Chittaphon Leechaiyakul, the boy with a terminal illness that feared death. He played with the papery hospital sheet in between his fingertips, staring at the wall in a daze. His legs felt stiff, though he didn't care, he was used to it. His chest ached, his heart violently pulsing as if to reject every feeling but pain. His thoughts spun in circles, ultimately coming to the same thought every time they rounded. Death. He was dying, he had been for a while now, yet, how he longed to live.

Chittaphon Leechaiyakul longed to feel the sun shine down on his face. He longed to be outside where everyone else was. He longed to be normal. More than anything, he longed to be loved. He longed for the pain to stop. He was alone, alone and in pain. Alone and dying. He was dying alone. 

Ignoring the stiffness in his legs, he stands. Feeling a tickle in his throat as he bends down to grab a beige sweater, he quickly straightens, nearly doubling over once more at the pain in his chest. A heavy heave shakes his body, a violent series of coughs following. He pants, gasping for air as he presses a hand to his bare chest. A pressure squeezes his throat before a soft yellow petal flutters to the floor, followed by several more. Chittaphon props himself against the wall as his knees weaken, pants sending tremors through his body as he struggled to stay standing. 

Drawing in a deep breath, Chittaphon straightens himself. His breathing is slow and falsely calm as he pulls the sweater over his head. He stares at the door to his hospital room before slowly making his way to it, legs aching along the way. He was used to it, acting impulsive like this. Doing stupid things like this. Opening the door and bumping into someone like this. 

Chittaphon looks up, once again in a daze, his head pounding as he squints at the taller male in front of him, "I'm sorry? Who- who are you?" 

The male stares at him silently, arm following Chittaphon's to the door frame. He tilts his head, eyes flickering to Chittaphon's throat as clears it rather loudly. He quirks an eyebrow, raising his hand to meet fingers with Chittaphon's. His hands are cold, ice cold. They send a shiver through Chittaphon's arm and down his spine. 

"Can- can you move? I'm trying to- I'm trying to leave." Chittaphon rasps, trying to sound affirming. 

The male before him holds affection in his thin eyes, though all affection is quickly replaced with a scowl as if he was saying "Oh, you think so, huh? Because I believe that isn't true." 

Chittaphon sighed, shaking his head before turning on his heel, his back now facing the taller male, "I'll count- count to three." 

The male too, turns, though he doesn't move, "One."