Between the pages

Chapter 9 A Promise to wait

"What's this, Y/N?" Giyu asked, his brow furrowing as his eyes scanned the hospital papers on the table, his gaze lingering on the text that held everything you had been struggling to say—and everything you had been desperately trying to keep from him.

You couldn't bring yourself to answer him. A lump formed in your throat as you turned to meet his eyes—eyes that were now searching yours with quiet desperation. He was looking for any flicker of honesty, any sign that you might finally admit the truth that laid bare before you and him.

In the end, he averted his gaze, the disbelief and quiet disappointment radiating from him as he spoke in a strained murmur. "You finally did it..." His voice trembled, barely a whisper. He couldn't bring himself to meet your eyes again.

A long, heavy silence stretched between you, thick and suffocating. It was deafening, and neither of you could find the words to break it.

"And you didn't tell me what was wrong, you didn't tell me how serious it was" he finally said, his voice cutting through the heavy silence like a blade.

You looked down and frowned. He knew you so well, even though you hadn't known each other for very long. He could decipher each fleeting expression like it was his everyday language, he could read you like a children's book—simple, clear, and unguarded. 

No matter how thick each lie was, he always managed to pull back each layer find the truth behind your eyes.

"You know, I had a feeling this was the problem.,." He continued, his voice strained and unsteady. His words were followed by a shattering chuckle—A sound so hollow it echoed in the room, betraying how he was slowly breaking beneath the seams. It wasn't laughter born from humor, but from the sheer helplessness of it all.

Within a few steps, he was right in front of you. His hands pulled you into a firm embrace, and you leaned your head against his chest, listening to the steady thrum of his heartbeat. You savored the fleeting comfort he provided, but it didn't truly feel like it was for you. His arms trembled slightly as they held you close, and it struck you that this wasn't just him comforting you—it was him trying desperately to comfort himself, as if holding you was the only thing tethering him to some sense of control.

You stayed quiet, your lips parted slightly as if to say something, but no words came. You gave him the time he needed to process it all, to hold onto you and let the weight of the moment settle.

You couldn't cry, you brought this upon yourself... No—stop it. That isn't the reason, stop lying. You couldn't not because you didn't want to but because deep inside you felt so hollow, you couldn't bring yourself to cry. The grief, the fear, and the guilt—It was locked away somewhere your mind couldn't reach.

So you stood there, still and silent in his arms, waiting for him to let go, even though neither of you truly wanted to.

"How did you know it was that..?" you finally asked, your voice barely above a whisper. The question had been plaguing your mind since the moment he said he had a feeling—this was the problem. By this, it meant the words written on the papers.

He rested his chin on your head and sighed

He sighed, his chin resting on the top of your head as his arms remained securely around you. "It wasn't hard to piece together," he began, his voice soft but laced with a quiet exhaustion. "You complained about not being able to sleep. At first, I thought it was just insomnia—stress maybe. But then a few days turned into a week, and it didn't get better."

He paused, his hand moving gently up and down your back. "I started noticing the little things: how tired you looked even when you pretended to be fine, how you struggled to focus. I wanted to believe it was something simple... something that could be fixed, but you started lying... Telling me it was gone."

His voice faltered for a moment, and you could feel the tension in his chest as he took a deep breath. "So, I looked into it. I read everything I could. And every sign pointed to this... even if I didn't want it to."

You kept quiet for a while, taking a deep breath. It hit you then—he never truly believed the little lies you told him. All this time, he saw through it.

"I'll be fine, don't worry."

The words slipped out, but they felt weak, almost as if you were trying to convince him of something you didn't even believe yourself.

—-----------—

Time flew by like a constant stream, and before you knew it, a few days had passed. You hadn't even realized how quickly the hours slipped away until you found yourself here—sitting by the window, glancing out at the sky, the world moving on outside while you remained still.

The door to your hospital room creaked open, breaking silence that bounced across the room.

"How you holding up?" His familiar voice greets you with a soft approach, carrying a warmth that made you feel a little less alone. As the door clicked shut behind him, he took quiet steps towards you

You hummed in response, not trusting yourself to say much more. A moment later, you felt the familiar weight of his jacket wrap around you from behind. His hands gently settled on your shoulders.

The touch was both reassuring and comforting, like a silent promise that, despite everything, he was still here and will always be here.

"I brought you a tart," he said, his voice tinged with a hint of playfulness, as if trying to bring a small distraction into the quiet room. He carefully set the treat on the table beside you, the light scent of it filling the air. You turned slightly to look at him, the smallest trace of a smile tugging at your lips despite everything.

"Thanks.." Your response was short, silent, and reserved. It was a stark contrast to the usual care-free lightness you carried with you anywhere you went.. But it comforted him to know that you weren't pretending anymore—at least not for the time being.

You leaned your head against the window frame and closed your eyes. It would honestly be nice to fall asleep now, to escape for just a little while. But even sedatives didn't work anymore.

"You know FFI doesn't have a cure, right?" He stated the obvious, his voice quiet but firm. You already knew that Fatal Familial Insomnia had no treatment, no escape.

"I'll be fine, don't worry." And there it was again, the same lie. Well, it was nice while it lasted.

Your eyes fluttered open to take in the sight of the leaves falling from the trees outside, its leaves slowly drifting to find their place on the ground. You thought about his words, he was right, it doesn't have a cure... but you still take it so lightly.

You got up and looked at the familiar black-haired boy. He was still in his uniform, his appearance as composed as always.

"You didn't change?"

"I... was— in a rush."

You chuckled softly and shook your head. He didn't need to rush; it wasn't like you were going anywhere.

As both of you exchanged glances for a few minutes, the familiar, silence lingered in the room. It was the kind of silence that didn't feel empty anymore—just a quiet understanding between you, without the need for words.

"You still wear the necklace I bought you, right Y/N?"

"Huh? Of course I do." You smiled before reaching to pull out the pendant

He returned your smiled as he saw you pull out the necklace, his gaze softening. Then, his eyes drifted over to the books on the nightstand, and he sighed, shaking his head in amusement. His attention then shifted to the notebook at the end of the bed, curiosity flickering in his expression.

You caught onto the way he looked at the notebook, he seemed curious, longing to see the story that unfolds within those pages. He wanted to read what was written but you had answered the unsaid thoughts lingering in his mind.

"It isn't ready yet"

You say out of nowhere and he chuckles

"Then I'll be waiting."

Waiting... What if it takes an eternity? What if it never gets ready?

 ...Would you still be waiting?