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