The human brain is a complex organ. Despite humanity's best efforts, its full capabilities and mechanisms are still mostly a mystery. A part of the brain's blood supply can be cut off for a time and the person could still make a full recovery. Someone could walk around one minute perfectly fine, then collapse dead on the ground in the next due to a burst blood vessel.
Modern Medicine and Nen based medical practices have made great advances in the past years.
But due to the complexity of the bodily control system, there are some things that cannot be fixed, cannot be cured. Symptoms and stresses of a disease can be relieved, quality of life can be accommodated as much as possible, but palliative care is the only long-term treatment.
A comfortable way to die.
A wide variety of neurological symptoms and the way they can present in different patients makes a firm diagnosis something difficult, misdiagnoses can happen due to the smallest mistakes.
"Did you two get into a fight- Like an actual one this time? → Pariston"
Cheadle mustered him from across the table with a furrowed brow. She has long stopped trying to supress the subconscious need to always address someone by their name while speaking. Some Neurological specialties don't need necessarily need fixing.
"What makes you think so?"
She expects a quip, a tease, a false grin with distractingly white teeth. Pariston Hill may be the most unpleasant and uncomfortable person Cheadle had ever had the displeasure of working with, but there was a sort of comfort in their antagonistic play and routine they had found in each other.
Until recently.
"You have been quieter, which in usual circumstances I'd be grateful for, however; It's becoming eerie. You also just look pathetic. → Pariston"
A single raised eyebrow in response.
"You're pale and look like you're sinking into yourself. If it's the flu, I'd appreciate it if you'd stay home and not infect the entire office. → Pariston"
He did look paler than usual, his eyes were reddened and lined with gray circles, sunken in.
"How sweet of you to care, dearest Cheadle. I have just been losing some precious sleep. Must be all of my busy, important responsibilities keeping me up." He forced a tired smile, though it lacked bite or any of the usual grandiose.
Apathy. Loss of sleep. Possible weight loss. A bell goes off in her head, but it's impolite to try and diagnose colleagues.
—
It took another two weeks until Pariston sought out help by himself.
The Zodiac meeting had been numbingly boring, and he did not have the energy to spice it up, too many lucid dreams had been preventing him from getting well rested. All he wanted was for the day to end, to go home and fall into a soft bed with expensive linen.
He had poured himself cup after cup of coffee until then. But when he tried to grasp the cup, keep his caffeine levels up-
crash-
All heads turned towards him, hand still mid air where he thought he was taking the cup, but instead had just shoved it off the counter.
"Whoops~! Well, what do we have a faithful clean-up crew for, am I right?" He beamed a smile at everyone and returned to his seat.
"What a waste of good coffee." Ging mumbled and leered at Pariston. What's going on? He could practically read the question in his eyes.
"If you think that's good coffee, I feel sorry for your taste buds." Another light laugh. He'd refuse to even look in Ging's direction for the rest of the meeting. Instead, "Oh, Dear Cheadle, I have a matter of utmost importance to discuss with you after this, I'm sure you don't mind me borrowing some of your precious time."
"...Of course. → Pariston"
–
"Double Vision? → Pariston"
"Well, mostly on my left side. And not all the time. But you can see how it can make events like today a little…" He waved a hand around as if grasping for words, "...embarrassing." Pariston had sat down on the large desk in his office, legs crossed, as if the height advantage would make the conversation any less uncomfortable.
"If you fix this for me, I am certain we can find a way to compensate you that will also keep this behind closed doors. Didn't you mention some much needed vacation time? It may just be, that I know a guy who's in chaaarge~."
"You don't have to bribe me into doing my doctorly duty. It's frowned upon. If you could just come with me into the clinic, I could-"
"No clinic, no no no." He waved a chastising finger in front of her nose. "What are the people supposed to think if they see me walk in there?"
"...That you're sick? →Pariston"
"I don't get sick, Cheadle. I'm the epitome of health, something that should be admired and not questioned." Or exploited for pity if absolutely necessary, but he didn't have to tell her that.
Cheadle gave an exhausted sigh, fingers on her temple. "Alright, fine. At least let me get a history, and we'll see what I can do with it. →Pariston"
He gave a confident nod, though with his sunken eyes, it lacked the usual charm. Cheadle concentrated on a medical routine to suppress her need to repeat his name.
"How long have you had double vision?"
"About 3 weeks."
"Any other strange symptoms that have recently appeared?"
"Oh, nothing wild. I've been sleeping a little worse than usual. That may have made me a bit more…jumpy?"
"Significant Weight Loss?"
"My, I didn't think anyone would notice~" He smiled as if it were a casual compliment.
"How much, approximately?"
"Maybe around 10kg in the last half year. I've changed personal chefs, and the new one just hasn't figured out how to cook with high end ingredients."
Cheadle rolled her eyes, while mentally she noted everything she had just been told.
Weight Loss at around 10kg in 6 months. Double vision. Anxiety. Insomnia.
"Any family history of neurological diseases?"
A half-hearted shrug. "Your guess is as good as mine."
"I'd like to take a couple blood tests-" He opened his mouth to interject, but Cheadle continued sternly "I'll have them filed as routine blood work to not raise any eyebrows. I can take the samples here. →Pariston"
"See, I knew you'd be able to make such easy little adjustments."
She rolled her eyes at him, though there was an underlying tension, a tension that made her fear for the worst. The samples for CBC, ESR, and serum collection went out that day as an emergency.
—
"Good News, you don't seem to have an infection or failing liver; Bad News, I'm forcing you to the clinic for an MRI. → Pariston"
Cheadle had read over the lab results a couple of times with a brow that furrowed deeper and deeper each time before she returned to Paristons office.
"Ah, sure."
"You need to- Huh? → Pariston"
Pariston was sitting at his desk, pushing the same files as this morning back and forth in front of him. He nodded with a relaxed smile at her news.
"You agree to the procedure? I have a consent form that you'll have to sign-" That I was going to fake in case you were noncompliant, she did not say, for medical integrity.
"Mh, sure, let's do it." Paristons eyes seemed to be fixed at a point way in the distance, way beyond Cheadle.
Weight Loss at around 10kg in 6 months. Double vision. Anxiety. Insomnia. Apathy. Possible changes in personality.
She let him sign the papers, offered to go through the risks and uses of the procedure with him, but his attention obviously didn't lie with her.
On their way down to the clinic, a relatively small one underground of the hunter association, Cheadle had sent a message to her staff to chase them out. VIP treatment, no witnesses.
Pariston would complain dramatically about the noise level of the MRI machine, with the same dramatics as she had gotten used to over the years, which at least granted her some relief; The Symptoms weren't constant and didn't seem to worsen immediately.
"Please stay still for a little while, I'm going to grab vials for some more sampling. →Pariston" Cheadle announced over the intercom in the imaging room.
However, when she exited to make her way to the pharmacy supply room, she encountered an intruder of the worst kind.
"What are you doing here? →Ging"
The man had been leaning against a wall casually, but the twitch of his eyes betrayed his calm.
"I was looking for Paris and the mistress he must have, since he's blowing off our meeting. Didn't think we'd share similar bad tastes."
"Very funny; Pariston is not here; And I will have to ask you to leave my clinic unless you're here for an emergency. →Ging"
Ging pushed himself away from the wall to fully face the young woman, his stance relaxed but eyes tensing.
"I am always funny; Yes he is; My emergency is that I'd like to know where he is because otherwise he might be up to something suspicious."
"It's Pariston, when is he not up to something suspicious? →Ging"
Ging hesitated. It was time for Cheadles eyes to narrow and tense. "...What is going on? →Ging"
"He has just been acting a bit strange- Different strange, a kind of strange that he is trying to pretend is not happening." He cracked his fingers, twisted his hands as if trying to endure some sharp pains. "Why is he down here?"
"With all due respect-" She sighed, "I legally can't tell you anything. →Ging"
"Legally I am his closest living relative." He brushed his thumb against the finger where a ring could have been, maybe be, in a relationship that could be more closely defined.
"That only becomes relevant in case he can't speak for himself. Until then-" She grabbed the necessary tools to take more blood and spit samples, "You leave my clinic, or else I'll give you a real emergency to be here. →Ging"
—
The MRI came back negative for any abnormalities, unknown masses in the brain, aneurysms, signs of a stroke-
The list of possible diagnoses started to shorten drastically. Cheadle had considered doing a brain biopsy, though with no apparent abnormal tissue, it would be a needle in a haystack to find anything conclusive.
There was one thing they haven't tested for yet. Something Cheadle dreaded, but that slowly became unavoidable.
"I'd like to take another blood and spit sample, for some genetic testing. → Pariston"
He looked up from his work- the same contract he had been working on for a week now. Pariston had his suits refitted, make-up applied, just so he would at least look healthier than he felt. No one would know he hasn't been able to sleep for about 3 weeks now.
"Genetic testing? Don't tell me the extensive family history I gave wasn't enough, I'm shocked." The extensive family history consisted of another half-hearted shrug and pointing out famous actors who may or may not be distant relatives.
"Just give me your arm. →Pariston"
She prepared a couple of blood test tubes and searched along his arm for an acceptable vein. "Do you feel any change from the meds I've given you? →Pariston"
"Sleep continues to be an elusive mistress, if you mean that. Ging says I've been moody, I think he's mad that I washed his whites with my pinks. Ow-"
"All done, all done. I'll take a swab of the inside of your mouth, do not bite it. Pariston"
He probably would have made a crude joke (if he were still himself, she tried not to think), if Cheadle didn't immediately proceed to jam the cotton swab into his mouth.
Her hands were shaking as much as his.
—
Cheadle called him in for more swabs.
Cheadle called the lab for more re-dos.
The lab called with the same result each time.
—
Ging had watched for the past weeks how Pariston warped into a muted version of himself.
He noticed the weight loss with every touch to the waist, how his clothes started to swallow him up, how the tailor costs increased over the months.
He noticed how, at first, Pariston would start to sleep over the day, take naps, disguise them as chances to keep Ging with him.
And then how he'd toss and turn at night, unable to get rest, breathing only slowing after hours of repeated sleep rituals.
At some point, his breathing never slowed. Ging knew that Pariston was just lying there, motionless, feigning sleep.
If Pariston hadn't sought out Cheadle himself, Ging wondered how much longer he would have put up with his charade until he'd dragged him to the clinic himself.
It's probably some Nen curse, he thought at one point, fuck around and find out.
A Nen curse would have been a relatively easy fix, provided the right contacts (which Ging had, even if it required pulling some bigger favours).
But more time passed. Pariston kept sneaking to the clinic- he wasn't fooling anyone; he must have been aware of that.
The blond eventually started looking for excuses not to sleep together anymore. "Oh, you snore too loud." "Oh, you keep kicking me in your sleep." "Oh, I have to stay at the office and work."
Though some of the reasons may have had some truth to them, he had been able to deal with it before as well.
Pariston used to be an excellent liar- or just uncomfortably truthful- but he started to falter in both areas.
Then Ging was called into the clinic as well.
Pariston had already been sitting in the blindingly sterile clinic office, legs crossed, hair perfect, eyes sunken.
"Ah, thank you for coming, please take a seat. →Ging"
Cheadle was sitting at a desk that seemed just a bit too big for her. If she hadn't been looking like she saw a ghost, he may have said something about it.
"Cheadle, what is he doing here? Do I need to remind you of a certain law-"
"-I have chosen to contact your next of kin in a dire situation, which, as a doctor, is both lawful and my duty. →Pariston"
Pariston glanced over to the other man. "I thought that only applied to relations by blood."
"Marriage, no matter how loose the definition for some, is a powerful term. →Both of you"
Ging flinched, disliking being dragged into the chastising.
"...You mentioned a dire situation." The blond tilted his head to the side.
The young doctor shifted in her seat.
"The genetic tests confirmed my suspicions. I am not going to dumb it down for you, I do respect you both enough for that. You've tested positive for a mutation of the PRNP gene, which is responsible for the creation of the prion protein 'PrPC'. This has caused you to develop FFI."
She took a breath, obviously forcing herself into a form of cold professionalism. Ging subconsciously dug his nails into the chair.
Why am I here? He knew the answer.
"Familial Insomnia. All of your symptoms -the weight loss, the mood changes, the double visions- the insomnia. It all comes back to that."
"F-F-I. You're missing an F in the acronym." Ging spoke up. His throat felt dry.
"Ah, I-"
"I can take a guess."
Pariston smiled. It wasn't taunting or snide or teasing. It looked empty.
"Fatal."
–
Cheadle explained the four stages of the disease, how Pariston was somewhere between the first and second.
She explained how the symptoms would worsen over time.
She explained a lot of things about treating symptoms. 'Palliative Care'.
Pariston watched Ging the whole time; the way his eyes were fixed on the woman in front of them, the way his facial muscles tensed as the time passed, the way his hands tried to busy themselves.
This was, in a way, a win.
Not that there was a consistent way to win their game. But there have always been partial wins. When Ging got Pariston to admit that he missed him because he had been on a 13 month expedition, that had been a win. When they both stopped tapping out and actually got engaged, that had been a win.
This, fatally binding and attention grabbing as it was, was a win. Pariston felt like he had set up a perfect chessboard, and was ready to get up and let his opponent eternally ponder his moves.
But somehow it didn't make him feel like a winner.
The inevitable death.
"How much time will I have?"
He had interrupted Cheadle in an explanation of the genetic aspects of the disease -not like it matters- and she seemed to startle.
"...It's difficult to say. It can be as much as 2 years, as little as a couple of months. →Pariston"
"How much time of functioning normally will I have?"
"The last stage can last about 6 months, possibly longer, it entails a rapid cognitive decline, dementia-like symptoms; It's impossible to say how long it'll take for you to get there though. →Pariston"
He leaned back into this chair; the smile wouldn't leave his lips.
–
"I won't treat you differently because of this." Ging and Pariston sat in latter's apartment, which always seemed too empty and big, but now it felt borderline claustrophobic.
"I would have held it against you if you did." He warmed his hands on a fresh cup of coffee. Lack of sleep gave him hypotonia, which in turn stunted his circulation.
"It's just like you to get a super special rare disease, isn't it? A regular cold just wasn't enough."
"Ambition, Drive, and being unique by birth. Seethe in your jealousy."
Ging chuckled, but the blond could hear the strain at the back of his throat.
"...I'll keep sleeping here; If I don't keep tabs on you, you're just going to start planning an extravagant funeral." He reached out for Paristons hands and took it in his own. The heat from his skin soothed far better than the coffee cup.
"How dare you foil my plan~"
–
Cheadle started to come by for weekly visits. 'Neurological check-ups' , she called them, feigning that strong professionalism once again.
"Any trouble with your vision?"
"No."
"Any further weight loss?"
"Not since you've prescribed me these shakes that taste like dissolving flesh."
"Problems walking?"
"No."
"...Ging mentioned you wobble occasionally. Pariston"
"There's a reason he's not invited to these visits." Pariston crossed his arms.
"Any sensory hallucinations, this includes olfactory, visual, auditory-"
"I guess sometimes the insects I've been trying to swat haven't been exactly corporeal. "
"When was the last time you have fallen asleep for any amount of time?"
"About 4 weeks." He fondly remembers the last time he passed out on the couch, piano music lulling him to sleep.
Cheadle scribbled a few notes into a small notebook.
"I am going to ask you some questions to assess your memory. First, what's your name?"
"Pariston Hill. If you don't suppress your speech quirk, that answer will become much easier."
"What is my name?"
"Cheadle Yorkshire."
"Good. Do you know where we currently are?"
"My living room, in my apartment in Swardani city, about 2 miles from my office."
"What day is it?"
"May the 5th."
"What's the name of your partner?"
"Is that what you're calling him now? Not the dreaded h-word?" Pariston smirked.
"Only if you call him that first. The name, please. →Pariston" She furrowed her brow when his interruption made her lose focus once again.
"Ging Freecss."
"Thank you. That should be all for now." She pocketed her notebook and straightened up. "Please don't hesitate to contact me if anything happens, as your primary care provider, I do unfortunately feel responsible for you now. →Pariston"
Pariston crossed his legs leisurely. "Who would have thought that all it needed for us to become closer was a deadly disease?"
He did not get a laugh from her, but he still felt very satisfied with himself.
"Where's Ging, by the way? I'd like to discuss a few things with him as well."
"He's visiting his son, I was trying to be a good influence and forced him to go. Birthdays are supposedly very important for children, aren't they?" He stood up to step closer to her. "But there's nothing you need to discuss with him anyway. Everything important can go through me."
"...There are things that are best discussed with the family of the afflicted. There is going to be a time when you won't be able to make bigger decisions anymore, I just want to prep him-"
The man put a hand on her shoulder and came dangerously close to her. "Everything important will go through me, as long as I am still capable of making these decisions."
A heavy silence fell between them.
–
Ging had been right when he said Pariston was wobbling while walking. He's observant like that.
After a couple more weeks, it didn't take his knowledge of Pariston to see his difficulty walking anymore. Even just standing had become a strenuous task, so every chance he got, he'd sit down as if he owned the place. He also chose to use this to inconvenience Ging as much as possible.
"Be a dear and fetch me my maroon tie- No, that's ruby red. It's the one right next to the wine red one."
"These are all equally red and equally hideous."
With a sigh he stood up and slowly walked towards the other man. Ging wrapped a steady arm around his waist as support and watched as Pariston picked out the right tie. It's the same red as all the other ones.
"If you can't differentiate maroon from ruby, I am going to be very concerned about coordinated black and grays at my funeral."
Gings fingers involuntarily twitched at the mention of a funeral. No, not any funeral. Paristons funeral. The inevitable funeral. The one that is coming sooner than either of them anticipated. He tugged the other man a bit closer to him, nuzzling into the crook of his neck for just a second.
"You won't be there to cringe at it anyway."
"Ging Freecss, if I see you wearing two different shades of black at my funeral, I will crawl out of my coffin and throw you into my grave instead."
I wish you would, is what he didn't say.
–
They spent the week at a small beach home, far from anyone who could look at Pariston with pity in their eyes. Instead, he got to sit in the sun, limbs not feeling cold or stiff for once; The only person watching him was Ging, and though he was more emotive than ever, he never looked at him with pity.
Instead, he'd look with mild annoyance.
Orschadenfreude.
Or amusement.
Click. Or confusion. "Are you taking pictures of me again?"
"Collecting evidence for when you inevitably burn down the house with your 'fire pit'."
Ging chucked another piece of driftwood onto the growing pile. "I've done this countless times, and I've never been convicted of arson."
"Yet."
"Yet." He grinned. Click. Pariston had tried to capture every single look from Ging. He needed to capture them, keep them, and remind himself of them. His very own little album of Ging faces and the situations in which they occur.
The house did in fact, not burn down, and as the sun set, the warmth of the fire settled comfortably into Paristons bones. A bottle of wine was poured between them, until he could feel himself relax fully into his seat, eyes turned up towards the night sky. If he squinted, he could see Gings eyes reflected even in the stars.
After a long, comfortable silence, Ging spoke up again. "I bought something; I think it's stupid, but I bought them anyway."
"What's that?~"
"Don't- Just don't say anything, just take it, okay?" He pulled out a small, dusty box out of his pocket, took something small out of it, and handed it to the other man with a closed fist.
A thin, gold ring, reflecting the flames.
Not a gold ring. His gold ring. Part of a matching pair they had picked out, and then never wore for various reasons. They never fit into their description of their relationship.
He slid the ring onto his ring finger (it's loose but still feels like it's perfect for him). "So you are becoming sentimental after all."
"If you don't want it, I can just pawn it."
"...I did not say that."
They fell back into silence, eyes focused on the twisting flames, hands sometimes interlocking just because they can.
At night, Pariston would look at his partner's sleeping face and think to himself that he looks so much younger than they both are, in that moment. Young, still ready to explore the entire world and whatever lies beyond it. Learn secrets kept for centuries, meet all different kinds of people. Ging could do all of that, freed from any responsibilities.
But not if he'd feel responsible for a dying man.
It's been 12 weeks since he had last gotten any sleep himself.
–
Cheadle stretched in her seat. It was time for another neuro check up, so Pariston watched as she unpacked and organized all her relevant notes.
A polite cough. "Shall we begin?"
"Ready when you are."
"What's your name?"
"Pariston Hill."
"What's my name?"
"Cheadle Yorkshire."
"Where are we, currently?"
"In your clinic located in the hunter association building."
"What day is it?"
"June 30th"
"What's the name of your partner?"
"Uh-" He stopped.
It was just a second.
Maybe even shorter.
But for this short, painful moment, he could see the man's face clearly in front of him; But he couldn't place a name.
"Ging! Ging Freecss!" He leapt forward in his chair, as if desperately trying to convince the woman.
"Good- It's, good. I know it's hard to concentrate this early. →Pariston" Cheadle had startled back but tried to force herself back into a professional mindset. "That should be enough for today, you did well. I'll see you this time next week, don't forget to pick up your next prescription." She looked at him with that pity look he wanted to scratch out of everyone's faces. He didn't want to be pitied. Not for this. Not like this.
Pariston got up, though he hesitated. "I…will, thank you."
He forgot Ging's name.
Pariston had tried to pace in his apartment, but the stress worsened his ataxia. Now he had just been sitting on his bed that smelled like Ging.
Ging. Whose name he had forgotten for a second. Despite all the picture taking and name reminders and constant interactions.
Ging. Who was undoubtedly the most impactful person in his life.
He would have rather forgotten Cheadles name. Or his own. Or the date or the place at which they were. All of these were unimportant.
Not Ging.
This was the beginning of the end. This was his brain telling him that it was going to rid itself of everything that mattered until he'd become a mindless zombie. Every single neuron was going to slowly die now, forget names and dates and places and how to move his limbs or blink. Until there was nothing left but a glorified corpse. Someone unable to sleep, yet forced to lie in bed and stare at the ceiling because there would be nothing else left to do.
But it wasn't the end yet.
As long as he could still control his mind and body like this, he could choose his own ending.
–
Ging had to file the official missing person report. Formalities.
They had been looking for days already. He had come home to an empty apartment, confirmed with Cheadle that Pariston had shown up to his appointment and left, and immediately went to find him.
Soon after he'd pull any and every favour from his contacts to form a search party.
He didn't leave a note. No hints. No clues.
Cheadle had mentioned something about him having learned from the best on how to disappear. But they both knew that he wasn't going to show up to a random zodiac meeting again as if nothing happened.
Pariston disappeared so there wouldn't be a funeral.
Pariston disappeared so there wouldn't be a body to bury.
Pariston disappeared so there wouldn't be someone to treat until they became a body.
This way his palliative care, end of life treatment.
It made perfect sense for who he was. But Ging couldn't help but spend hours in that empty apartment.
Tracing a finger over that golden ring.
