his heartbeat singing in her ear

Crying is inelegant. Red, damp, snotty faces are extremely unappealing. Sobbing sounds gross. It’s the worst thing that could happen to anyone in public aside from… not even wetting oneself, because it’s basically the same thing, except the fluids come out of a different place.

Because of this, and because today’s makeup took her forty-five minutes, Koharu doesn’t cry, nor does she turn to the side. One, because it’d hurt. Two, because it’d tempt her to ask for “help” with changing her position on the cot again. She can still hear his heartbeat singing in her ear. “Nothing hurts,” Koharu replies. “Not physically.”

“I understand that don’t interrupt me it’s hard to lose your mobility to that degree, even if it’s temporary. You’re far away from home, unable to work, see your friends, or your family. Would you like me to come back in a few minutes?”

“No. Sit down.”

Clearly biting back a smile, Nagumo heads to the cabinet, takes out a box of tissues, then places it next to Koharu. Just now, how had he been able to tell that she wanted to speak? She hadn’t even opened her mouth. Pettily, Koharu bats the box off the cot. “How mature,” Nagumo notes as he takes the seat.

And there he is–the warden smoking during his working hours. Koharu has no reason to wipe her eyes since isn’t crying. Koharu has no reason to cry. “I just…” She swallows so her voice won’t shake. “I want to help. Really. But I also want to talk to you, not the uniform. I just d-don’t want to keep destroying everything. I’m just tired of everyone acting like robots.”

“Who’s ‘everyone’?”

“Everyone. Nurses, co-workers, Soujiro sometimes. I hate that everything is so… so corporate that even gifts are a bad thing. I just want to help. I promise. But how?”

It takes some time for Nagumo to respond. “It’s annoying, but don’t interrupt me protocol exists for a reason. We have to log an inventory to know what we’re even giving away in the first place. Someone might get an infection or allergic reaction if we don’t. It’s not that easy.“

So he knows that she wants to shut him up when he talks like… well, like a nurse. That ‘I understand’ drivel was probably protocol, but this explanation seems sincere. “Fine, but… then how can I help the clinic? Let’s assume that I’ve already talked to the inventory people and everything is good. What then?”

“Then…” Nagumo shrugs. “Nothing. I know you didn’t mean what you said earlier, but you were right. No amount of money can save this place.”

“But why? If we hire more staff and… I don’t know, get better beds and stuff, it should be fine, right?”

“Right, but who’s going to sleep on those beds?”

“The patients?”

“And how long do you think they have left? If they’re not dying, they’re leaving. There’s nothing we can do about that.”

“Well, why can’t they die in nicer beds?”

Koharu’s words sound callous even to her, which is exactly why this makes him smile. “I mean. Yeah. I have no rebuttal to that.”

“So if I talk to your contacts, will that help? Would this place accept donations? Actually, not just this one, but… the other clinic you keep mentioning. Or maybe more of them.”

Absentmindedly, Nagumo nods.

Koharu could say anything right now. Anything. And he wouldn’t react. It’s fine, though; she takes the chance to reach for the tissue box, not because she’s crying, but because she has something on her eye.

Before she can even lean down, Nagumo says, “Let me,” picks up the box, then hands it to her. After Koharu slaps it off, he has the audacity to laugh. “Seriously?”

“Seriously. Wait, no–”

He picks it up again. Koharu is considering hurling it out the window this time, but Nagumo takes out a single tissue with his fingers, then offers it to her. He’s very careful not to touch her hand as she takes it.

Instead of wiping her eyes, Koharu taps her closed eyelids with the tissue. “You’re used to difficult patients, aren’t you…”

“Working in this kind of environment does that, yeah.”

“And most of them are old?”

“Mhm. Let’s see… the Eguchis, Iroha, Gaillard, the pizza delivery kid, Hino, you… I think that covers everyone under sixty I’ve talked to this week.”

Koharu pauses. “Iroha?”

“Uh. Dr. Shimazu. Sorry.”

“You call her by her name?”

“It’s not that uncommon,” he says, though he’s clearly rattled by the slip of the tongue. “Like… I’m sure you’ve noticed, but a lot of the patients call me Toshi. Things just kind of work differently here. Obviously, I call her Dr. Shimazu while we’re on the clock. We’ve just known each other for… what, a decade at this point, and you’re the first patient I’ve seen in years who isn’t from Otohama, so I keep forgetting…”

Koharu disconnects.

Dr. Shimazu is pretty in a pixie-like way. Her hair is long and fluffy, her figure slender, and she has the kind of eye shape that always makes her look like a puppy. She doesn’t even need makeup to look good. She probably doesn’t even work out. Meanwhile, Koharu has probably gained a pound or two. Due to inevitable muscle atrophy, her legs will look terrible by the time she leaves Otohama. One of her eyelids is slightly droopier than the other; to leave her house without eyeshadow might as well be walking around naked.

Not only that, but Dr. Shimazu has this ‘please protect me’ aura around her. Of course she’d get the attention of a bachelor her age.

“...Fujinomiya…”

Koharu slaps the tissue onto her lap. “Nagumo.”

“Is something wrong?”

“What do you like in a woman?”

From the look on his face, she might as well have just told him that she’s pregnant. “I… don’t… I know I just said that this place can be pretty lenient, but don’t push your luck. Oh, that reminds me.”

She was just asking out of curiosity anyway.

“Be very careful about what you look up on your phone while you’re here.”

Koharu bristles. “And why is that anyone’s business?” She’s been using a VPN and her own data ever since she arrived, so it’s not like they can track her activity through the local provider.

Nagumo fidgets. “...just be careful.”

“Are you guys able to track my search history or something? How? That’s invasive. You can’t do that.”

“Invasive, huh…”

“Extremely invasive. I don’t care if ‘things work differently here’ or whatever. There are some lines you can’t cross no. Matter. What. Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Ms. Fujinomiya, why does one of the boxes have dog food?”

There’s no point in asking a question they both know the answer to. “I looked up your profile because I had to ask you something,” she says.

“That doesn’t answer my question. At all.”

“Obviously, since I had to send you a message, I noticed that you have dogs, but that’s it. I don’t even know what they look like or anything. I just saw them once, in passing. I just thought that it’d be nice to also give dog food to those who, um. To those with dogs. Here.”

“Interesting,” he replies. “That’s the exact brand and flavor I use.”

“Yeah… coincidence…”

“Just make sure to contact staff strictly through our facilities to ensure that this doesn’t happen again. Somebody else might’ve seen my dog on your phone screen and… misinterpreted the situation."

He had that pause after ‘and’ because he correctly assumed that she was about to speak, but Koharu did not. She held back. “That—that wasn’t your dog.”

“Riiight. But if, hypothetically, she had been…” Nagumo can’t finish the sentence. “Just stop.”

“If, hypothetically, she had been…” She can’t ask the rest of the question. “Okay.”

“Good.”

She won’t stop. It’s not like he’ll find out anyway. His posts are public. Her posts are public, so he can see Sharky if he wants to, too. “Do you still have time to finish my leg thing?

“Your–ah, right… probably not, but I can take an extra ten minutes. We’re almost done anyway. Would you be comfortable with continuing the rest of your session, Ms. Fujinomiya?”

“It’s fine.” Stupid protocol robot speeches.

He helps her down. Soon, he won’t have to anymore. From what Dr. Shimazu has told her, it won’t take long for her to start using crutches to learn how to walk again.

What a frail thing humans are; all it takes is one accident and a few weeks to forget something they do for most of their life.

***

Amelia stands outside of Koha-chin’s room. Since she finished work early, she went to ask Nagumo if she could help with any of the paperwork.

The last thing she expected…

…no.

It’s fine.

It’s not that uncommon for nurses to laugh with their patients. She knows that protocol tends to be more of a guideline in a village that can’t afford it. That’s fine.

But.

Allowing her to take a tissue from his hand while exchanging eye contact?

Asking him what he likes in a woman?

Not to mention that cryptic conversation about dogs, or Koha-chin’s weird questions about talking to someone after getting blocked…

Should she walk in?

Should she stop them?

She doesn’t.

As Amelia walks away, very quietly, her hands shake, as does her heart.