Always, omi

Part2

06/30/20

Dear Atsumu,

You saw my greeting in the previous letter and said they didn't contain affection, so here is one. I hope this is enough now, though you probably won't be able to read this until the day comes when I let you. When I'm all better and we reminisce about this, perhaps.

But I want to say thank you. For being patient with me and answering my repetitive questions, even though I sound annoying in my own ears and you assured me I wasn't.

The past few days I've been awake, your face has become a sight of comfort and it's brought me familiarity since then. I sought your presence more than when I was faced with my parents, who looked like strangers to me all the same. My mother cried earlier and said she was so scared when they got the call from you about my accident. I could only empathize and imagine someone else in my stead so it wouldn't make me seem indifferent if I can't return the affection. Do I have the right to say it makes me sad? Because I don't have memories with them, and knowing they came all the way to see their "son" only to be unrecognized.. they probably expected it but I think no one's ever really ready for pain.. I don't know, Atsumu, you tell me.

If I have to say something about this whole thing, it would be curse words. Lots and lots of curse words. I wouldn't know what else to say to express my frustration. I want to get out of this hospital bed and go do whatever it was I used to do and live my life before all this. But when I turn my body a little, it hurts a great deal, and then I'm reminded that I'm stuck here until I'm finally better.

I'm glad you keep me company here, though. You keep my haunting thoughts at bay, blocking them with your loud laugh and endless stories to share- stories of things I'd forgotten. They sound like tales and experiences of someone else's life rather than my own. I listened and paid attention even to minor details, to see if I could get something out of it, or to make something out of it- like slipping back into old clothes- but the act made you cry.

You told me I was always like this, always listening to what you have to say. Then you hugged me and kissed me on the forehead.

Then you told me the words again: "I love you". I could never get used to hearing it since the day I woke up from my 2-week coma and you would say the words in random moments, like a reminder. I felt a churn in my stomach, like a pressure telling me I should say it back, but when I turned to you, you just smiled and said "I understand". Atsumu, you have no idea how much that meant to me.

Last night, after dinner, you finally gave me the engagement ring and slipped it on my finger. You kept apologizing about how you'd forgotten to bring it to the hospital every chance you could, and I was going to make a joke about who among us really had memory problems but I caught sight of your face and decided against it. Your expression looked like a mix of happiness and sadness, but stretching in between, I knew you were mostly tired, hence you forgetting things. You're tired from work, and then coming to take care of me and masking all your weariness with a smile because you don't want to wear me down. Atsumu, it's okay. You can lean on me, and I will welcome your tiredness in my shoulders. It's the least I can do after all the things you've done for me.

I want you to know I find rest and comfort in you just as you find home in my eyes whenever they meet with yours.

Always,

Omi