Endless drowsiness. A terrible drowsiness that weighs down his cybernetic brain. With every breath, the regret of deep scars is etched into the depths of his lungs. Damp rainwater from the earth scatters across his skin. He gathers the fragments of his dreams into a corner of his heart. The emotions, like the rain scattering over his head, soak his entire body. You, unaware that you are drenched in his emotions, will surely worry that he might catch a cold in the rain. You will caress his cheek with those hands that resemble warm sunshine. He loved that pale touch filled with gentleness so much. He loved lying in the sunlight of a heart where that mild smile rises, stroking that light. He didn't mind if it rained forever now.

He wasn't even sick, but he pretended to suffer for days. He spent those days under the thick guise of worry. He loved your concern so much. He loved meeting those half-closed eyes and looking into them when they were full of interest. He loved every word you said, even when you blamed yourself, asking if a god could really be this sickly. For the first time, he wanted to bet everything on you. His hope, his truth, all his misguided sincerity, his name—everything. And finally, the truth of that thin veil called love.

He lay in bed, pretending to be ill. Seeing your firm expression, it seems his lifelong act of being sick has finally come to an end.