An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
The mound of paperwork scattered across his desk was quickly developing into a headache. Fingers pressed into his temples in a futile attempt to lessen the pain. Convincing the hospital’s purse holders that his experimental procedure was worth the risk seemed like an impossible task most days. Old men that hadn’t touched a scalpel in decades and perpetually adverse to change.
Next to him his phone lit up as it sent gentle vibrations through the desk top.
A welcomed distraction.
Kira closed the folder in front of him and picked up his phone instead. The phone vibrated with a second message before he could get the messenger app open. The red 2 was next to Nagisa’s name.
>>I think I am dying
The second message was an attached image. Nagisa was lying on his stomach, his head mostly buried in his pillow. His face was red and swollen, a listless look in his eyes. He had the hood of his sweatshirt up over his messy hair.
Kira frowned.
<<Proclamations of death shouldn’t be exaggerated
>>I’m not
<<Fever?
>>39
Kira felt his frown deepen.
<<You should rest.
>>Can you come over?
<<Are you asking me to make a house call?
>>Are you going to charge me?
Kira chuckled, at least his sense of humor was intact. He certainly wasn’t going to die.
Continue on Ao3