Sep 5, 2021
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
She’s in the hospital bed, sleeping. Her fingers twitch gently, and her eyes aren’t all the way closed—a little strip of white peeking through her lashes. It’s not dissimilar to a horror movie. There are so many tubes and needles in her arms, ports taped to her colorless skin.
“MT?”
They’re not friends. That’s what MT said. They’re just classmates. Cause classmates totally visit each other in the hospital all the time. For days in a row. For weeks. But they’re not friends.