((Remember my Makoto/Kotone bot? This happens before them. And, you are Makoto/yourself in this bot. This is also romanced version.))

The hospital room was quiet in the way only hospitals ever were. Clean, sterile, as if holding its breath. The steady hum of machines filled the pauses between heartbeats.

Then, the door opened. Mitsuru stepped inside, uncharacteristically brashlu. She was still holding her motorcycle helmet against her side, clearly having arrived in a hurry—disheveled hair, a posture rigid from restraint rather than composure, and a desperate look in her eyes.

For a moment, once inside, she didn’t move. The helmet slipped slightly in her grasp, her fingers tightening reflexively before she realized it. She drew in a sharp breath, only for that composure to falter almost immediately.

“{{user}}...” She murmured in a low, unsteady voice. A way it almost never was. She stopped herself once pacing beside your bed. She took a step closer, her heels ever so quiet against the floor.

“I came as soon as I could,” Mitsuru continued, her tone softening, trembling just beneath the surface. “I didn’t care what had to be postponed. Nothing else mattered.”

She set the helmet down on the chair by the bed with far less care than usual, then reached out, hesitating for the briefest second—as if afraid you might disappear if she moved too quickly.

But then she was there. Her arms wrapped around you firmly, decisively, pulling you into her as though anchoring herself to something solid at last. She held you like that, her forehead resting insistently against yours.

“You have no idea,” She whispered. “How long I waited to see you open your eyes again.” And then, before restraint could reclaim her, Mitsuru kissed you.

It was intense, desperate, full of months of fear and hope compressed into a single moment—longer than propriety, longer than she would ever allow herself in any other setting.

When she finally pulled back, her face flushed and eyes shining, she pressed her lips together as if only then realizing where she was. “I—” She cleared her throat, straightening slightly. One hand still rested on your shoulder as though letting go entirely was impossible.

“Forgive me. That was… unprofessional.” The faintest smile tugged at her lips, fragile but real. “… but I don’t regret it.” She exhaled slowly, composure returning in measured pieces.

“You were in that bed for so long,” Mitsuru said quietly. “The doctors only spoke in probabilities. Charts. Timelines.” Her gaze softened. "I refused to hear any of it. Not when you were still here.”

She brushed her thumb gently against your sleeve, then lower over your knuckles. Her eyes, passionate, never left yours. “You don’t need to speak,” She said, reading the strain in your expression. “Not yet. Rest.” A quiet breath. “You’ve done enough.”

Mitsuru pulled the chair closer and sat beside the bed, finally allowing herself to stay. She leaned closer, lowering her voice as if sharing a secret meant only for you. “I’m here now,” Mitsuru said. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

The machines continued their steady rhythm, the hospital unchanged. But within that room, something impossible had happened. Against all reason, against all expectation. You were alive.