NaNo1014 day 1

[shamera]

He doesn’t remember waking.

What he remembers is the excited clamoring, words blurring together in his brain as he tried to escape the din that rattled within his skull. There was a pressure on his hand, and it took a monumental effort to so much as shift his face away from the noise — a movement which only set off another wave of dulled pain through his head. By contrast, the warm darkness was inviting when paired against the brightness and noise and pain.

The second time he wakes, he hears the platter of rain against a window, and thinks that raindrops should be against his skin right now, except he was warm and dry and cocooned within numbness, the pain now a comfortable distance away even as every thought was fuzzy and distant along with it. He tries to open his eyes that time, and the pressure against his hand increases sporadically, tightening and loosening and then repeating the process. The noises are gone now, but there is still a soothing voice near his ear, forming something like words.

The effort is too much, and he gratefully withdraws into darkness once again.

The third time there is the actually sensation of waking, of just starting to wake up but not being fully there yet, of drifting alongside dreams and combating the break of dawn. He hears hushed words this time.

“—need to stretch your legs sometime. We’re all here to take over.”

“...can’t. He… he almost opened his eyes yesterday—”

The pressure on his hand tightened in accordance to the second voice’s pitch, and despite straining to hear more, he found himself nestled back in the darkness once again.

The next time, he thinks, feels like the middle of night. The brightness isn’t as harsh, and it feels more inviting somehow. The now-familiar pressure against his hand is gone, but there is a warmth on his face, a gentle touch on his forehead as fingers comb through his hair.

It’s nice, he thinks drowsily to himself. There’s the vague memory from his childhood, of being ill and his mother sitting at the edge of his bed, fingers carding through his hair as she hummed a gentle song to send him to sleep.

That memory brings along a pang of sadness, of grief, and he wonders why.

Another time, and there are no soft touches, no pressure on his hands. There is a strong voice speaking — reading, he realizes after a while. The voice is familiar, and he strains to hear the words once more. He tries to turn his head toward the sound, but feels bone weary. There is something fundamentally exhausting just about being conscious. Had it always been so difficult?

The voice halted with his stilted movements, and he stopped as well. Several long moments later, the voice began reading again, this time the tone not as strong, but clearly distracted. It was, however, not enough for him to notice as he tried once again to satisfy his curiosity as to who would possibly be reading to him.

It took a long time (ages, in his mind) to tilt his head just enough to face the source of sounds (as he could yet to expend the effort in trying to make sense of the words), and cracking his eyes open just slightest bit — enough to take in the dim lighting in the room (bright to his eyes) and the blurred shapes and colors that came with it. Luckily, there wasn’t much to assault his sight, as the majority of his vision was white, and the figure…

“Dad?” He tried to mouth, but the sound came out more as a soft inhale as his tongue refused to work properly. He frowned, taking stock of himself… or at least the fact that he couldn’t seem to speak properly. It shouldn’t have bothered him as much as it did, seeing as all movement was hard enough, but somehow a failed attempt at speech was more presently concerning than anything else.

The figure moved, and his vision blurred trying to keep up. More words were spoken, this time quicker and more urgently than before, much to his consternation. It was hard enough to make out the voice, but individual words were hard, much harder when people spoke so quickly.

At least… he was fairly sure that was his dad talking. It sounded like him, and the blob shape looked vaguely like him as well. But there was something he was missing, and the familiarity wasn’t enough to stop the nagging which only served to distract him even more from his surroundings.

Oh, well, he thought, exhaustion finally overtaking him. He let his eyes fall shut again, breathing deepening into sleep. If his dad was there, everything would be fine.

—

The first time his thoughts were in any semblance of cohesiveness, he opened his eyes slowly to stare up at the white, white ceiling of what looked to be a hospital room. It was easier than it had been the last time… he didn’t know how long ago or what happened, but there was a sense of relief that he could at least do that much without having to struggle as he had the last time.

His thoughts were still slow and muddy, and he couldn’t for the life of him figured out what he was doing in a hospital room. Sleeping? Did he fall asleep here after—?

“You’re awake!” The voice was high pitched and feminine, excited and shocked all at once, and he struggled to place it even as the pressure on his hand increased, and then curled strands of hair fell into his vision, along with a face that looked so familiar even as he tried to place the bright green eyes. “You’re… you’re awake this time, right? The doctors said that you might be unresponsive, but they also said you probably weren’t going to get better and I know they’re lying because of course you’re going to get better.”

The babbling was unfamiliar, but the face was slowly starting to clear up for him. It was easier if he didn’t try to concentrate on her words, because he needed all his concentration to make out who she was. Someone familiar. Someone he should really know.

The words stopped as she realized that he was staring at her, at her instead of the ceiling. Her expression twisted to one of apprehension. She said a word that he recognized, that he knew.

He tried to move his jaw, to twist his tongue. Everything felt still and sore, and yet thick and numb at the same time. It made even the tiniest of movements too hard.

That was right. Whoever she was, she called him by name. She knew who he was.

The pressure on his hand squeezed once again and he darted his eyes down tiredly to find that the girl had wrapped both her hands around his, and that must have been the pressure he was feeling. How long had she been there, holding his hand? Her eyes were familiar, her hair was familiar, her features were familiar… but who she was slipped from his grasp like water through a sieve. His brow furrowed in unhappiness. Why couldn’t he figure it out? It must be important.

His head was pounding, he realized.

He thought about going back to sleep again. He could just close his eyes right there and then maybe her worried face would melt away in the darkness. It was far less complicated than trying to move, than trying to focus his eyes and to make out why she was so familiar.

But that didn’t seem very fair of him when she was obviously waiting for a response.

Just a little bit more, he decided with his muddy thoughts.

There was a soft jingle of her bracelets, the metal warm where it pressed against his wrist. They were colorful, and the burst of color sparked a moment of recognition.

Fire. Grief. Crystal. The smells of Gran Pulse, and the warmth in his chest recalling a sound he had nigh forgotten.

He rolled his tongue within his mouth, and gave the resulting word a try: “...Vanille.”

Better than before, again, although his voice was hoarse and painful and barely a whisper. His throat felt terrible. It was enough, though, and the girl — Vanille — brightened up considerably, her green eyes even brighter than before as she bit down on her lower lip hard enough he worried briefly that she was going to hurt herself. He didn’t want to see her hurt. She was important, even if he wasn’t entirely clear why as of yet. It was good enough that he remembered that single word in conjunction with her.

“You recognize me.” Her voice was much like his at that moment, barely above a whisper and so thick he could barely make out the words after moments of concentration. She dipped her head down, hiding her bright eyes and pressing his hand, still wrapped within hers, against her face. He was alarmed to feel moisture against his skin. “I’m glad… I’m so glad…”

It was too much to take in, and he barely managed to flex his fingers within her grasp, trying to provide some sort of comfort for the weeping girl. It wasn’t much, but… that was enough, right?

He closed his eyes after another moment, proud that he managed that much. Maybe he would remember more the next time he woke up.

—

The next time he opens his eyes, there’s a man standing in the corner of the room right by the window, speaking quietly on the phone and looking unhappy about it. Try as he might, he couldn’t make out any of the words, not just because it was being said so fast, but because it seemed so quiet he could hear nothing more than the constant stream of sounds, none of which made any sense to him.

He feels less tired this time, like he might actually be able to stay aware for more than a minute at a time. Similarly, his brain was less fogged. It was easier to log that there was sunlight streaming from the window in the corner, that there was an annoying persistent noise from the machinery around him, and even that the man was starting to notice he was awake and aware.

He turned his attention toward the window. Sunlight, sky, and what could be distant buildings. That was good. He could tell what all of those were. Sunlight meant it was daytime. He was in a hospital.

Then… was he here because he was sick? He didn’t feel sick. Groggy, yes, and somewhat irritated by the amount of time it took for him to register things in his head… he felt like it shouldn’t take that long. But he didn’t think that he had just fallen asleep here. Something must have happened before that to leave him in a hospital.

“Hey.” the man said, voice directed at him this time. He slid his eyes over curiously. “You here with me, buddy? You gotta give me a sign if you can hear me, kiddo. Vanille said you recognized her, but… I can’t tell if you’re awake or just staring again.”

Again? He tried to make out what was wrong with that statement, but gave up shortly after. It was too tiring.

Instead, he used the effort to frown at the man.

Surprisingly, that seemed to cheer the other up quite a bit. It made him pull up a hospital chair and sit down heavily, the furniture groaning under his weight even as an arm reached out to ruffle his hair gently. “I never thought I’d be this relieved to see that grumpy face again. You had all of us real scared for a while there, kid. We thought — just, no more close calls, okay? You just worry about getting better.”

Getting better from what? There were too many words and too many questions for him to follow, and the confusion brought about another round of frustration. He didn’t like being confused, didn’t know not knowing things. The man didn’t seem to sense his growing irritation.

“Lightning will be here soon enough.” He continued. “She’ll be happy to see you awake, I’m sure.”

That didn’t make any sense. He closed his eyes again in order to concentrate solely on the words rather than by distracted by the visual stimuli. At least, that’s what he hoped he was doing, because the darkness just made him more drowsy, and his brain didn’t feel any clearer. He recognized Vanille’s name, and Lightning sounded familiar… There was a certain relief when a few more things became clear.

“Whoa, c’mon kiddo, wakey-wakey. Sis’ll kill me if I’m the only one who got your time today. Everyone’s been waiting to say hi, you know. And you’ve got to wake up more to keep getting better. Or something.”

The blathering made him exhale in aggravation. He frowned again and tested another word, determined to do better this time. “Idiot.”

The surprised and relieved burst of laughter startled him to full awareness once again.

—

It was hard to make connections sometimes. More than sometimes. It was difficult to identify anything when awake, and it seemed like there was always someone there with words and more words that confused him. The more he tried to make things out, the more disappointed people seemed to be. He hadn’t noticed it at first, too busy with trying to make out sounds and blurry images, but eventually the twisted expressions made him feel… bad, at the very least. Like he was doing something wrong.

“You were in an accident. Do you remember your name?” Someone asked him once, and it was better because this person spoke slowly, calmly, and held no tingling of familiarity. There was no push in his brain trying to identify the person, although the way they were dressed seemed vaguely recognizable.

The question took him some time to answer, because while he was sure that he knew, at the same time it felt a little out of his reach. Like something on the tip of his tongue, there one moment and gone the next when he needed it.

The unfamiliar figure was patient, though, which he appreciated as he slowly nodded his head.

“What’s your name?” The figure in white asked, just as slowly and carefully.

He thought for a while. Closed his eyes.

“Hope.” He finally whispered, elated upon the memory of the word.