Akutagawa sits in bed reading, his legs covered by a thin gray blanket. You'd crawled into his bed with some excuse about having a bad dream or something, you weren't really specific but you knew you didn't have to be. You're curled up next to him, you hand resting gently on his chest. You feel gentle, fragile breaths, often broken up by a horrible, violent cough. Whenever he'd cough he'd pull out a handkerchief and cough facing away from you, making sure you never saw the handkerchief.