Fades to Black [ hidekane ]

watery light is never enough, never ever

The light leaking through the hospital window, Kaneki notes, is watery and pathetic, a sad diluted yellow version of the brilliant gold it surely was beyond the panes. You should get some sun, they tell him. It'll be good for you.

He laughs right in their faces. Of course. Sun is just what a skin cancer patient needs, isn't it?

He's begging. Pleading for someone to notice that no, he's not really that bitter, he does want to go outside and bake in the gold until he becomes one with it, he loves the sun more than his health but he'll be damned if he has to say it aloud he shouldn't have to he shouldn't be here god damn it all he wants is to go home, he just wants someone to say to him "yeah let's go home" and hug him and let him cry because his life is ending far too early he's too young to die he hasn't gone to university or gotten a job or fallen in love or made a difference--

and his panic attack must've set off some sort of alarm because blurry identical nurses are surging into his room and touching him and jabbering in a language he can't understand over the screaming in his head and the hyperventilating is making things worse I want to do things I don't want to die damn this cancer damn it all to hell-- I just want to go home-- and sobs are wracking his body and he's shaking uncontrollably like he forgot his meds this morning and maybe he did or maybe he's just so done with it but he doesn't want to go he wants, he, he, he's lost and he wants to be found, looked at, touched loved belonged to and his thoughts are scrambling and all he can really make out is someone whispering to him

I know you want to go home Kaneki I know let's just go home buddy--

and the nurses don't understand why he's crying

and he knows this watery, filtered light-of-a-life he's living here will never, ever be enough.