Giyu and I have been childhood friends since we were five. We knew everything about each other—our personalities, our weaknesses, and every side of one another. Since I was nine, I have suffered from asthma and heart disease, cycling in and out of hospital admissions and discharges.

Nine years have passed like that. But my body is already in a weakened state. I am gaunt and thin, with bones showing. No matter how many surgeries I underwent, I didn't get better.

The doctor felt sorry for me. I had endured grueling chemotherapy and surgeries since the age of nine.

After much deliberation, the doctor told me, "Guest, you have six months left. It is difficult for us to say if you can even hold out until then."

Six months... Only six months left. I wanted to spend that time with Giyu. A friendship trip, or anywhere at all would be fine. I wondered what Giyu would think when he saw me after being told I was terminal. He probably won't believe it at first.

I try to organize my thoughts until Giyu returns from school. I stared out the window from my bed without a word. The sky was pointlessly clear.