Your ears pick up the sound before you feel it. The trees in the distance sigh as their leaves are swept through, warning you of the oncoming gust. You keep your gaze locked onto the solemn night sky, continuing to ask its darkness the same question you’ve wanted the answer to for years. A moment later, a whistling can be heard in your ears. The breeze tickles your skin as it tugs on your hair and plays with your scarf. It pokes at your jacket in search of any openings to dive into and spread its icy touch. When it doesn’t find any, it moves on and leaves the mountain summit in silence once more.

A cloud of your warm breath collides with the night air. The escaping heat pierces through the chill in calm, steady puffs of fog that spread out in fleeting freedom for an instant before vanishing. Your eyes, having nothing better to do, focus on the wisps of steam and watch them with a pointless intensity. Wrapping the scarf around your neck tighter, you lean on the motorbike some more and shut your eyes.

Another sleepless night. Another night spent staring up at the ceiling of your dorm room, searching your mind for something to work towards. Another night where you decide to go for a walk, and inevitably end up taking the bike out, unconsciously navigating towards your comfort place. Maybe you should have gone to that party after all. It would at least help take your mind off the question you ask yourself every day; the question that keeps you up at night.

You aren’t suicidal. You have no intention to jump off a bridge or anything. You have friends, a job and a decent life at university. You don’t hate your life, yet at the same time, you don’t like it. You’ve felt this way for a while now. Nothing entertains you, and there’s no great goal you wish to achieve in life. The question you always ask yourself is why you’re still alive. What the point to living is. Because there is nothing in this world you want to live for. Maybe you do have a purpose. Be it a dream, a material possession, or even a person. But at this point, you’ve lost all hope of finding it. Nothing you truly wish to do has ever appeared. So you continue to ask that same question: ‘What is the point in your life?’ Because right now, you’re only living for the sake of living.

With a dejected huff you halt your pretentious, philosophical vomit before you loop back into the cycle you’re so familiar with. There’s no answer, you know that. In fact, your bleak outlook on the world is only half the reason why you’re pondering the point of life right now. The other half? You have a maths test at 9 in the morning, worth 10% of your total grade. It is currently 4. In the morning. The sun is minutes away from lighting up the sky and you can already feel the 20 hours of uninterrupted consciousness ebbing away at your vision. Seriously, what the fuck are you doing? What is the point of studying at university and trying to get a degree if you keep doing dumb shit like climbing a mountain and contemplating the point of life?

“Alright then,” you say, letting loose one last puff of mist. “Let’s hit it.” Breaking from your trance, you push yourself up off your beloved cruiser motorcycle – a dirty, autumn red 1997 Honda VF750C Magna. Key turned. Motor purring. Helmet attached. Despite having been subject to 9 years of neglect from the previous owner (which caused rust to build up in the internal systems), two crashes (from the current owner, admittedly) and overall being an old fucking bike, she’s still running like a… well, an energetic old lady. A demented, quadriplegic old lady, but energetic all the same. With mismatched mirrors, indicators strapped on with duct tape and too much sealant all over the place, she’s still soldiering through it all, despite the many emergency roadside maintenances you’ve had to carry out. You like to think that it would have been irreparable years ago had it not been for Honda’s peerless motorbike engineering.

The twisted road down the mountain is devoid of any life and movement, your two wheels being the only objects in motion on the isolated path. Your lone headlight illuminates the rock face as you roar by and shift your weight with each bend, the wind whipping and tugging at your open jacket. The distant city lights grow brighter as you venture into their area of influence, their field of incandescence flooding into the night to blot out the gentle starlight. The rapidly approaching sunrise on the eastern horizon only aids in the unwelcome deaths of the scattered crystals that powder the black sky, mere minutes away from fading. It’s around this time of the day when you really begin to regret staying up all night.

Time passes as you brake and turn and shift gears on autopilot, the constant hum of the engine in your ears, hypnotic in that the sound allows you to daydream. You eventually reach the first intersection at the bottom of the hill, your imaginary border between the urban city and the natural mountain. To you, passing through symbolises your return to a boring, unnecessary life. The redundant traffic light that guards the empty road halts you for a moment with its hazy red light, then blinks green. You let the clutch out, crawling forward. You’re dead centre in the middle of the intersection when you see it. Right there, in your peripheral vision. On your left, growing larger and approaching fast. It’s about to hit you. Your first and only thought is: ‘ah’.

And thus your life-long question is answered.

There’s a loud thud as the car slams into you and you’re airborne for about a second, from your estimate. It was more falling from the bike rather than being launched from the impact. Too many things happen within that second. Left leg in pain. Something crashing, screeching, maybe screaming. Lots of different lights. Then the solid asphalt collides with your shoulder and you tumble, your head banging against the road as your arms flay about like a starfish. You scrape to a painful stop, face up so you can get a good look at those stars you love so much.

You blink once, twice, and a second passes. You let out the breath you hadn’t realised you were holding. Realisation comes sweeping in. Huh. That… wasn’t so bad. You had always imagined being hit by a car would involve lots of stress, terror, and the fear of death. That motorcycle accident mortality rate must count for something. But in all honesty, you’re kind of chilling. Sure, your heart is beating like crazy and many things hurt, especially your leg, but your mind? Calm, ice cold. Cool as a cucumber. Why is that a saying? Are cucumbers generally known for being below room temperature?

You struggle to sit up, a razor-sharp pain in your chest forcing you to slow your movements. You first see your motorbike, its glass spat out across the amber-lit road as the spokes of its front wheel glitter with the movement of a slowing spin. Your heart weeps a bit upon seeing the machine mark its third and by far worst crash, all sorts of new dents and scrapes visible across its fuel tank. The handlebars are twisted violently out of place. The faint red warning light on the dash pierces through the dark of the early dawn, and you can’t help but feel that this is the end of its journey. You consider taking your phone out to play ‘Rage Your Dream’ but ultimately decide that there are more urgent matters to attend to.

You turn to the car that just made sweet love to your precious motorbike as it finishes skidding to a stop. Taking a painful breath, you stagger to your feet, then put weight on your left leg and collapse into the ground once more, banging the front of your helmet against the road. You black out for half a second, then return, feeling even worse than before. At least there’s variety, what with being face down this time and all. Doors open and rapid footsteps approach as you roll over onto your back. Shit, you haven’t decided what to say yet. ‘I hope you have insurance.’ ‘Nice car, is it the 2007 model?’ ‘Are cucumbers really cool?’ All viable options. It’s becoming hard to breathe. With gloved hands, you fiddle with the helmet strap and pull the protective gear free, allowing air to rush into your ears. A girl enters your vision. She has a pair of ears, you notice. Long, pointed animal ears.

“I’m sorry! Fuck! I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!” she cries. The girl hesitates and looks into your unfocused eyes, then your whole body as she reaches out to touch your chest with trembling hands. “Oh my god. I’m so sorry.” She’s crying now. “A-are you ok? Oh no, please, this can’t be happening.”

Three more faces join her, all scrunched into varying degrees of anxiety. You try to say something, but your lips don’t move. Everything feels kind of fuzzy. Your eyes move to each girl, taking in their attractive features. The white haired one begins shouting something, and the blue haired one nods, as does the other blonde. Honestly, you’re not even mad. Being hit by a group of cute girls is most certainly preferable to being hit by some random old man or something. Is that sexist? Probably. Should you be mad? You aren’t sure, it’s becoming harder to gather your thoughts. There’s just a lot of pain, and your ability to think seems to be shrinking by the second. Your eyelids feel heavy, so you close your eyes… even though it’s not March 5th.

***

Hospital room, that’s cool. You’ve always wanted to wake up in one, like a wounded movie character. You haven’t actually looked to confirm, what with your eyes closed, but it’s the most logical conclusion when you take into account your current predicament as well as the steady beeping sound in your ears. Sterile smells of medicine, too. Lots of that. The afterlife probably smells more like… Wait, what if you’ve been reincarnated and just popped out of the womb?

You take a painful breath, then carefully let the searing light flood into your retinas as you wince. A moment passes, and the light’s intensity is dulled. You look around to take inventory as your eyes adjust. The thick, white coating of plaster is the first thing you centre your focus on. You stare at your left leg’s new fashion statement with indifference, hardly surprised that your leg is broken. You express your thoughts out loud.

“Well how about that… am I gonna need crutches?”

“Absolutely.”

You nearly launch out of your skin yabby-style and whirl around to face the door. Your eyes dart around for a brief second before you spy a friendly face, framed by his iconic white-frosted black hair, grinning back at you. You take a moment to observe his presence. A fluffy black tail hangs lazily by his side, and the cheeky glint in his golden eyes speaks of familiarity. You know this person. “The fuck are you doing here, bitch?” you jab as you look him up and down. “Lookin’ all dressed up in a lab coat and shit.” Despite your hostile words, his presence is welcomed.

“What’s with that reaction? I’m helping nurse your crippled ass back to health.” Your friend Shien Kageyama laughs as he pushes himself off the doorframe to approach you. “A ‘thank you’ would be appreciated.”

“Practical studies?” you ask, dapping him up with your free hand – the one that isn’t stabbed by an IV drip.

“I was rotated to the orthopaedics sector here for a month of training,” he replies, nodding. “Shit’s pretty sweet.”

“Yeah, I remember you mentioning that. Shit, if only I’d crashed some other time, I could’ve gotten some hot med school chick instead of you. Can I get a refund?”

“What? I’m hot too, aren’t I?”

“Huh? Are you dumb?” The two of you share a laugh. Despite your banter, it’s comforting to have a friend be nearby.

You’ve known Shien since the last year of high school. He was in your grade throughout most of your school life, but the two of you never really interacted, merely exchanging pleasantries now and then. He always seemed weird, in an eccentric way, and since getting to know Shien, that impression of him has only been cemented tenfold. You became friends at a party when he drank six glasses of Kahlua Milk and collapsed. Having nobody else sober enough to take care of him, you took him back to your place where he threw up blood and told you about his lactose intolerance with a completely straight face. The two of you started hanging out, and ended up applying to the same university. Taking on more courses than the average student and applying for some special courses, Shien was able to skip ahead and push his medical degree forward. Despite being the same age, he’s technically your senior by a year.

You come down from the laugh and look at him, then snort and motion to his clothes. “Alright, practical studies, cool. But what’s with the lab coat?”

Shien strokes his chin thoughtfully. “I thought all doctors were required to wear lab coats like in the movies, so I bought this one for four hundred dollars before my first day.” He turns to look you dead in the eye. “I was wrong.”

You squint at him. “What kind of…” you sigh and close your eyes. “Whatever, I don’t care. You on break or something?”

He shakes his head. “I’m done for the day, but thought I’d stick around to keep an eye on you.” He folds his arms and leans against the wall next to your bed. “Don’t scare me like that, man. I nearly ruined my perfectly good boxers when I saw you get rushed in early this morning. You feel ok?” he asks, the joking tone in his voice replaced with concern. “You were out for ages, and we couldn’t wake you. That’s a proper coma.”

You purse your lips, processing everything that has happened. “C-Coma? Shit well… yeah, I think I’m alright. Nothing feels out of place.”

“Take your time to get your bearings, man,” he says. “You had a concussion, so the doctor’ll keep you for another couple days to check for any residual damage. He might have to run some tests too, to see if there’s any problems with your motor functions.”

“Wow, I’m being treated like a prince.”

“Don’t get used to it, kiddo,” he grins, back to normal.

“So what’s the full diagnosis, Doctor Kageyama?” you try to joke. “What happened after I got here?”

“Oooaahh,” he moans loudly, “doctor… that’s nice. I like the sound of that.”

“Stop that.”

“Alright, so you got hit by a car while riding your bike is what I’m told. You remember that much?”

“Yup.”

“No signs of memory loss or further brain damage so far… that’s good.” You roll your eyes and he continues, “I guess from there the girl who had hit you called the ambulance, and once they picked you up she came with you to the hospital.”

You tilt your head. “Oh, one of them came with me? Which one?”

“Blonde girl with lots of makeup, though her three friends followed soon after.” He begins stroking his chin again. “The one with white hair had a really nice ass…”

“Shien.”

“Anyway, they stuck around and gave us and the police what details they could, some through tears.” He pauses, flickers his eyes to you. “They were all really worried, just so you know. Real guilty as well, so don’t be too…”

You watch him as he trails off, then shake your head. “I’m not mad.”

“You’re allowed to be.”

“Too much effort.”

“Hah,” he barks, “glad to see you never change. Anyway, doctor says you have a minor fracture in your leg, the fibula bone. Three weeks on crutches at minimum, about six weeks to take the cast off and another three months for any swelling to go away.” You quickly run a simulation in your head then shrug, not really bothered by the given timeframe. It’s not like you have any big plans that require large amounts of physical activity. “Bruised ribs as well, with two that were slightly fractured,” he finishes.

“Explains why it fucking hurts every time I inhale,” you say, taking a particularly deep breath and prodding at the source of the foreign sting with two fingers. “Three weeks on crutches though… might be a fun experience.”

“I see your idea of ‘fun’ is still fucked.”

“I’m just bored.”

“You had some other cuts and bruises too,” he continues, “one of which required stitches.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Stitches that The Great Shien did, by the way.”

“Yep. It’s gonna get infected.”

“...But those three bones are your main injuries, along with a concussion that we still need to assess. Hopefully nothing permanent.” You casually bob your head, undaunted by the possible complications to your health. Wounds, no wounds… it won’t make much of a difference. If anything, you’re almost grateful to this crash for bringing something eventful into your life. You take a look at the clock on the wall, reading 5:10 at a glance. Sun’s setting, so you were out for… 13 hours.

“And the girls in question?”

“They all stuck around for a while before leaving,” Shien explains, “but the blonde girl that came with you, she’s still here. Was the driver and all so… I’m guessing she feels the worst about it all.” You take a moment to process what he’s saying, then shoot up straight, your ribs crying out in pain.

“Huh!? Still here!?” you exclaim, raising your eyebrows. “She… she stayed the entire thirteen hours?”

“Her resolve surprised me as well,” he softly smiles. “Stepped out to get lunch at one point and took a quick nap in that seat over there,” he motions to the bedside chair, “but for the most part, she was actually waiting here in your room the whole time since you were moved. Really just a coincidence that she stepped out to go to the toilet when you woke up.”

“Holy shit,” you mutter, settling back into the bed, “I was actually juggling around the idea of getting angry before, but now I just feel bad.”

“You… feel bad for getting hit by a car?”

“...Yes.”

“I ain’t kink shaming,” he shrugs. “Anyway, her name was Polka, she apparently goes to CVU, like us.” The stubby black ears atop his head unfold into an attentive shape as he turns his head towards the entrance. “And hey, speaking of which.” Somebody appears at the door. It’s the blonde girl who first rushed to your aid, though her ears are flattened and pointed down this time. Her hair is matted. The thin, pink and black streaks of her dyed strands are twisted and mixed in with the rest of her hair, lost among the blonde. You see dark circles beneath her eyes, and ruined streaks of makeup where you assume multiple tears once traversed her cheekbones. She clutches the door frame, still partially hiding her face as she observes the two men in the room from afar.

“Well, you’re awake now, so my self-imposed duty here’s done,” Shien says. “I’ll be off, so take care man, I’ll see you again soon.” He pats your shoulder then moves to the door, walking past this Polka girl and making sure to give her a polite nod as well. She returns to him a slow dip of her head, then faces you once more.

She does nothing for a moment, teetering on her heels. Then with pursed lips, she takes the plunge and slinks into the room. You notice a large, fluffy tail the same colour as her hair trailing behind her as she approaches you with an awkward half-run, further confirming that she’s not a full human. Maybe quarter something? She stops at the foot of the bed and keeps her head down, seemingly unable to meet your calm gaze. Her jaw falls open, allowing space for words that don’t come. She shuts it again, still keeping her eyes away from the harm she caused as she clenches two fistfuls of her red skirt. You wait.

“I… I want to say I’m sorry,” she manages to force out. “I seriously can’t believe I did that. I’m so sorry, I was stupid. I just… um, my insurance will pay for everything, a-and I’m willing to-”

“It’s cool.”

She stops, and, after a moment of silence, finally raises her eyes to meet yours. “...Huh?”

“I said it’s cool,” you repeat nonchalantly, accompanying your words with a casual wave of your hand. “I don’t really… care, I guess. It is what it is.”

“Huh!?” Her eyes widen. “What are you saying? I-I hit you with a car! Your leg is broken because of me!”

“Sure, but consider this,” you say, unfolding your finger to point at her. “I had a maths quiz this morning that I’d barely prepared for, and would have absolutely failed if I turned up. So if anything, I should be thanking you for getting me out of it. God knows I can’t take that ten percent.”

Polka struggles to suppress the exhale from her nose, a twitch in her lips curling upwards then vanishing. Her eyes flicker to the bedside seat and you notice a subtle splash of colour spread across her dull mauve-shaded irises, returning them to the bright amethysts you briefly recall from the night of the crash. She shuffles towards it, taking a seat beside you.

“...Math 2106?”

“2116,” you reply. “Finance?”

“Uh, accounting.”

“Sounds boring as shit.” Your sudden disapproval of her degree catches her off guard and she fails to stop a laugh as you continue. “Though I can’t say I’m much better,” you grin, pleased at your attempts to loosen her up.

“Yeah, it’s not exciting,” she says, rolling a strand of hair between her thumb and forefinger, “but my parents wanted me to attend a university and at least try going, so here I am.”

“Does the nightlife at least make up for it?” you ask.

She cocks her head. “Nightlife?”

“Well that early in the morning, I kinda assumed you were driving back from the club or a party or something, unless you and your friends are like me and just can’t sleep.”

“Ah, mm. I was at a party that was for my dorm.” She stays quiet for a moment as her expression grows distant, then says, “I wasn’t originally planning to go, but I needed to get my mind off something. In the end, though, I couldn’t get into the mood.” Her eyebrows shoot up, as do her ears, albeit only partially. “Oh, but I wasn’t drunk driving! I was completely sober since I was the designated driver, it’s just… I was talking with my friends, and didn’t notice the red light since it’s always green so…” Her shoulders slump. Her ears follow. You’re beginning to see a pattern. ”Fuck. God, I’m such an idiot. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t make excuses,” she says.

“We’re back here? I said it’s fiiiiine,” you sigh. “If you had barged in and tried to claim that you’re innocent and that it was my fault then yeah, I’d have a bone to pick,” you say, failing to get a reaction with your pun, “but Shien tells me you spent a whole thirteen fucking hours waiting here. You don’t need to do any more apologising than that. As long as your insurance pays for the limousine ride, this overpriced hotel and my shitstick bike, there's nothing to forgive. Like I said, it's cool.”

“But… your leg. Your friend said you’ll need crutches.”

“Something to show off. I’ve never broken a bone before.”

“And your bike is broken.”

“I’ve repaired her before.”

“I broke your ribs...”

You regard her with a quirked eyebrow. “Can you stop trying to come up with reasons for me to be angry? It won’t work.”

She hesitates, then hangs her head in defeat. “Sorry. I was actually prepared and… and kind of hoping you would yell at me. That would at least feel right. Getting off scot free for doing something so stupid is…”

“Isn’t the guilt you’re feeling enough of a punishment?”

Her sad eyes flicker to you. “But that’s not really… enough.”

“It’s plenty,” you say. “Punishments should be reserved for those who don’t feel any remorse for their actions.”

“But-“

“Polka,” you say sternly. She sits up in reaction to her name, her ears standing to attention like an obedient dog. “I just thought of something you can do as an apology.”

She bites her lip. “Y-Yeah? What can I do?”

You grin and lean back into your bed. “I want you to drop the subject, forgive yourself for hitting me with a car and stop apologising. Do that, and I forgive you.” She stares at you blankly, blinking a few times before the sigh of a laugh escapes her lips and she looks away.

“You’re… kinda strange, you know that?” she smiles, tucking some hair behind her ear (the human one, which you’ve just noticed she has).

“I get that a lot.”

“You sure? It’s ok?”

“I’m sure.”

“Ok,” she says, her glum expression lifting, “Thank you, um…”

“Anon.”

She leans towards you and sticks out her hand. “Polka, but I guess you already know that.”

You gently take it into your own. “It’s been a pleasure to meet you, Polka.”

“I know you won’t forgive me if I say this, but I want to make it clear one more time. Anon, I am very, very sorry for hitting you with a car,” she says, bowing from her seated position.

“I’ll let it slide this time,” you smile.

“The car? Or the apology?”

“Both, I guess,” you shrug.

She laughs and so do you, in spite of the needle through your lungs. When she notices the suppressed strain in your breath, her giggle dies on pursed lips. You hold her gaze with an encouraging smile, and she eventually mirrors it. You savour the eye contact for a brief moment before she turns away.

“Um, I…” she trails off, unsure of what else to say.

“You should go home, Polka,” you say. “You look exhausted. Stick around any longer and I’ll be the one who starts apologising.”

She nods and clasps her hands down by her stomach. “Mm, ok. I’ll do that.” Her eyes drift off to the side as she continues. “Hey um, I’ll… I’ll come by tomorrow as well.”

“You don’t have to.”

They snap back to you. “I will.”

You shrug your shoulders. “Guess I could use the company,” you say. She warmly smiles and takes a few paces back before spinning around and walking to the door, her enormous, fluffy tail bobbing up and down behind her. She turns back to you when she reaches the exit.

“See you tomorrow, Anon,” she says, giving you a wave. “Thanks… for being such a good guy.”

“My friends call me an asshole.” She laughs again and you raise a hand to return the gesture. “Goodbye, Polka.” She smiles one more time before hesitating, then disappearing from your view.

You allow her face to float around in your imagination for a while longer, then let out a sigh of content, one made shallow due to your injuries. You look out the window at the setting sun. As much as your mind tries to focus on the ‘important’ things like your injuries, university and your other affairs, you really only want to focus on one thing that came out of all this, the thing you came across mere minutes ago. Polka. Already, the silence of the hospital room feels lonely without her here. She’s a sweet girl, you kind of like her. Your life has been boring and pointless for so long, so now that something eventful has happened, you can’t help but feel invigorated, your bones be damned. You can’t wait until tomorrow.

***

A nurse and an actually qualified doctor (unlike your idiot friend) came to assess your condition later that evening. A few tests on your muscles and reflexes, some questions to gauge for memory loss or damaged brain function and a brief once-over to check for any irregular swelling or blood clots. Having deemed you otherwise ok, they let your cast down and left you alone for the rest of the day, presenting you with a pair of crutches should you need to hobble to the toilet.

With no immediate family to inform of your predicament, you sat around twiddling your thumbs for a couple of hours until discovering the remote that operates the television on your wall. There was a popular home-cooking show airing, hosted by a man and his blue-haired wife, the latter of which was apparently a former idol that did large scale concerts and appeared on television quite often. Her name was Sui… Sui-something. They cooked tonkatsu, paired with a special cabbage and cucumber salad. You were never an expert or a fanatic when it came to the culinary arts, but it was enjoyable enough. It certainly made the hospital slop they served you seem far less appealing. You didn’t sleep until late into the night. The two sharp points of pain in your ribs saw to that, as well as the 13 hours of rest you had during your ‘coma’. At around 3 in the morning however, you were able to doze off and whisk the night away.

Now morning has arrived, and you look around the room, only just remembering the events that led to your hospitalisation and that this isn’t your dorm. A normal person may have wanted to leave by now, to get their various affairs in order. You on the other hand don’t particularly care one way or another. There isn’t anything you want or need to urgently do, nothing you have to check on. It might be a good idea to sort things out with your university, or your insurance, but you don’t care for that either. The hospital room simply feels like another place to sleep, not so different from your dorm room. It dawns on you, however, that there is something you are looking forward to – Polka said she would be coming over today.

Seeing her again would be nice.

When the clock strikes 10, Shien pays you a brief visit and you talk a bit before he is required somewhere else. Time continues to pass by as the day rolls on. Nurses come in to check on you every couple of hours as you try to find ways to entertain yourself besides watching TV and reading the raunchy magazine featuring women with larger-than-average posteriors that Shien left for you.

“Mr. Anonymous?” There’s a light tap on your door and you lift your gaze up from the magazine to see a cute nurse standing just outside.

“Hi,” you say, making no effort to hide the book’s cover. Her eyes briefly flicker to the object in your hands but she makes no visible reaction.

“You have some guests here to see you. Shall I let them in?” she asks.

You tilt your head. “Guests? As in multiple?” The nurse nods and you bite your lip. Multiple? Wouldn’t be Polka then. Your friends, maybe? Did Shien tell them about your predicament? “Sure, please do,” you shrug, expecting to see a bunch of dudes barge in.

A familiar pair of ears peek past the door frame, and before you can react, Polka pops her head in. “Hi Anon!” she grins.

A galvanising jolt seizes your spine when your brain registers her presence, and you scramble to hide the magazine behind your blanket on reflex. “P-Polka!” you stammer loudly, a prick in your chest causing your breath to catch in your throat. “H-Hey! How’s it going?” you cough.

Thankfully she chooses not to answer the pointless question you had asked in a panic and skips into the room. She looks much brighter compared to your last meeting. Her makeup is fresh this time, small dots of colour lining the area beneath her eyes, void of the dark circles you recall yesterday. Her honey-blonde hair, freshly brushed and falling just past her shoulders, sports a couple of equally colourful accessories. Further down, Polka wears a simple, white collared shirt and a red skirt with a jacket wrapped around her waist.

“I brought my friends today, who were… also there. I hope you don’t mind,” she says. Three more faces appear in the doorway, all of them familiar from the night of the crash. They nervously shuffle into the room and you stutter a response.

“O-Oh, er, you didn’t have to.” You give the three girls a nod. “Hi, I’m Anon.”

“This is Lamy,” Polka starts, motioning to the girl with sky-blue coloured hair.

“Ah!” Not expecting to be introduced first, Lamy hastily bows. “It’s nice to meet you! I’m sorry for the trouble we’ve caused!”

“I’m Nene.” The girl with wavy blonde hair introduces herself next, a remorseful squint in her green eyes as she looks at you. “I… I was trying to show Polka my underwear and distracted her. I’m sorry, it was Nene’s fault.”

“You idiot!” Lamy cries, slapping her on the shoulder. “Why would you tell him that!?”

You blink. There wasn’t a single hint of humour in Nene’s voice. She isn’t joking. “Uh, u-underwear? Do you…”

“AAAANd this is Botan!” Polka cries, struggling to hold together the conversation that appears to already be collapsing. She presents the calm, white haired lady, who also sports a pair of ears and a thin tail that hangs lazily behind her. “She was the one who took control of the situation after the crash. She stayed calm and made sure you were breathing, that the ambulance was called… all that stuff.”

Botan casually wriggles her fingers in greeting and you smile. “Thank you, Botan. I’m grateful for your help,” you say.

“Don’t thank me,” she replies, shaking her head. “If I had kept these three in check you could’ve avoided being hit. I’m sorry we put you through that.”

You observe the three girls as a sprout of growing respect for them flourishes within your chest. Your mind is already working its undercurrents to make these friends of Polka’s your acquaintances as well. Not once did any of them try to throw Polka under the bus or even slightly imply that she should be the only one to bear the blame. You can already tell that they’re a group of people you’d like to be around. And hey, they’re all pretty cute.

That only leaves one problem.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you all but…” You slowly turn to Polka. “They seem awfully apologetic, Polka. You did tell them that I don’t really care, right? I don’t want to go through what I did with you three more times.”

Polka rubs one of her long ears. “Um… not really? Even I’m not fully convinced,” she says, a weak giggle pushing past her lips. You sigh and turn to the three newcomers. They watch you cautiously, and you decide that you aren’t, in fact, going to go through what you did with Polka three more times.

“How was the party?” you ask. Lamy and Nene are surprised at your sudden question, while a slow smile crosses Botan’s face. She seems to understand.

“Eh?” Nene glances at Polka, then you and says, “it was fun! Lamy fell down the stairs!”

“Wha-! And you knocked over the drinks tower!” Lamy snaps back at her friend.

“We even got Botan drunk!” Nene excitedly continues. “She never drinks!”

“I got pressured into taking a couple shots,” Botan giggles.

“Sounds wild…” A vague memory stirs within you as you hear them talk about the party. “Wait, wait… are you guys from Baker Hall?” you probe.

Polka twists her head around to face you. “Uh, yeah. How did you know?”

“I’m in that dorm as well, I remember getting the invite. Ayame’s party that she hosted with her boyfriend, right?”

“Yeah, that’s the one!” Botan smiles. “You’re in Baker Hall? I haven't seen you around, aren’t you a second year?”

“I was at a shared house before moving into a dorm,” you explain. “Started making enough money from work so-“

“Why were you on that mountain instead of at the party?” Nene asks excitedly, cutting you off as she leans forward and places her hands on the edge of your bed. “Did you go camping?”

You laugh at the randomness of her question. “As much as I enjoy camping, no. I just… couldn’t sleep, and felt like going for a ride. I sometimes go to that mountain when I need to clear my head.” Nene’s eyes sparkle in wonder at you, her wide-mouthed grin growing larger and revealing a singular, sharp canine that pokes out from beneath her upper lip. You feel like an ant under a microscope. She spins around to face Polka, her fluffy, long hair trailing behind the motion.

“Polka! He’s interesting!” Nene shouts as she points at you. “He can be your boyfr-”

“AAAAAAAUUUUGH!!” Polka screams at the top of her lungs, taking only a split second to leap across the two metre gap towards Nene and cover her mouth. As she suffocates her friend and wrestles her into a chokehold, Polka snaps her gaze to you with a terrified smile. “Please ignore her,” she pants, her pupils shrinking to pinpricks as she stares at you. “She’s just sick. You didn’t hear anything.”

“Mmf! Mmmph!” Nene briefly breaks free from her hold and gasps for air. “Bu- but Polka! you were the one who said you wanted a man-!”

“Enooough!” Polka roars back, wrestling her friend into submission once more. You notice Botan cackling away at the circus before her, holding her stomach as she doubles over from laughter. Lamy also can’t help but giggle as she holds a hand up to cover her smile. You (painfully) laugh as well, understanding the general gist of the situation and what Nene is trying to embarrass Polka over, intentionally or not. Based on the few minutes you’ve known this quartet, they seem like good friends. “Ok! You’ve… expressed your condolences! You guys can go home!” Polka says, ushering Nene towards the exit.

“Oooohh~” Nene teases, allowing herself to be pushed out along with Botan and Lamy. “Trying to get some alone time with him? Okayyy!”

“Nice meeting you Anon,” Botan smiles as she turns to give you a wave.

“You too. I’ll see you guys around the dorm, maybe?” you reply, waving at the three girls. Lamy nods and waves back, but doesn’t say anything. You get the feeling it might be a little tricky getting her to warm up to you. Eventually the trio of Polka’s friends leave, and you’re once more alone with the girl who hit you with a car. If she wasn’t interesting enough already, now you want to know about Polka even more.

“They seem fun,” you say. When there’s no response, you move your eyes from the doorway to her. “...Polka?” She stands near the exit, shoulders slumped and hands over her face. The ears atop her head stand perfectly erect, quivering slightly. She turns her head towards you, cautiously peeking out from behind her barrier of fingers to look at you sideways. Her lips are pursed, and a tinge of pink coats her visible cheek. She’s unable to hold your gaze for more than a second.

“Ugh… they’re so embarrassing,” she groans, covering her face again. “D-don’t… don’t think too hard about what they said, ok?”

“Hey, who doesn’t tease their friends at every chance they get?” you say. She smiles and lowers her hands, meshing her fingers together like a net. She awkwardly stands in place, briefly rising up onto her toes and back down again before she turns to you. Her face is still flushed, but she seems to have partially recovered.

“Mind if I stay?” she asks, tilting her head.

“Yeah,” you reply, almost embarrassingly fast. “Please stay, I’d like that.”

You see her mouth open as she lets out a whisper of a breath, almost like a sigh of relief. Keeping her fingers entwined, she takes the seat beside your bed and curls her tail around to let it rest in her lap. You’re quite curious about that enormous wealth of fluff she carries around with her, and decide that someday you’ll convince her to let you touch it.

“So, uh…” Polka starts, likely having found the brief period of silence a bit awkward. “How long have you been riding a bike?” Her choice of conversation surprises you. When she had asked to stay, you had expected Polka to begin going over the details of her insurance and what she’ll need from you to get things sorted. Formal, business related matters. Though slightly puzzled, you welcome the subversion of your predictions.

“Years now,” you reply. “Basically the moment I was eligible.” Polka nods, happily listening along. “Parking’s free, while fuel and maintenance also cost less. And hey, I get to cut the line at traffic lights.”

“Mm… I’ve always thought bikes were super cool. I never learnt how to ride one though.”

You flash her a grin of approval. “I’m glad you agree. Most girls I meet just tell me that it’s dangerous.”

“Well that too,” Polka says. “They are dangerous. I er, saw a good example of that yesterday.”

“Really? I didn’t see anything dangerous happen yesterday. Just a minor incident that resulted in some minor injuries.”

She snorts and raises an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? And how are those ‘minor injuries’ treating you?” she smirks, poking at the cast around your leg with a finger.

“You mean these paper cuts?” you laugh, “I’m more worried about my bike than myself.”

“Ah…” Polka’s eyes explore your expression as she lowers her hand. “Is it… going to be ok?”

“What, my shitstick? She’ll be fine,” you say, despite clearly recalling the mangled corpse of your motorbike as it lay broken and battered across the road. “Even if the thing’s written off, I’ll find a way to fix it. She’s old, but I’ve grown too attached to let her go.”

Polka rests her head against her hand as a smile permeates through her expression. “Nene was right.”

“Hm?” You lean towards her as she flinches. “What was that?”

“Nothing!” she cries, quickly sitting up straight. “Just- ahahaha! Just talking to myself! Um!” Polka tries to redirect the conversation to something else, and the two of you segue into another topic. You expect her to leave soon, since she’s already checked on your condition, but she sticks around. In fact, a good part of the next hour is spent talking to her, though you aren’t sure if you can pinpoint what exactly you talked about. There was no central subject; the two of you simply had a fun back and forth about whatever happened to be the topic of discussion.

If your previous encounter wasn’t enough to convince you of how interesting Polka is and how much you would probably enjoy her company, there’s no going back now. The entire time her adorable laugh keeps drawing you in, and the way she effortlessly keeps the conversation going makes you passively shocked at how easy it is to talk to her. There isn’t a single drab or dull moment throughout the hour, and you don’t see one anywhere on the horizon. You find yourself avoiding the clock’s ominous gaze, not wanting to be reminded of how much time has passed and if Polka wishes to leave. Compared to your otherwise boring time at the hospital looking at softcore porn, you want her to stay forever.

But with that said, you’re left with a question. Why is she still here to begin with? What could be her reason behind wasting time talking to you like this?

“I hope you’re not still feeling guilty,” you say.

Polka raises her head, the smile from her lips waning as she finishes recounting the story of when she went skydiving. It had apparently involved a lot of convincing, followed by an equal amount of screaming.

“Wh…?” She blinks a few times, stunned, then lowers her gaze as a breath halfway between a defeated laugh and a sigh pass her lips. “Huh. Am I that easy to read?”

“I’m right?”

“Er…”

“Look, Polka,” you start. “I already told you that we’re cool. It seriously doesn’t bother me that you ran me over. You don’t have to force yourself to keep me company. Is there nothing I can do to convince you?”

“Sorry. I know I’m being a pain.” She raises her head and carries her field of vision down the length of your body, bringing it to a rest at the foot of your bed as she winces. “But whenever I see your leg wrapped up like that or, or hear you take a breath, I just remember the night of the crash. I remember seeing your body go flying and I fucking…” She sighs and stops herself. She brings a hand up to her forehead, the blonde bangs that line it curling over the backs of her fingers. “I’m grateful that you’re being so forgiving. Really, I am. It’s just… a little harder for me to do the same.” When you don’t reply for a moment, she lightly gasps. “I-It’s not just that though!” she quickly continues. “Like, I’m sticking around and talking to you because I feel bad, but I would’ve left a while ago if that’s all it was.”

“So what else is keeping you here?” you ask.

She startles, as if your question was an unexpected one. “Uh, well,” Polka turns away, rubbing down the single braided lock of hair over her shoulder. “You’re kind of um, I-I guess… you’re an interesting guy. I just wanted to talk to you. If it’s to spend time with you, Anon, I wouldn’t mind taking time out of my day. Um…” She blushes and continues to rub her hair.

Your heart shudders in surprise and, after a moment is taken to process what she said, you find a ripple of elation shoot through your chest. “Yeah!” you blurt out. “Uh, same here. You’re fucking fun to be around Polka, you make this a lot more bearable. I love talking to you.”

“Ah! Aha! R-really?” she says, scratching her reddening cheek. “I was worried that you were getting annoyed with me and wanted to be left alone.”

You shake your head “No. What? No, that’s the furthest from the truth you can get. I want you to stay. I want to keep talking to you. Even after you leave I want to see you agai-.”

“Me too.” Polka replies before you can process your risky proclamation, or even finish your sentence. The words dart from her mouth as she leans forward, reaching out to hold the edge of your bed. In her eyes you see an almost hungry intensity, like someone who’s seen an opportunity they cannot let escape. “Me too,” she repeats. “I really, really want to see you again. Let’s see each other again, ok? Please?” You expect yourself to lean back, cautious of the sudden change in her demeanour that seemed to shift at the flip of a switch. You do the opposite.

You take her hands into your own and she gasps. “Yeah, of course. Why would I say no? You’re easy to talk to, and really fucking hot.” Her breathing stops and you see her tail grow stiff. “Let’s see each other again,” you say, staring into her round, excited eyes. In an instant all her attention is suddenly focused on you. She grips your hands tightly, squeezing them until her knuckles go white. You feel trapped, like a deer in the brightest headlights it’s ever seen. Or more accurately, like a moth to a flame. The air grows taut, and you feel a suffocating tension between you and Polka. A second passes in tight silence, the invisible string between the two of you stretching to the point of snapping. She knows. You know. Her breathing seems to pick up. You swallow a nervous lump in your throat. And then it breaks.

You jerk forward just as Polka lunges, seizing your shoulders and pushing you back down onto the bed. Your ribs explode in agony but the adrenaline from your pounding heart keeps the pain at bay for what you can only hope will be long enough. She clambers onto your stomach as fast as she can, pinning you to the bed with her weight as her tail wags behind her, sweeping the air in quick strokes. You plunge your hands into her hair and go to pull her in, but Polka is faster. She takes your face into her hands and doesn’t even hesitate before crashing her lips into yours. You kiss back, wrapping your arms around her neck and holding her in. Polka moans into you as she devours your lips with an intensity you can barely keep up with. Bolts of pleasure from the kiss further drown out the pain in your chest and you let your hand snake down to her back, easing the rest of her body down to rest atop your torso. Her breasts squish against you through her clothes and you pop a boner against her firm ass. Are you really… doing this?

There’s a knock on the door. Polka shoots straight up, her ears standing perfectly erect as two strings of saliva trail from her mouth and fall onto your neck. You both look at the door, then each other.

“Mr. Anonymous,” a voice calls from outside, “I’m here for the 5pm checkup. Can I come in?”

“Wh… AAAH! UH! One sec!” you shout back as Polka hurriedly climbs off your stomach, her face flushed and panicked. She stumbles and bangs her foot on the bed frame, loudly, then curses, also loudly. She scrambles back into the bedside seat and straightens out her hair and clothes as best she can. You clear your throat, giving Polka a glance. She doesn’t look at you, and shrinks against the wall. “O-ok, come in!” you say.

The door slides open and you see the doctor from this morning. He pauses the moment he sees Polka, her hair and clothes still a right mess. He raises his eyebrows at her, immediately understanding what was going down in this room a few seconds ago.

“I didn’t realise you had a visitor. I apologise,” he says with far too much professionalism.

“Huh? Oh, uh, yeah,” you say, rubbing your neck as you briefly glance at her. “It’s fine. Er, yeah, checkup. Cool.”

He nods. “Yes, and unfortunately I will have to ask any guests to leave while we perform the tests.” He gives an apologetic smile to Polka.

“Ah! Right!” she says, shooting out of her seat and straightening her skirt. She smiles at him as she scratches her cheek. “Uh… I-I guess I should go, then,” she stammers. Polka goes to leave. You draw a short breath. You’re not sure what the fuck just happened, but it was something. You sure as hell aren’t about to let it go. You reach out and grab her hand. She lets out a short squeak of surprise and finally looks at you.

“I get discharged tomorrow afternoon,” you say, almost desperately. “Come see me then.” Polka’s blush is reinvigorated twofold as her cheeks begin to colour even more.

“Y-yeah! Sure!” she exclaims. “S-see you then!”

“Great! Yeah… um. I’ll… I’ll see you tomorrow,” you laugh awkwardly.

“Bye Anon!” she says before running for the door.

“S-see ya,” you say, waving.

She leaves the room, and you hear her stifle a scream from outside. Then silence. You take a breath to calm yourself. Something is definitely wrong with you. Your mind is filled with noise and you can barely gather your thoughts. What just happened? Why did you act in that way? What would have happened if the doctor hadn’t interrupted? You watch the doorway, completely baffled by the things that just came out of your mouth. The doctor chuckles, bringing your focus back into the mortal plane, and approaches your bed.

“I would advise against any sexual acts while you’re recovering, Mr. Anonymous,” he says. “It’s a bit rough on the bones.”

“We weren’t…” you trail off, his knowing smile ready to melt away any lies you might offer. “Uh, sorry.”

“Your girlfriend?” he asks.

“No…” you say, blinking a few times. “At least, not yet.”