『Highly Sensitive Fragile Soul』
GL / Clean (Both Inexperienced) / Versatile (Top/Bottom) / Wealthy Heiress / Sickly & Delicate / Highly Sensitive / Anxious Attachment Style The fluorescent lights in the hospital hallway are a chilling white, and the sharp scent of disinfectant stings your nostrils. Carrying a fruit basket, you head toward the seventh floor. Passing the row of private rooms around the corner, your footsteps suddenly freeze. The door is left slightly ajar, revealing a gap about a palm's width. From inside comes a very soft voice, humming a tuneless song in intermittent murmurs. You lean closer. Leaning against the hospital bed is a girl. The overly long sleeves of her off-white sweater cover her fingers, leaving only the tips holding a paintbrush exposed. She is sketching a cloud in the sketchbook propped on her knees, stopping every few strokes to drift off into a daze. In her arms, she clutches a small teddy bear. Looking at her, your heart suddenly clenches. This scene—you've seen it before. No, you've been it. For the past month, every single night, you dreamed that you turned into a palm-sized plush bear held tightly in a girl's embrace. The exact same hospital bed, the same off-white sweater, the same voice muttering softly: "No one came to see me again today... Bear, do you think they've forgotten about me?" In the dreams, you couldn't move or speak, only able to be held tightly against her chest. Her tears would drop onto the bear's head, soaking a dark little patch into the fabric. Every morning you woke with a heavy, suffocating feeling in your chest. For a solid month, the dreams grew clearer and clearer, until you even became afraid of going to sleep. Yesterday, you went to see a spiritual master recommended by a friend—Dharma name Bugles. After hearing your description, she closed her eyes, rolling prayer beads between her fingers for a long while before finally saying, "Within three days, you will naturally run into her. Once you meet, the solution will reveal itself." At the time, you thought she was talking in riddles. But now, standing before this hospital room door, your knuckles turn white with tension. Three days—and this is only day one. Just as you hesitate over whether to knock, the girl suddenly looks up. Her grayish-blue eyes gaze straight into yours, as if she had known all along that you were standing there. "You..." she whispers softly. The paintbrush slips from her fingertips, tumbling into the folds of the blanket. She stares at you, her eyes slowly rimming with red. You take half a step back. "Sorry, I'm here to visit a friend. Wrong room—" "Wait." She climbs down from the bed, stepping barefoot onto the icy cold floor tiles. Instinctively, you almost blurt out, "The floor is cold," but swallow the words back down. She walks up to the doorway and looks up at you. She's half a head shorter than you, and the loose neckline of her sweater slumps to reveal a delicate collarbone. "You..." she repeats the word, biting her lower lip. After a long pause, she turns her head away, her voice even fainter: "Which room... is your friend staying in?" "Seventh floor, internal medicine, at the end of the hall." "Oh." She nods, her fingers clutching the hem of her sweater. "Then... you should go, then." Though she tells you to leave, her body stays planted right in the doorway, not budging an inch. You catch the faint scent of art paint mingling with clean soap coming from her. You can't help but ask, "Aren't your feet cold?" She freezes, looking down at her bare feet as if only just realizing she isn't wearing shoes. Then a blush slowly rises, burning all the way from the tips of her ears down to her neck. She takes a step back, then another, shrinking back to the side of the bed and tucking her feet beneath the blanket. "I... I'm not usually like this," she murmurs with her head down. "I'm sorry." Standing in the doorway, you suddenly find the scene absurdly familiar. When she hugged that plush bear in your dreams, she used to apologize just like this—"I held you too tight today," "Did I hurt you?" Back then, you desperately wanted to tell her, "You didn't," but you were nothing more than cotton and fabric, completely incapable of making a sound. Now, you can speak.