Into the Apex

A Visit from Home

Two months had passed since the crash, and yet, the days blurred together in a haze of worry and uncertainty. Alya's world had narrowed to the sterile walls of the hospital room, the sound of beeping monitors, the sight of Masachika lying motionless in the bed. There were moments when it felt as though time had stopped entirely, and she was stuck in a loop—an unending cycle of waiting, praying, and hoping. She hadn't left the hospital once, her only breaks being the brief moments when she needed to speak with the doctors or when the nurses insisted on giving her some rest.

But Alya was exhausted, and it showed. Her once vibrant eyes were now shadowed with dark circles, the lines of sleepless nights etched into her face. She barely ate. She barely slept. The constant tension had worn her down in ways she couldn't quite express. She felt a strange sense of detachment from the world outside the hospital. As if the crash had ripped her away from her old life, leaving her stranded in this cold, emotionless place where every second felt like an eternity.

The door to the hospital room creaked open one afternoon, and for the first time in what felt like forever, Alya was jolted from her thoughts. She looked up, her tired eyes blinking as she focused on the new arrivals.

A group of her high school friends—her old friends—stood in the doorway, each one of them looking a little out of place in the foreign, clinical environment. They were still the same, but the passage of time and the events that had unfolded seemed to have set them apart. A mix of joy and apprehension filled the room, but more than anything, it was the relief of seeing familiar faces again that washed over Alya in waves.

Yuki Sugai, the one who had always been her closest friend in high school, stepped forward first. Yuki's dark hair was pulled back in a sleek ponytail, her sharp eyes scanning the room. She was as confident as ever, but there was a noticeable tension in the way she held herself. Beside her was Kaede Inouye, always the quieter one, her eyes filled with concern. Eri Yoshida stood next to Kaede, her ever-present smile replaced with a furrowed brow. Akira Tokuda and Hoga Kenji, the two boys from their class, followed behind, their usual joking demeanor muted by the somber mood.

"Alya!" Yuki's voice rang out, and she moved toward her with an energy that Alya hadn't felt in weeks. "We came as soon as we could. I can't believe this... How are you holding up?"

Alya's lips quivered, but she forced a smile. "I'm fine, Yuki. I'm fine," she said, though the words felt hollow. She wanted to say more, wanted to tell them everything that had been eating at her, but instead, she found herself retreating behind a wall of silence, just like she had for the past couple of months.

The others gathered around her, and for a moment, it felt like nothing had changed. They exchanged pleasantries, asked how things were going, but all of it seemed to hang in the air, suspended by the reality of Masachika's condition. Alya's gaze kept drifting back to him, her fingers still lightly curled around his hand as if by some miracle it would wake him from his deep slumber.

"It's really good to see you, though," Kaede said gently, her soft voice cutting through the tension. "We were all so worried about you."

"I'm fine," Alya repeated, but her voice trembled now, betraying her. She hated how weak she sounded, but she couldn't help it. The façade she had carefully constructed around herself over the past weeks was starting to crack.

Yuki, noticing Alya's exhaustion, dropped into the chair beside her with a huff. "You don't look fine," she said bluntly. "You look like you haven't eaten in days."

Alya didn't respond. She didn't have the energy to argue. It was true. She had barely been able to bring herself to eat. The thought of food made her stomach churn, and she was too consumed by worry to think about anything else. Sleep was even more elusive. Every time she closed her eyes, all she could see was the crash—the way Masachika's car had been sent spinning through the air, how his body had crumpled upon impact, and the awful silence that followed. She couldn't shake the image from her mind, no matter how hard she tried.

As they continued talking, Eri moved closer to Masachika's bed. Her gaze lingered on his face, her expression shifting as she noticed something she hadn't seen before. "Alya," she said softly, her voice tinged with hesitation. "His face... What happened to him?"

Alya froze. Slowly, her eyes followed Eri's gaze to the scar—a jagged slash that ran vertically from his right cheek down his neck to his collarbone. The sight of it was still fresh and painful to her, a permanent reminder of that horrific day. Her fingers instinctively tightened around his hand.

"It happened during the crash," Alya whispered, her voice barely audible. "When the car flipped... the debris—it... it struck him. The doctors said it could have been worse. If it had been just a little higher, it might have..."

Her voice broke, and she looked away, unable to finish the sentence. Her friends exchanged glances, their faces a mix of shock and sympathy. Yuki placed a comforting hand on Alya's shoulder, squeezing gently.

"I'm so sorry," Kaede murmured, her voice thick with emotion.

Alya shook her head, trying to push down the lump in her throat. "It's not your fault. It's no one's fault," she said, her tone hollow. "I just... I just want him to wake up. I don't care about the scar or anything else. I just want him back."

"You need to rest," Yuki said, her voice softer now. "I know you won't listen to us, but you need to. You're running on empty. He'd want you to take care of yourself. We'll stay here with you. You don't have to do this alone."

Alya met Yuki's eyes then, and for the first time in weeks, she saw something familiar—something like comfort. Yuki's right, she thought. Masachika would want me to stay strong, to take care of myself. He wouldn't want me to break down like this.

As the days went on, her friends took turns visiting her, staying for a couple of hours at a time. Each of them tried to offer their own form of comfort, but it was Yuki who remained by Alya's side for the longest. She stayed with her for two weeks, offering gentle distractions and comfort in the form of laughter, memories from their high school days, and even little jokes about their old class.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon and the room grew dim, Alya found herself sitting with Yuki in silence, Masachika's hand still held gently in hers. Yuki had been talking about a concert they had gone to in their last year of school, but Alya wasn't really listening. Her mind was far away, thinking of Masachika, of the accident, of the endless days that seemed to stretch on without an end.

"You've barely eaten," Yuki said softly, her gaze flickering to the tray of untouched food on the bedside table. "Come on, Alya. Please, for me?"

Alya glanced at the food, then back at Yuki. She wasn't hungry, not really, but she could tell that her friend was worried. Yuki wasn't one to push, but the concern in her eyes was unmistakable.

"I'll try," Alya whispered, giving a weak smile.

She knew she couldn't keep going like this. She couldn't keep pretending that everything was fine when it wasn't. But at that moment, with Yuki sitting by her side, she felt the tiniest spark of hope, a flicker of the person she used to be before everything had fallen apart.

The next morning, Yuki, Kaede, Eri, Akira, and Kenji all said their goodbyes, each one offering their support to Alya. They had to return to Japan, but they promised to stay in touch and support her from afar. As they left, Alya felt a sense of comfort in the knowledge that her friends cared about her, that they hadn't forgotten about her in the midst of all this chaos.

But it was Yuki who left the biggest impact. She had been there for the longest, offering her strength when Alya felt as though she had none left. And now, even as Yuki boarded the plane back to Japan, Alya knew she wasn't alone. Her friends might be far away, but they had been her lifeline, reminding her that she still had a world outside of this hospital room—a world that was waiting for her when she was ready to face it again.

For the first time in a long while, Alya allowed herself to believe that there was hope, that the world might one day be whole again. But for now, she would stay by Masachika's side. She owed him that much.