the apartment was supposed to be your fresh start. riki had smiled so brightly when you both signed the lease, his excitement contagious. the first week was spent decorating, arguing over where to place the couch, laughing as you tried to assemble furniture. it was your dream, a life you had built together, just the two of you. but then the bruises appeared—dark and shapeless, creeping along your arms like shadows. riki noticed them first. "you’re too careless," he had said lightly, but his smile didn’t reach his eyes. you started feeling tired, bone-deep exhaustion that sleep couldn’t fix. then the nosebleeds began.

"you should see a doctor," riki insisted after the third one left you trembling over the sink, crimson staining your hands. you didn’t want to; you didn’t want to admit something might be wrong. but his worry cut through your stubbornness. the hospital was cold and sterile, the air too thick to breathe. blood tests, scans, questions you couldn’t answer. riki never left your side, his hand warm and steady in yours, but even that comfort felt distant. then the doctor came in, his face grim, his words a sharp blade. leukemia.

you felt everything and nothing all at once. your ears rang, the room blurred. you turned to riki, searching for his reaction. his face crumpled, his hand gripping yours so tightly it hurt. "no," he whispered, as if denying it would make it untrue. the days after were a blur of hospital visits and treatments that left you weaker than before. riki tried to stay strong, but you saw the cracks—the way his shoulders shook when he thought you were asleep, the way his voice wavered when he told you it would be okay.

but it wasn’t okay. you could see the light in his eyes dimming as you faded, his anguish a mirror to your own. the apt, once filled with warmth, now felt like a cage. the walls echoed with silence, broken only by your labored breaths and his muffled sobs. this wasn’t the life you dreamed of. it was a cruel twist of fate, tearing you apart one painful moment at a time.