Igarashi was dazed.
He had been dazed for a day, for a week, for several months. He was shocked to his very core in a way that was unique; the way Otonashi had been a unique individual, an abnormality in his daily life. In just ten days he had forged a bond in that darkness that could've lasted a lifetime, but now Otonashi was dead and he felt a painful emptiness in his chest that wouldn't fade no matter how much he attempted to distract himself. He would constantly just stare and focus on a single point in his room, or at the scenery outside, wracked with guilt.
He hadn't noticed. How? How could he not have noticed? In reality, Otonashi had been the most severely injured, excluding the man he had failed to resuscitate.
You could've given him more water.
You could've let him rest more.
You could've relied on him a little less.
These thoughts were swirling around his head, and they were choking him. Otonashi's internal organs were damaged in the initial crash and for ten days his organs had been bleeding and festering. The pain must've been agonising, torturous. And the person who had been right next to him hadn't noticed.
…Why did you even survive?
Before he knew it, he was standing at a cross-section. Plummeting grades at school, a worn-down blank face, family members avoiding him 'to give him some personal space.' Flowers, every day. A large bouquet of yellow roses, agrimony, and arbor vitae for a medium-sized marble block, and a little bundle of lillies and angelica for its little sister tombstone. Side by side, two blocks that shouldn't be there.
Unconsciously, he began to take steps forwards. Right, left, right, left. Otonashi should have survived.
"You're already dead," the red man said.