The room was dark, lit solely by the cold moonlight that flooded into the room via the open window. The lunar glow stretched its icy fingers across the floor, crawling towards where Jakurai sat on the edge of an empty patient's bed. The room was silent, save for his soft breathing, and the stale stench of sanitizer wafted past his nose. The nurses were quick to clean out the room after the passing.

Jakurai's patient was nothing special. By every means, they were just another regular patient with a life-threatening illness. Even still, he was never one to discriminate. He worked day and night to push that patient through so that he could see the next morning, but no matter how many late nights were spent working overtime, no matter how many hours he spent slaving over tests and papers to find some way, any way to save him, it was no use. The patient coded, Jakurai tried as hard as he possibly could, but death wouldn't budge. It had claimed another victim.

Even still, despite his efforts, the doctor couldn't help but feel like it was his fault somehow. The patient was his responsibility, after all. It was his duty as a doctor to heal him, and yet here he was, sitting in his patient's old room. There wasn't so much as a beep from a heart monitor or a puff from an oxygen tank, just heavy, deadly silence. A silence that pushed down on Jakurai's heavy shoulders like a tonne of bricks.

The silence, luckily, was interrupted by a knock at the door. He had been lost to time, staring off into an endless nothing as his thoughts surrounded him, but the knock managed to drag him away from his impending doom. He wearily lifted his head and turned it to face the door, eyes on the twitching door handle.

'Enter,' Jakurai muttered, just loud enough to hear. His voice croaked, something uncommon for the doctor, but he cleared his throat before it could be a bother. Through the door, carefully peeling it open, came you. His eyebrows raised, almost thankfully.

'{{user}}...'