Confusion--[A LOOKISM Fanfiction]

The Duck just Happened

I've always been the kind of person to get sucked too deeply into the stories I read or watch on TV. I get waaaaay too invested. I get angry when a TV character is betrayed by a friend, the kind of angry that makes me throw my bowl of popcorn across the room. I squee and roll around like I'm having some kind of fit when a character I like is being too cute.

And jesus christ when a character dies....It's like my brain makes my body go into actual mourning. When (spoiler alert) Dumbledore died, I couldn't eat for a week, I was always depressed, and my friends legit thought someone had ACTUALLY died.

Long story short...I'm a bit of a nerd. I prefer the fake relationships I make in my games, comics, books, shows and movies better than the ones I have IRL....not as high matinence and so much more interesting.

Heck, even my internet friends are preferable to actually GOING OUT somewhere with PEOPLE. Maybe thats why, when Daniel Park took a swan dive out of a who-knows-how-many story window...I might have screamed and thrown my phone.

I could hear my phone CRACK against my bedroom wall as I dramatically threw myself against my bedsheets, pushing my palms against my eyes.

"NOOOOOOO" I hiccuped and sniffled and wailed and waffled like a goshdarn Doctor Seus character. "My...m-my baby...how COULD YOU JIHOE?" Which lead into another round of sobs.

Had I belonged to any other family, maybe my mother, who I could hear shuffling around the kitchen, might have come to console me, even if only to humor her strange, strange child. Instead, I heard her heave a sigh. My stepfather laughed and I heard the TV flick on.

Well, now I just feel worse. Thanks family. Glad to know you take my emotional trauma seriously.

I lazily rolled over, still snivelling pathetically to look at where my phone lay broken on the floor. The back had been flung off, and the battery had bounced a few feet away from the rest of the device.

I didn't bother picking it up.
•••●○●•••
My arms really hurt.

My eyes are burning.

I sit up, covers I don't remember pulling over myself tumbling down to pool around my waist. My head feels too light, like something had been emptied out of it. Groaning, I lean forward and pull at my hair with my hands.

Wait a second

I leap from my bed. At least I try to. I'm not the most graceful person in the world, so I end up tangling my legs in the blankets and sheets and falling flat on my face, butt in the air with my left fooy still awkwardly caught on the bed.

My bedroom door flings open and a man I'm sure I've never seen before rushes to my side.

"Young Master!" His voice is gentle and admonishing, with just a hint of carefully hidden alarm. "Whatever has gotten into you?"

I try to say something. Maybe ask him who he is? What's going on? Where in the heckityheck I am, because this is sure as Jell-O not my house.

But all that comes out is a weak cough, and my throat starts to burn. I gasp for air becuase my chest has started to constrict all of a sudden. I'm afraid and I'm sure it shows on my face because the gentleman tenderly rubs my back, drawing an arm around my shoulders. I stiffen at the strangeness of having somebody handling me in such a familiar way, as though they had no reason to hesitate before touching me.

The man ignored my discomfort, instead forcing me to look at his face. He was an older gentleman, with white hair and wrinkles around his eyes.

"Young Master," he said. "Don't try to speak," he helped me to right myself, untangling my legs and easing me back against my pillows. "It's still early yet," the man reasoned. "I'll fetch you some tea, you probably strained your poor throat."

He was about to turn around when my hands flew up of their own accord. Palms up, hands curved and fingers twitching.

[Wait]

I brought my right hand down in something resembling a karate chop into the center of my open left hand.

[Stop]

Right hand over my heart, then motioned in a clockwise circle.

[Please]

To my surprise, the gentleman froze where he was, and waited expectantly. I didn't let myself think about what I was doing, and let myself just follow where muscle memory lead.

My hands flapped and fluttered about in a flurry of motion.

[What's going on? Who are you? Why do I hurt? Please, why does it hurt?]

The man began to tremble. "Young Master," he said gently, kneeling beside my bed, so that he was looking up to me. He took one of my trembling hands between both of his own. I could feel the calluses of long years of hard work on his aged skin.

"Try to calm yourself," his voice was like one would use to calm a toddler or a frightened dog. It should have been demeaning, but I ached all over, my limbs were throbbing, my head was pounding. My throat and chest felt like it was on fire.

I was scared.

And there was naked affection in his eyes. It...it was nice. No one had regarded me like I....like...like this before.

"Master Jay" he said. "I know you're confused right now, but you're okay. You're okay.... you've just had a relapse. Don't try to speak, child."

Still holding my hand, the man reached into his suit's inside pocket and pulled out a cell phone. He quickly dialed somebody with one hand, while he rubbed circles into the back of my captive hand with the other.

He spoke quickly, but I didn't focus too much on the conversation. My brain couldn't concentrate and the ringing in my ears were only adding to my headache.

It became easier to breath, the longer I sat there holding this stranger's hand. I finally let my eyes slide shut. I felt and heard people come and go. Medicine was administered via salves and shots to my body. Occasionally things were held to my lips, and I drank and swallowed obediently.

Before I knew it, the pain had recceeded to a dull throb. All through the day, the gentleman never left my side. He was always there, spoon feeding me a light soup, brushing my hair from my eyes, quietly talking to me, fussing over making sure my blankets were tucked in around me just right.

It was late, and most of the other people had left when I found the courage to ask him again.

[Who are you?]

He looked distressed for a moment, but it was replaced by that heartwrenching expression I'd already seen countless times today...like I was something precious...someone to be protected.

"Just a servant, Young Master Jay," he said. "You may call me Garran."

[Thank you, Garran]

"Please do not thank me, Young Master. It is my duty, and my pleasure. "
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Okay for real though, what the duck is going on?

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