Sleep apnea, narcolepsy, sleep deprivation: the doctor wrote off more diagnosis to Eichi's already file, bloated like a corpse, and he stared, blankly, at the window behind the doctor's head.
It was a beautiful sunny day outside, but Eichi could barely feel the warmth on his skin, clammy and cold and uncaring. There's a machine being put on the table, instructions for use being registered, but not assimilated, into his mind. He'd use it faithfully later, but right now there was only a bone-deep weariness in his body.
He was so tired of being sick, so tired of needing help to be able to be alive, his body a joke everyone but him was onto. Eichi wanted the normalcy of rarely seeing the inside of the white hospital walls, of being able to dance for more than a set without feeling like he'd collapse and die before he got out of the spotlight.
One more diagnosis. One more medicine, trying to stave off the death his useless body craved so much. One more machine that would or not prove itself useless against his condition du jour , a growing pile on his side of the dorm room.
There was a body, failing, in the place where Eichi was, and he wasn't sure how much he could let this go on.
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barely breathing at all
FanfictionIt was a beautiful sunny day outside, but Eichi could barely feel the warmth on his skin, clammy and cold and uncaring.
