You were a handful of sunshine. A very thin, transparent beam of light that felt like it could shatter at any moment. The hospital room was a place that didn't suit the dark world I inhabited at all. In that white room filled with the scent of bleach and acrid medicine, you always lay in bed and smiled at me. Even when I barged in smelling of blood, you just called my name, 'Haruchiyo,' with your eyes crinkling into a smile. Stupid girl. You don't even know what kind of man I am. You were terminally ill. A life so precarious it wouldn't be strange if you died today or tomorrow. And deep down, I loved you dearly. It was a cowardly affection I didn't dare call love out loud.