Memory
It was warm.
Familiar.
Home.
He wraps him in the thickest quilt he had.
Small.
Sick.
Weak.
It didn't feel right.
"----?"
Weak.
Quiet.
He could never hear the name.
He smiles, setting a warm bowl down and a even warmer cup.
"I'm right here, -----,"
"You don't-"
He coughs.
Hard.
Small.
Weak.
Wheezing.
"You don't have to stay,"
"Of course I do, pal. I wouldn't let you do this alone."
He was always sick.
Really bad.
"Thanks, ----,"
"No problem, Punk."
He was awake.
Cold, damp.
Alone.
But not quite.
She was there, wheezing as he rubbed her back.
No warmth available for her.
Small.
Sick.
Weak.
Dying?
It didn't feel right.
He wasn't used to feeling anymore.
A small pant, a whine, exits her lips.
They were dry, breaking.
He cups her face in response, an unfamiliar shushing sound exiting his lips.
Weak.
Quiet.
He didn't know her... but, familiarity made him protective.
His face shifts in a way that was unfamiliar but good.
His thumb tried to clean her cheek to no avail.
She pants aloud again.
She coughs.
Hard.
Small.
Weak.
Wheezing.
He frowns, something he was familiar with.
He turns to the dripping walls.
He cups his hands, the water collecting slowly.
He drips it into her mouth carefully.
She was always sick.
Really bad.
Dying?
He rubs her back after she swallows.
Her wheezing.
He frowns.
"Shh... stay down. Rest,"
Memories confused him.
Especially nowadays.