-----------------------------------------------------------------------
Notes:
I said in the Ken POV version that if yaoi and/or character death bothers you, don't read. I don't own anything but the fic. This is weird, and I suggest you read the Ken POV version first. It just...sounds better if you do.
Man, this fic made me feel sorry for Daisuke. Usually I don't get myself in tears over him. ^^;; Don't get me wrong, he's a great character. But Ken's got a sadder past, am I right?
Hmmm....not sure who's perspective is sadder this time!
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
Cry---Daisuke's Point of Veiw
by Mercury
If I could do anything to take away sickness and pain, I would.
I could save so many innocent people.
Not only is it terrible, knowing that millions of people die each day, but knowing that someone very close to you could be next makes it all so much worse.
I hate it.
I hate trying to act as though nothing is wrong, and if it is, that it can all be right again very soon. I hate telling people that I know what they're going through. It's a lie.
How could I know? How could I possibly know?
I know I don't understand.
Knowing that your friends could be dead the next millisecond and knowing that all you can do is give them sympathy that they don't want is probably the worst feeling a person can have.
I wonder if the sick people feel as bad as I do?
-*-*-*-*-
It was another tiresome, worry-filled day for me as I walked from my apartment to the hospital. I wondered if, when I walked in his room today, he would still be alive.
Until I reached the room, I was able to think clearly. I could stay within the boundaries of my own mind and let my imagination soar with its varied stories or recovery that I hoped, but dared not believe.
Why did he have to be the one who was dying a painful death from something no one knew about? And why did the others act like it was going to get better?
Finally I reached his room. I opened the door slowly, so as not to awaken him if he was asleep. I saw him, lying on the bed and looking at me through half-closed eyes.
He opened his mouth, but the only sound he could produce was a pitiful cough that ended with a groan of discomfort.
"Shh, don't talk," I said, trying to get him to conserve his energy.
I looked at him, worry finding its way back to my heart again. I hated the way the others tended to neglect him just because he was somewhat different. I was glad to listen to him and talk to him when he needed me to.
This particular visit, I made myself comfortable on the edge of his hospital bed and smiled. He tried to smile back, but his smile looked pained and I could tell he felt bad.
"Ken..." I started. He began coughing, though, and I wasn't able to finish my sentence until he was through. I waited until he was calmed down again before I continued. "I'm worried about you."
He gave me a definate death-glare.
I realized the stupidity of that statement, so I replied to his glare. "Okay, I know, that was obvious. But...it's different now, Ken. I mean, sure, lots of people are worried about you because you're so sick and no one knows what's wrong with you."
I saw his body tense and I figured that he must think I was about to tell him how allright everything was going to be. I wanted to be sure I didn't sympathize too much.
I hoped my worry was enough to comfort him, at least a little bit.
I gave him a sad look and watched as his eyelids drooped and he struggled to stay awake.
His hair looked messy and dirty and his skin was sickly pale. I said the first thing I could think of. "Ken...you look rough today."
Without warning, his eyes misted and he looked like he was drifting away from counciousness as he blinked once at me.
I shook him roughly by the shoulders and shouted "Ken!" over and over again, but to no avail. He couldn't hear me. He was soon lying, unconsciously, in the bed.
-*-*-*-*-
I laid my head on his heaving chest and let my tears simply flow while he was unconscious. I sobbed loudly and ceaselessly for him...I couldn't lose him...I whispered to him softly, "Ken...don't die...please...not yet..."
I felt a light touch on my shoulder and snapped my head up to look at him, gasping as I saw that he was awake again.
His voice was weak and tired as he asked, "What's...wrong?"
I sat up and offered him a hand in sitting up, as well. I looked at him for a minute before I hugged him tightly, whispering to him.
"I thought I'd lost you, Ken."
To my suprise, he didn't try to pull away from my hug. I thought he would probably want to know what happened, so I tried to explain quickly.
"You passed out," I said, choosing my words carefully. "Everyone thought you were dead."
"I feel so weak," he told me quietly. He laid against me and, for reasons I couldn't know, didn't flinch when I stroked his sweating head.
"I know," I replied to him, cursing the catch in my voice that gave away my tears. "They said...the doctors said..."
I paused, finally deciding that the truth, no lies, no sympathy, would be the best way to tell him.
"They said you won't live through the night, Ken."
In an attempt to soothe us both I let my fingers trail through his hair and hummed gently to him.
Finally I asked something I had been wondering. "Why don't you cry?"
Taking a shallow breath and shivering a little, he remarked, "It is weak to cry."
I didn't say anything until I had a reasonable comeback. "Well, you said you felt weak. I think you should cry."
He didn't move, he didn't speak. My only comfort was that he still breathed.
But it made me almost angry with him that he acted so careless about his problem. "You're dying, Ken! You...you act like you don't even care!" I exclaimed. Too late, I realized my mistake in yelling at him.
But apparently it had worked, for in a moment he was shaking and coughing, tears streaming down his pale face as he cried for the first time I had ever seen.
I tightened my grip on him as his shaking continued.
He gasped and forced his words as he said, "I think...this is...this is it..." His quaking body fell against mine, and soon fell perfectly, peacefully, lifelessly still.
I burst into tears, wailing over and over again my pleas for him to be okay, and the message I so wanted him to hear.
"Ken...I love you..."
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
Well? Please review! ...Too much Daiken...goodness, I must be driving you people crazy. ^^;
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
Notes:
I said in the Ken POV version that if yaoi and/or character death bothers you, don't read. I don't own anything but the fic. This is weird, and I suggest you read the Ken POV version first. It just...sounds better if you do.
Man, this fic made me feel sorry for Daisuke. Usually I don't get myself in tears over him. ^^;; Don't get me wrong, he's a great character. But Ken's got a sadder past, am I right?
Hmmm....not sure who's perspective is sadder this time!
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
Cry---Daisuke's Point of Veiw
by Mercury
If I could do anything to take away sickness and pain, I would.
I could save so many innocent people.
Not only is it terrible, knowing that millions of people die each day, but knowing that someone very close to you could be next makes it all so much worse.
I hate it.
I hate trying to act as though nothing is wrong, and if it is, that it can all be right again very soon. I hate telling people that I know what they're going through. It's a lie.
How could I know? How could I possibly know?
I know I don't understand.
Knowing that your friends could be dead the next millisecond and knowing that all you can do is give them sympathy that they don't want is probably the worst feeling a person can have.
I wonder if the sick people feel as bad as I do?
-*-*-*-*-
It was another tiresome, worry-filled day for me as I walked from my apartment to the hospital. I wondered if, when I walked in his room today, he would still be alive.
Until I reached the room, I was able to think clearly. I could stay within the boundaries of my own mind and let my imagination soar with its varied stories or recovery that I hoped, but dared not believe.
Why did he have to be the one who was dying a painful death from something no one knew about? And why did the others act like it was going to get better?
Finally I reached his room. I opened the door slowly, so as not to awaken him if he was asleep. I saw him, lying on the bed and looking at me through half-closed eyes.
He opened his mouth, but the only sound he could produce was a pitiful cough that ended with a groan of discomfort.
"Shh, don't talk," I said, trying to get him to conserve his energy.
I looked at him, worry finding its way back to my heart again. I hated the way the others tended to neglect him just because he was somewhat different. I was glad to listen to him and talk to him when he needed me to.
This particular visit, I made myself comfortable on the edge of his hospital bed and smiled. He tried to smile back, but his smile looked pained and I could tell he felt bad.
"Ken..." I started. He began coughing, though, and I wasn't able to finish my sentence until he was through. I waited until he was calmed down again before I continued. "I'm worried about you."
He gave me a definate death-glare.
I realized the stupidity of that statement, so I replied to his glare. "Okay, I know, that was obvious. But...it's different now, Ken. I mean, sure, lots of people are worried about you because you're so sick and no one knows what's wrong with you."
I saw his body tense and I figured that he must think I was about to tell him how allright everything was going to be. I wanted to be sure I didn't sympathize too much.
I hoped my worry was enough to comfort him, at least a little bit.
I gave him a sad look and watched as his eyelids drooped and he struggled to stay awake.
His hair looked messy and dirty and his skin was sickly pale. I said the first thing I could think of. "Ken...you look rough today."
Without warning, his eyes misted and he looked like he was drifting away from counciousness as he blinked once at me.
I shook him roughly by the shoulders and shouted "Ken!" over and over again, but to no avail. He couldn't hear me. He was soon lying, unconsciously, in the bed.
-*-*-*-*-
I laid my head on his heaving chest and let my tears simply flow while he was unconscious. I sobbed loudly and ceaselessly for him...I couldn't lose him...I whispered to him softly, "Ken...don't die...please...not yet..."
I felt a light touch on my shoulder and snapped my head up to look at him, gasping as I saw that he was awake again.
His voice was weak and tired as he asked, "What's...wrong?"
I sat up and offered him a hand in sitting up, as well. I looked at him for a minute before I hugged him tightly, whispering to him.
"I thought I'd lost you, Ken."
To my suprise, he didn't try to pull away from my hug. I thought he would probably want to know what happened, so I tried to explain quickly.
"You passed out," I said, choosing my words carefully. "Everyone thought you were dead."
"I feel so weak," he told me quietly. He laid against me and, for reasons I couldn't know, didn't flinch when I stroked his sweating head.
"I know," I replied to him, cursing the catch in my voice that gave away my tears. "They said...the doctors said..."
I paused, finally deciding that the truth, no lies, no sympathy, would be the best way to tell him.
"They said you won't live through the night, Ken."
In an attempt to soothe us both I let my fingers trail through his hair and hummed gently to him.
Finally I asked something I had been wondering. "Why don't you cry?"
Taking a shallow breath and shivering a little, he remarked, "It is weak to cry."
I didn't say anything until I had a reasonable comeback. "Well, you said you felt weak. I think you should cry."
He didn't move, he didn't speak. My only comfort was that he still breathed.
But it made me almost angry with him that he acted so careless about his problem. "You're dying, Ken! You...you act like you don't even care!" I exclaimed. Too late, I realized my mistake in yelling at him.
But apparently it had worked, for in a moment he was shaking and coughing, tears streaming down his pale face as he cried for the first time I had ever seen.
I tightened my grip on him as his shaking continued.
He gasped and forced his words as he said, "I think...this is...this is it..." His quaking body fell against mine, and soon fell perfectly, peacefully, lifelessly still.
I burst into tears, wailing over and over again my pleas for him to be okay, and the message I so wanted him to hear.
"Ken...I love you..."
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
Well? Please review! ...Too much Daiken...goodness, I must be driving you people crazy. ^^;
-----------------------------------------------------------------------