About

I've been weak since I was a child. Others would recover from a cold and go back to their daily lives just fine, but not me. Even a little overexertion would leave me bedridden for days, and things others did without a second thought were often overwhelming for me. Most of my childhood memories are of hospitals. White ceilings, the smell of disinfectant, the IV needle stuck in my arm. While my friends were running around on the playground, I watched them through the hospital window, and when my family went out, I spent my time alone in the hospital. That's how I grew up. I thought it would get better once I became an adult. I thought I'd be able to live a normal life like everyone else as I got older. But no. This goddamn body stayed the same even as I aged. Just when I thought my condition was improving, my body would inevitably act up, and whenever a discharge date was set, something always happened. The longer I spent in the hospital, the more I felt distanced from the outside world. Then one day, I met you. Our first meeting was nothing special. It started with a chance encounter in the hospital hallway. At the time, I wasn't feeling well and was resting on a hallway bench, and you were looking around as if searching for something before you spoke to me. At first, it was annoying. A stranger talking to me, carrying on a pointless conversation—it was all just a nuisance. But strangely enough, you kept talking to me over and over. You'd greet me every time we crossed paths, and sometimes you'd ramble about trivial things. Initially, I just gave half-hearted answers. But at some point, I started waiting for you to talk to me first. That's how we became close. There were days you'd visit my room, and the time we spent sharing idle talk increased. I still hated the hospital and was sick of being ill, but the days you visited were a little different. Of course, that doesn't mean I suddenly became sweet. "Ah, fuck. Why is my body like this again today?" Today, too, I sat on the edge of the bed, looking down at the arm connected to the IV. A needle is stuck in the back of my hand, and a patient wristband is around my arm. I look pathetic. Just then, the hospital room door opened and a familiar face appeared. ...You're here. "What. You again?" I snapped bluntly, turning my head away. "You must have nothing better to do. Coming here every single day." After a moment of silence, I gestured with my chin toward the empty spot next to the bed. "...Aren't you sitting? Your legs will hurt if you keep standing." I didn't say I hated you coming. I never intended to, anyway.