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18 November 2005
FRIDAY
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[y/n]'s pov
𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐈 was holding gripped tighter at the hospital's automatic doors sliding open, twilight glowing in the distance with the autumn air nipping more than usual; a reminder that the season of christmas was a short week and a half away.
"[parent/guardian] cleaned up your room a bit for when you get home, so you're more comfortable," [b/n] states with a cheer, guiding ourselves towards where the car awaited to take us home.
After walking for a few metres into the carpark, I had to pause at the cramping in my side, forcing [b/n] to stop.
He had a look of concern washing over his features at my grimacing, "are you okay? Sorry you can't take any more pain killers – the doctors said only every 12 hours," he apologies; even though he wasn't in the wrong.
"It's fine," I state, swallowing down the dulling pain, before giving him a half-hearted smile, "let's go, [parent/guardian] is waiting."
At my declaration, we continued walking until I came to see the familiar colour of the family car, with [b/n] helping me slide into the passenger seat – then having me to shoo him away when he attempted to buckle my seat belt himself.
The travel between the hospital and our home wasn't long; being a short 15 minute drive.
Driving through Shibuya had me reminiscing of all the times I was backseat on Mikey's bike – racing the rest of Toman. And with Baji on his bike, when we were meeting up about Kisaki, or with Draken, when he'd force food into me when he found out I had forgotten a meal.
Passing by the familiar corner store, it reminded me of the white-haired girl I had met a couple weeks ago; as well as all the friday nights I spent with Emma.
The sentiments made me smile to myself; the physical and emotional pains now taking the backseat in my own head.
Soon enough, we were driving off the main roads and into a more suburban area, and then onto street I lived on. Turning into the driveway, [parent/guardian] got out first, racing towards the front door, leaving [b/n] to help me out.
"Can't wait to sleep in my own bed," I state, already imagining my soft mattress and pillows, which was a stark contrast to the hospital's.
[b/n] nodded his head, once again allowing me to hold his hand has a sort of safety crutch, guiding me towards the already open front door.
