SHARPER || Chishiya Alice in Boarderland

-37- coffe and talking

The hospital smells the same—antiseptic and something faintly metallic, like dried blood that's been scrubbed clean but never really gone. I don't want to be here, but Kenji steps out of the car like it's just another morning, like we're just here for some errand, not for a grief group. Not to talk about things we don't want to talk about.

I sit for a second longer, gripping the steering wheel, inhaling slowly. I do this for him. I do this for him. I do this for him. I force myself to move, unlocking the door and stepping out. Kenji's waiting, hands in his jacket pockets, pretending not to notice my hesitation. He starts talking the second we walk through the doors.

"They finally fixed the vending machine," he says casually, nodding toward it. "So you don't have to get that mystery soda you hated."

I arch a brow. "I thought you liked it."

He makes a face. "I did. Until I didn't."

I snort, and just like that, I forget that I don't want to be here. Because he keeps talking. About the vending machines, about the old guy in the lobby who always looks like he's waiting for someone who never comes, about how his therapist told him to write down good dreams instead of just nightmares.

I listen, focus on him, because it's easier. Because he's distracting me on purpose, and it works. One moment we're walking down the hall, and the next we're in a familiar room, surrounded by unfamiliar faces.

A circle of chairs. Some people I recognize—Takumi, the twinless bartender; Kuina, the girl with the ever-present stick between her teeth. Others I don't. Kenji moves easily through the room, greeting people with nods and small smiles. A woman in a doctor's coat—Aiko, if I remember correctly—looks up as we enter and smiles warmly.

"Hello, you," she says to me. Then, every eye in the room shifts to me.

I swallow. "Hi."

Aiko gestures to an empty seat beside the girl who shared her food with me, Kuina, who's slouched down like she'd rather be anywhere else. I hesitate, but Kenji is already sitting, already at ease, so I follow. The chair is cold, the air is thick, and Aiko starts the round of introductions.

"I'm Aiko," she says, "and I lost my husband two years ago."

Kenji clears his throat. "I'm Kenji, and I lost my little sister."

A few others follow. Takumi, his voice rough: "Lost my twin."

Kuina pulls the stick from her mouth, twirling it in her fingers. "I haven't lost anyone," she says lazily, "but my mom's in a coma."

There's a pause. Then Aiko turns to me, expectant. I shift in my seat. The words feel heavy in my throat, like I'm trying to force something solid out of my mouth. But eventually, they come.

"I'm Yuki," I say, voice quieter than I'd like. "I lost my siblings."

Aiko's eyes are soft. "Thank you for sharing."

I nod but say nothing more. Aiko looks around the room. "Does anyone want to start?"

There's silence, then a guy across from me—Isamu—lifts a hand half-heartedly. "I showered today," he announces. Then, as if that explains everything, he keeps going. "It's been... a while. But I did it. Even used the nice shampoo."

A few people nod, murmuring encouragement. He talks about his day, about how he forced himself to eat something other than instant ramen, about how his neighbor's cat keeps sneaking into his apartment like it owns the place.

I turn my head slightly and catch Kuina grinning around the stick between her teeth. I frown at it, then whisper, "What's with the chewing?"

She leans in, whispering back, "I want to quit smoking."