The only thing Zhang remembered was those concerned pairs of eyes peering down at him before everything went dark.
Then came the beeping.
That persistent, mechanical beep that always accompanied hospital rooms. It dragged him back from unconsciousness, louder than his thoughts. The sterile scent of antiseptic filled his nostrils and made him nauseous. His body felt heavy. Hysteria pulsed quietly in his chest, threatening to erupt.
His lashes fluttered open, and he squinted through the bright light. He already had an idea where he was, but confirming it came at a price—a wave of searing pain crashed over his skull, making him groan and instinctively clutch his head and stomach.
Through the pain, a voice—gentle, familiar—reached him like a lifeline.
"Are you awake?"
That voice. He would never mistake it for anyone else.
His blurry gaze turned toward the sound, eyes brimming with unshed tears. Her face swam into view—Angel. His roommate. The girl he silently admired and barely understood.
"Am I in the hospital?" he croaked, his voice raw and cracking.
She nodded softly. "Mn. You passed out."
A silence stretched between them, and then came the question neither of them wanted to ask, yet both had been preparing for.
"How many days left?" His voice trembled.
Angel's lips quivered. Her face—flushed, swollen with tears, her nose redder than rose petals—was a mirror of his pain. He saw the heartbreak in her and it made his chest ache.
"Just… get better. That's all I ask. Can you do that?" she asked, barely holding it together.
He wanted to argue. He wanted to scream at her, to say something reckless, something cruel that would make her leave and spare her the grief. But her shattered expression held him still. So he only nodded.
"I'll go call the doctor," she whispered and left the room before her composure could fully crack.
---
She didn't return.
Instead, Angel ran. Her feet carried her to the rooftop, the only place that had ever felt like hers in the entire building. And there, she screamed—loud and desperate, like the cry of someone losing a part of herself. The wind carried her pain into the open sky.
He wasn't just a roommate. Not anymore.
At first, Zhang had acted like the most arrogant boy she'd ever met, guarded and moody. But she saw through the thorns to the soft, insecure center beneath. She remembered when he finally opened up about Stella—how he'd spoken with such shame in his eyes, like a wounded child confessing to a crime.
She remembered that terrifying night—the night she was chased by those hungry-eyed predators. How Zhang had fought like someone possessed. Judo moves. Raw, untrained aggression. And when those girls had tried to film her humiliation for blackmail, he would've destroyed their phones—and them—if not for her hands holding him back like chains.
He was her protector in all the ways no one else had been.
He was her chaos, her silence, her constant.
And now, he was dying.
---
When he was rushed into the ICU earlier, she had stood by silently. The doctor's words had fallen like stones into her chest.
"I'm sorry," he'd begun, his gaze shifting toward the others in the room. "You all need to prepare yourselves."
Angel hadn't responded. Couldn't.
"He needs rest. And pain relief. That's all we can do now. Two weeks… maybe."
Another silence. It was unbearable.
"We'll try to give him a painless end. Just don't make him feel forgotten. That's all we can do—for him and for yourselves." Then he left, the finality in his tone speaking volumes.
Angel had stayed behind while everyone else left gradually. Her parents had gone to make food. Peace, her older sister, had a deep-seated phobia of watching people die. The others left too, though reluctantly. Angel had told them she would stay.
She curled into herself on a bench near the waiting area, her arms around her legs, crying silently into her sleeves. Everything felt so loud inside her head. She bit into her hand, hard enough to almost draw blood—a bad habit she thought she had buried.
She was breaking.
"I told you, you don't have to pretend everything's okay."
Startled, Angel sat up abruptly and turned, wiping at her face. But the tears betrayed her, slipping down despite her efforts.
There she stood—Dera—a few steps away, arms folded, eyes soft with knowing.
"What are you doing here?" Angel asked, then quickly corrected herself, "I mean... how did you find me?"
"How long have we been friends?" Dera asked with a tired sigh.
"Almost eighteen years," Angel mumbled.
"I got a call from Peace. She asked me to check on you. But when I came, I only saw him."
Angel swallowed. The lump in her throat refused to go down.
"I knew you'd be here," Dera said. "You always come to rooftops when you need to cry. Just like the grotto days in school."
A soft, broken chuckle escaped Angel.
"You really do know me," she whispered.
"Just like you know me," Dera replied and slowly sank beside her. "Wanna lay your head on my lap?"
"I wouldn't mind."
Angel rested her head, her fingers curling into Dera's shirt like a drowning girl grabbing onto driftwood. The tears returned—fresh and silent.
Dera didn't flinch. She gently stroked her friend's knotless braids, ginger and white strands sliding through her fingers.
"It's okay," she whispered. "You'll get through this. You will."
But she wasn't sure anymore.
This wasn't about bullies.
Or about being chased by monsters in the dark.
This was about death.
The kind that comes quietly. The kind that lingers in hospital rooms and chews on the last days of someone you've grown to care about.
Three months. That's how long Zhang had been with them. Enough time to become unforgettable.
Dera herself felt the walls inside her cracking. Both of them were in their final year. Soon, they'd be applying for NYSC, internships, maybe placements abroad—with Angel's well-connected sister helping them out.
They had plans.
Dreams.
But what could dreams do, when the person who made them bearable might not be there to see them through?
If they were already licensed doctors, maybe they could've done more.
But now?
A person dying… is already dying.
And that truth was the most unbearable of all.
:-*:-*:-*:-*:-*
I tried my best to portray this story, but I guess, I'm not cut out for this. Hehe.
Many more, maybe five chapters ahead. I can't be so sure . Take care and enjoy reading.
Jaeqing loves you all.
THANKS FOR READING.