An AU story which is hopefully accurate and to be continued.
I do not own any characters featured in this story.
His world is white. Not the white of the waves far away but that kind of white that stings your eyes, that's sterile and devoid of life as opposed to the sea's vivacity. The void of colour used to be scary but it has become a friend, something that doesn't leave his side no matter how bad it gets. A reminder of a battle he can only lose.
His name is Emil and he is a bedridden ghost that is slowly fading away in a British hospital, or a light blonde teenager who's life depends on a handful of doctors. He only has one visitor, a brother that has given far too much to someone who will die. Their parents are long gone, so are their once devoted friends who finally had enough.
He has his routine, breakfast at eight, tests, lunch at one, therapy and dinner at six. Every day is the same but it suits him, he has never been any good with the kind of change the real world is built upon. However, some days are different.
The air is as cold as the grey floor beneath his bare feet, toes barely touching the linoleum. Emil closes his eyes and counts to ten. The nurse appears at seven to get him into some warmer clothes as opposed to the flimsy gown they have given him to sleep in. Most nurses like to think that he is fragile and that they have to help him with everything, he lets them believe that to save himself from putting any effort into it. He has given up, why shouldn't they accompany him? It's certainly not because of the dull ache in joints or the loss of air he so often expects, at least.
The nurse walks him down to the dining area, through the just as white corridors that make up the adults ward; because he's an adult now, not a sick little kid. It's not something he likes to think about, all those days when he was locked inside coughing his throat out while the sun shone down on the kids playing outside. Because he's in a hospital now and he wont get better again.
He sits down at a table and someone puts down a tray in front of him, a breakfast consisting of the same porridge as it has for months now. It tastes just as beige as it looks.
A white room was to prefer over what Emil discovers upon his, and the nurse's, return to his room. Chaos has suddenly coated the room in shades of red and brown, technical appliance and a large stuffed panda. And in the centre of it all, in the former empty bed, sits a boy glued to what looks like his phone. There is an older man, with as dark hair as the youngsters, sitting in a chair with the most worried look upon his face. The later is whispering something that Emil doesn't quite catch. Doesn't quite care about.
Apparently the nurse had the nerve to leave him alone with these strangers. Or she has gone invisible, it could be either. To avoid confrontation he curls up on his bed with one of his brother's books about some fairytale or other, though something about the stranger keeps him from actually concentrating on said book. Maybe it's those eyes he unfortunately met every time hehappens to look up, they say that eyes can reveal the soul and a soul ought to be easier to concentrate on than some silly children's book. Not that he gives a damn.
"What do you want?" leaves Emil's lips before his manners get the chance to catch it.