He'd spoken to me earlier. I was sure of it. He'd been responding to me. He was coming back. I'd been saying familiar things. His favorite story. Talking about the beach. And he'd been responding to me. 

He was asleep now. The nurse had given him some pain medication, and this helped him sleep. It wasn't a heavy medication, so he wasn't being made to sleep. But, it helped him rest, and he needed that. The shaking was such a strain on his body. 

I was on the bed now. He was laid on his side, a safe position. The nurse said that sometimes, there was nausea with low blood sugar, so if he vomited in his sleep, he might not choke like this. But I'd make sure he was okay, if he started to vomit. I was paying attention. I was behind him, holding him close, spooning him. He was safe under the blanket with me. I'd tucked us in together. He was warm. My head was above his, his head nestled against my chest. His feet extended a little past mine. He was breathing steadily in his sleep. Finally calm.

He hadn't shaken as much today. I believed they were getting closer at knowing how to treat him. I had to believe. Yokohara-sensei had been called. She told them that she thought the key was a change in diet. Add Glucagon to his regimen, just like how we use the insulin, try to get him on a preventative medication also. But this was hard. 

We didn't know how his body would tolerate it. His hormones were so temperamental. That's why he could be on so many more medications to control his condition, but they'd tried. His brain would just overreact, or do what it was doing anyway, regardless. Such as, one time, they put him on a thyroid medication and his thyroid decided it would just go extreme the other way. He'd gained a lot of weight, out of control, hypo condition. So, they'd taken him off the medication. It was better that way, even if his thyroid was out of control. It was a better balance than his thyroid slowing down to almost no activity at all. It would swing everywhere, and she said that was one of the reasons why he was tired sometimes. 

We'd had a long conversation. My mom was there. Yokohara-sensei had been on speaker phone with us. She said she knew Sana would give his consent for her to tell us this, so she felt comfortable. She could get his consent signed, if when he got better and we went to Tokyo to see her. 

It was the evening now. I was tired, on alert. But, I didn't want to leave him, even in sleep. He needed my attention. He could start shaking, and he needed to be assured. I knew now, from a few hours earlier, he knew I was there with him. He could speak to me. Even if he was confused, he knew I was here.

My mom had bought roses from the gift shop. They'd had purple roses again. I'd told her that he liked the smell of roses, and maybe that would help him. So now, there were six purple roses in the room like when we were here last time. They were very fragrant and open. I hoped he liked them. 

The lights were off in the room, like last night. My mom had gone home to see about my papa. She wanted to make him some dinner. They'd be coming back later, spending the evening with us. My papa was so concerned. He warmed my heart. He'd called me from work when my mom was here. We'd put him on speaker phone. He'd spoken gently, so he wouldn't wake Sana. 

"Are they taking care of him? They know what's wrong? That's good. I hope they know what they're doing. Otherwise, we'll take him to Tokyo. They'll know what to do. They helped him before, that hospital he was in. Maybe it's better if we do transfer him there. They know better what to do there." He was so concerned. He wanted Sana to get the best treatment possible, with the smartest people. But, I'd assured him that they were helping him here. That these doctors knew what they were doing, like my papa had assured me yesterday. He'd seemed satisfied with that, but he repeated that we'd take Sana to Tokyo if we needed to. I agreed, to make him feel better, even though he'd been trying to make me feel better.

My mom had gotten me a bowl of tonjiru from a local restaurant. She'd ordered it before she left, and the nurse brought it to the room. She knew that it would be a comfort to me, but secretly, I hadn't touched it. It was still on the table in it's plastic wrapped bowl. I knew I had to eat. I had to take care of myself. If I didn't take care of myself, how could I take care of Sana? But, I couldn't eat. I wasn't hungry. 

I kissed the back of his head, and nuzzled my face into his hair. His hair was a little greasy. I'd ask the nurse later if I could have a cap with dry shampoo in it for him. I'd make him clean. I'd ask for a sponge and some soapy water, too. I'd take care of him. I'd be gentle, so he didn't wake up. I'd done this many times, back in December. It was no big deal. I wanted him to feel good. 

Slowly, tears were slipping from my eyes. I couldn't control them, but that was okay. I sniffled up liquid from inside my nose. I could cry. It was okay. My mom had said it was okay to cry.

A long time passed. The room was so quiet except for his monitors. They beeped steadily, and that was a good thing. His blood pressure cuff would go off every now and again, and that was a comfort, too. I listened to the beeping, not thinking of anything at all, but the movements of his body as he breathed. 

I began to think about feathers. Wings, fluttering wings. Up in the sky. The image of someone with wings, the sunlight behind their face. I realized I was drifting into sleep, going into a dream. I caught myself just in time. My eyes were closed. 

The images of people flying, the sunlight above us. It was like the stories. Roman hairstyles, clothes. There was a garden up there, and we were tending to the garden. Sana was there, beyond my reach, among a few little girls with him. He was dressed in pink, a Roman robe. His hair was blonde and done up, bound in three bands of ribbons, a Roman style. He was smiling with the little girls, helping them plant roses. I wanted to join them, but other people needed my attention. But, I couldn't help looking at him. How happy he looked with them. His wings were white, small. The little girls looked like cupids.

I woke up some time later. No idea what time it was. It seemed late, but I didn't know. I checked him in front of me. He was still asleep, quiet, calm. I pulled him closer to me, gentle, so he wouldn't wake up. Was he dreaming, too? Buzzing sound. Unfamiliar. I looked up, my head turning to the ceiling. Where was it coming from?

Buzz. Buzz. 

Then, I realized what it was. The realization made me dizzy. So wrong.

Buzz. Buzz. It was coming from the table behind me. It was a cellphone. In a few moments, I became more aware. The sound was making me come out of my dreaming. I didn't want to come out of my dream.

I gave Sana a small squeeze, and sat up slowly so I didn't disturb him. I tucked the blanket in under his side, cocooning him. Making sure he stayed warm. I looked over to the table. My eyebrows creased. It didn't make sense. 

My cellphone was still. It wasn't turned on. It wasn't vibrating. So what- And then I realized. It was Sana's cellphone. In his purse. Someone was calling him. An unsettled feeling filled me. I knew why, but didn't know. 

Yesterday, in the evening, I'd written a post on my blog about all of this. I had decided before not to sugarcoat, ever since Keitaro had been so shocked that Sana was in a wheelchair. I'd decided to tell more of the truth. I didn't tell embarrassing details. I didn't want Sana to feel embarrassed later. But I'd told, with no sugarcoating, what was going on. What was happening. How serious this was. 

And now Sana's cellphone was ringing. Could it have been from that? Or was this someone or something else? His cellphone rarely rang these days. People who were close to him didn't want to disturb him. They went through me first, or messaged him through email. Or waited for him to call them. They knew he was sleeping a lot. They wanted him to get his rest. 

So, who was this?

I quickly grabbed his purse, having wasted enough time. I found his cellphone in its pocket. I hurriedly swiped the green answer button. I didn't even look at the number.

And if I had.

"Sana?! Sana, are you there?! What's going on?! Are you okay?!"

Yami.

"Sana?! Can you answer me? Are you sick? Do you need me? I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." 

My lips pressed together at his words. At his concern. He wasn't being aggressive. He was being gentle. So different from how he'd been in December, to all of us. So mad that we weren't taking care of Sana well enough. Nobody could ever do enough. And yet. His words still suggested this. But, I wasn't offended. He sounded concerned. That's all. He wasn't trying to be offensive. Because, he thought Sana had answered. He thought he was talking to Sana.

I breathed a small sigh. "No, this isn't Sana. I answered his cellphone. I'm sorry."

Silence. I knew he was mad at me most of all. Nobu had told me. That day, when I'd gone to his apartment to give Lily back. He'd told me in his doorway, holding an ice pack to his bruised eye, the one that Yami had punched, because he'd been mad that I was in Sana's apartment that day of their last band meeting. So mad to see me there, because I'd called Sana my boyfriend on social media. His jealousy. His rage. 

I looked at the phone's screen after about a minute. The phone call had hung up. I pressed my lips together. I put Sana's cellphone back into its pocket, tucked safely away. I replaced his purse on the table. My eyes fell on the tonjiru. My stomach gave a little growl.

Yami thought I wasn't taking care of Sana like he should be taken care of. I sighed. 

I picked up the bowl. It was cold now, but that was okay. I picked up the soup spoon and chopsticks from the table, too. I unwrapped the bowl, and began to eat slowly. It was tasty, the flavors strong in all the right places. The miso  wasn't overpowering. As my eyes closed, tasting it, it tasted so good. It reminded me of the miso soup Sana had made for me, the first time we'd met. 

This was the biggest comfort I could ever have imagined. Remembering his soup. He'd made it for me because I was sick. His caring for me, even though we were really strangers. Now I was caring for him. So, I'd take care of myself. I'd take care of him like he needed to be taken care of. Like he wanted to be taken care of. And I'd take care of myself like he wanted me to be taken care of.