" promise to never forget me . "
; you were diagnosed with
a fatal disease and loses
your memories as the
months go by
note ; this is literally an old haikyu
oneshot i wrote and i liked it so i
switched stuff around for this
context
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It's terrifying sometimes, knowing that you're going to die, and there's nothing you can do to stop it.
It's like an out-of-body experience, watching time slowly consume you and eat away at your insides. The parasite burrowed in your heart, tearing away your sense of pride and emotion.
You were diagnosed with Creutzfeldt-Jakob disease less than two months ago, and it seemed like the tunnel vision enveloping your life had grown darker since then.
Your partner in battle, Porco galliard, had been visiting your hospital room every day after meetings, bringing little cards with pictures and phrases you struggled to remember. Things like adjectives and proper nouns were the hardest to keep track of, and the easiest to forget.
Today marked the forty-fifth day of your imprisonment, and Porco was sitting in the chair next to your bed, his head slumped lazily to the side in a slight effort to relax. Strands of loose hair fell over his eyes, and his mouth curved into a sour frown.
"Hey, you okay?" he turned his head towards you and shrugged.
"It's just been a long day," he said curtly. He'd been on edge the past few days, likely worn out by the warrior candidates and their constant quarrels. Or maybe it had been because you were slowly starting to lose track of more and more things, jumbling up days and names.
"Well, you could've gone home and gotten some rest instead of visiting. You've taken quite a liking to me, hmm?~" he noticed the sly grin pass by your lips, and he slid his hand across his face.
"No, I don't like you, I mean- I like you, but not like that-" you giggled at his screw-up and didn't bother to acknowledge the faint red tint across his face.
"Oh, you're so messy with words sometimes. That's what I love about you."
One month at most.
That's what they said.
You were finally given a confirmed death date about three months after your diagnosis, or was it four? Every day was a burden by now, and you made several unsuccessful attempts at keeping memories inside your head.
It got hard to breathe sometimes, and you could never understand why the two people that often came in the room cried when you couldn't remember their names. The only name you could remember was Porco.
He would still visit you but never come into the room. On the rare occasion you'd see him poke his head through the doorway, he wore a mask of sleeplessness and agitation. Sometimes you'd even see him in tears. He seemed to be in a worse state than you were.
Three weeks.
Porco stopped showing up, and the doctors wouldn't tell you why. You cried silently to yourself on the days when you were alone, fearing that you'd forget what he looked like. A man with short blonde you and stubble came in and took Porco's place, trying to cheer you up with some light conversations. You forgot the discussions within a day.
Two weeks
Yet again, he didn't come to visit during the week. The hospital food was starting to lose its flavour, and it rained all week. You realised that you had feelings for him. Sure, it was too late for you to be in a relationship, but you could still daydream. Daydream about what could've been if you had even an ounce more time.
One week
"Have you been feeling alright?" the doctor asked as he replenished your IV drip. You nodded, leaning back into your bed.
"It's a surprise you haven't gone into a coma yet. Most of the patients we've seen with Creutzfeldt-Jakob become comatose until death," he murmured while checking up on the rest of the equipment.
"I guess I'm just special, huh?" the doctor curtly smiled and glanced back at you. You saw his eyes glaze over with a look of pain, but you didn't understand why. he must've been one of the rookies who might not be able to handle younger people like you losing their lives so soon.
"Anyways, call if you need anything." with that, he walked out, leaving the room to return to silence.
One day
It hurt. Everything hurt. Your head, your arms, your face, everything. Your vision blurred in and out of focus, and you feared for the worst.
You had a few scares throughout the day when your heart rate dipped down to dangerous levels. You knew this was the end, but you just wanted to hold on for a bit longer. You knew that you had to wait for someone or something, but you couldn't put a touch on what it was. But then the door slammed open, and a man no older than twenty bursts in.
He had blonde, slicked-back hair and a square jaw that was set against his face, and it softened ever so slightly when he saw you. He was distraught and clearly came in with a sense of urgency. He shouldered the doctors out of the way and kneeled beside your hospital bed.
"I'm sorry for not being here; I just, I couldn't bear to see you like- like this," he whispered angrily, holding your hands in his. They were warm, almost comforting in a way. He looked at you, hopeful that you'd understand his dilemma. But as you examined his face, you frowned and knitted your eyebrows together.
"Who are you?"
