Wait, what?!”

“Kidding.”

On their way out, they find Mr. Oda, so Toshi forces him to take his medicine. The main doctor is here doing his weekly checks. He’ll take care of the rest. When he sees Toshi, he turns to speak, but then he spots Fujinomiya, so he pretends to head elsewhere. Toshi is neither surprised nor disappointed by this.

The early morning sun pours through the main windows, yellow and stale. Once they leave the center, Fujinomiya starts bouncing again. “Ms. Fujinomiya, please behave.”

“The beach! The sea! The sun!”

Why is she acting like she has never seen them before? By the time they reach the sidewalk, she’s practically buzzing. “Come to think of it, don’t celebrities wear wigs and masks so people don’t spot them?”

“Yeah, but that’s why I’m wearing my Nagumo makeup.”

“Your what.”

“It’ll be fine. They haven’t found me yet. I checked. That reminds me–I’ll stream later, and you’ll have to speak in the thickest Hakata-ben possible.”

“Uh, why?”

“They heard you last time, remember? But thanks to your city boy accent, most of them think I'm in Fukuoka, not Saga, so this will help with the misdirection."

Toshi doesn't act who 'they' is as an act of self-care. She probably means her... stalkers or whatever. 

Anyway, that explains why she shut him up the other day. He’d just kind of assumed that she didn’t want him to muddy her stream. “What if I’m talking like the locals, though? Can you tell?” That silence tells him everything he needs to know. “...but sure, if you want."

"I did my research, just so you know. To win wars, you have to–wait!" She startles him; while he stops the wheelchair immediately, Fujinomiya doesn't even seem to notice. “Do you have a channel or anything like that?”

“Oh. No.” He resumes the walk. Are all celebrities this paranoid? Does anyone care that much about her whereabouts?

There’s no one at the beach, as usual. It looks especially ochre during this time of the year. Decades ago, children might’ve played at the shore during weekends, but there’s none of that left. Aside from fishermen, dogs, and some elders who take their morning walks, the sea here is barren and lonely. 

“You sure?” She asks.

“Mhm.”

“Not even an abandoned one? Or one you used as a kid?”

“No.”

“Hmm… then it should be safe, but I’ll double check anyway.”

“Have fun.”

Fujinomiya glances at him from the corners of her eyes, then follows his gaze. He expects her to ask something invasive again, but she doesn’t. She just watches the sea. Finally. This woman could go to space and worry more about her hair than gazing out the window.

Later, as they head back, she grips at the wheels. “So fast?”

“I noticed you’re resting your weight on one side,” He replies. “Pain meds would help.”

“Five more minutes?”

“Pain meds?”

“Five more minutes and pain meds?”

The fact she’s using her own well-being as a bargaining chip neither surprises nor disappoints him. “What’s wrong, Ms. Fujinomiya? Why don’t you want to take them? Or eat? Or sleep? Or even rest?”

Her hands are tight on the wheels, as though expecting him to push again. “I’m not weak.”

“I’m sorry, what? Do you think pain meds–”

“I know, I know. I already got enough of that in Tokyo. I know. It’s not that. But.”

“But?”

“I just don’t like the idea that I need those things to function. I know it’s temporary, but it’s kind of, um… I don’t know, disturbing. Some people need meds for the rest of their life. It doesn’t mean they’re weak, but doesn’t that imply that they’re incomplete or defective unless they rely on external factors? That’s kind of scary. I also don’t see why I have to take sleeping meds when you guys could just open the window again. And I’m trying to transition into veganism.”

…oh dear. “You’re focusing too much on the idea of meds being separate from… I don’t know, shiitake. If you eat shiitake, you get energy and nutrients. If you get pain meds, you stop leaning on your left side. If you don’t rely on external factors, you’re dead. I’ll tell Gaillard to open the window.”

Fujinomiya flips around. “Really?!”

“Mhm.”

She buzzes, or maybe she nods. Glad to see that an open window pushed them away from existential talk. It’s too early for this shit. “They also keep giving me broth with meat. After I told them not to, they took off the meat, but the broth is still brewed with it, so it doesn’t count. They leave small pieces in there anyway. I’ve been eating rice, though, and miso."

“They’d probably have specialized food in Tokyo. Just saying.”

“Tokyo sucks.”

“Ah, right. I forgot.”

“I just don’t get why it’s so hard to make one vegan dish and then give meat to everyone else.”

“It doesn’t have to be Tokyo. There’s plenty of hospitals with good, personalized care. Plenty. Just not here.”

Fujinomiya stares at him from the corners of her eyes. “Do you want me to leave?”

Toshi stares back. Does he?

“Do you hate me?”

“No, it’s not... listen.” She listens, but he doesn’t say anything.

Fujinomiya turns around. “Let’s go back.”

“It’s not about hating. We just don’t have the resources to cook based on everyone’s tastes. At this stage of your recovery, even a cold can cause complications, not to mention all your… eccentricities. You need to take care of yourself.”

“Says you.”

“Says I.”

“Hypocrite.”

…well.

Fujinomiya Koharu: 1

Nagumo Munetoshi: 0