Chapter 214: End
...He blinked his hazy eyes and twitched his fingers. Yesterday, he got scolded for getting out of bed. They said the unknown wires connected to his body were keeping him alive. That he mustn't pull them out. The people in white grumbled as they tethered him to the wires again.
Really?
He blinked his blurry eyes. People had covered his eyes with a thin cloth. They said his eyes shouldn't be stimulated. Not that it made much difference since he couldn't see anyway.
"..."
A world without J was dull, and time dragged on excruciatingly slowly. He spent most of his days lying in bed. The days when even breathing was hard had passed, and now he could walk a little, but it seemed people thought staying safe was the best option.
The only comfort was that he slept regularly. Maybe they were pumping some kind of sedative into him through the wires attached to his body.
It was a small relief. At least it forced time to pass.
It was boring, yes, but bearable. He had something to hold onto. J had promised, after all. He promised to come back. He had always come and gone sporadically, so a bit of lateness was understandable. Unable to move his body, his thoughts wandered in all directions. Most of the time, they wandered to J.
On his good days, J would lift his mask slightly and let him touch his face. J's face was soft. In comparison to the stiff sheets and rough bandages, it was incomparable. Sometimes, out of greed, he would try to stretch his fingers deeper into the mask. When his fingertips brushed the hidden corners of J's eyes, J's eyelashes would tickle his fingers. The faint tremble of his cheeks, as if laughing, was pleasant. "I can't show you my eyes. No way." That gently reprimanding voice was good, too. Not that he could see them anyway.
Sometimes, J would stroke his head. He would touch his marred skin without hesitation. For areas like his arms, J would even wrap them in bandages himself. Doesn't it disgust him? He must have a strong stomach.
J's hands always smelled of soap. Sometimes, they were even slightly damp. Isn't a hunter supposed to be someone who kills monsters? The constant pleasant smell made him curious. Perhaps J always washed up cleanly before coming to the hospital.
The last time J held him, there was a faint but bitter smell. Did he smoke? The more he thought about J, the more questions piled up like mountains. There were so many things he wanted to ask. He practiced speaking under his blanket. Most of the time, only hoarse, winded sounds came out.