CW: hospital setting, life-threatening physical health issues, mentions of death.
Chapter 21: 'Don't worry, I'm right here, and I'm not leaving.' (26/7/17)
Gin's forehead burned. His entire body burned. Or so it seemed. The drops of sweat that ran down his temples and torso dampened the white, aseptic bed. He remembered having read somewhere that all fabric in operating rooms was green to avoid blood from standing out visually. He guessed patient's beds were white so nurses could quickly spot any hint of red.
He noticed his pulse shook when his left hand loosened the sheets. Biting his lower lip, he let his head fall back onto the pillow and tried to control his breath. In. Out. Deep breaths. In. Out. The point on the back of his right hand where the intravenous drip met his skin itched. In. Out.
A voice shouted in the corridor. The man turned his face to one side – his head ached. But he didn't want to fall asleep, not on such conditions. Someone started to run in the corridor. He wished the Organization had chosen a different floor for their medical facilities, maybe of a material that muffled noises…
The door of his room opened. He glanced in the direction of the noise and his heart skipped a beat when he recognized the person standing in the threshold. But how could he not recognize that reddish-brown hair, those blue eyes he'd stare into for hours?
Sherry ran to his side and leaned onto the bed.
'Mamoru!' she exclaimed. A dark red dyed her cheeks. 'How are you?'
The man smiled. She had come. His hand reached towards her and she held it as delicately as she would with an injured kitten. He smiled with some effort.
'I've been better.'
'How is your wound?' Sherry's voice sounded as serious and grave as he hadn't heard it in a long while. He noticed she was making a huge effort to come across as calm. Not that he wasn't. Birds of a feather.
'Infected,' he disclosed. She didn't seem surprised. She must have spoken to his doctor. 'I don't know how much.' He pointed at the I.V. with his head. 'The antibiotics don't seem to kick in. I'm glad you're here,' he added.
Sherry's fingertips caressed the palm of his hand. 'How could I not come?'
'By now, I bet they know your number by heart,' he joked. 'How many times have they phoned you in the last year?'
'Thirteen. This, in fact, is number thirteen.'
Gin laughed internally. How fitting for number thirteen to be…
'You're scared, Mamoru.'
Gin returned his attention to Sherry. It had not been a question.
'You're scared,' she insisted.
'I am,' he conceded. Why lie, when she had probably read him as soon as she walked in? 'I've never had a wound infect this bad. I thought…' He paused. He let out a bitter laugh. 'I thought I was going to die without saying my goodbyes to you.' The tears that filled his eyes threatened to fall. He blinked to fight them back and gazed at Sherry. 'But you've come.'
'You're not going to die, Mamoru. Not today,' she claimed as firmly as if she had the last word on the matter. He struggled not to laugh again and averted his eyes. The tears had started rolling down.
'I'm not invincible. Do I need to remind you?' He took a deep breath. 'I'm scared, Shiho. I'm scared. I'm scared to close my eyes and… never open them again – to never see you again.'
Sherry's hand closed tightly around his fingers.
'You won't. Not today.'
Gin bit his lips and let the tears fall freely. The pillow started to dampen. Outside the room, nurses and doctors walked up and down the corridor. Always in a hurry. Never running. The wound in his hip burned.
'Don't worry, I'm right here, and I'm not leaving.'
Gin held her hand back and nodded.
'I know.'