Later, much later, Shikamaru would realize how strange it was that he didn't wake up with a start. Instead, awareness came slowly, so slowly that he might have have found it painful if everything hadn't felt so numb. After burying himself under the blanket he curled up, arms around his body and knees to his forehead, eyes closed. His body protested, muscle memory claiming that he was better at unfolding than folding, but he had no other option. Beneath the numbness but not quite an emotion, something close to panic forced him to hold himself as closely as possible. Hold on to anything he could. He barely recognized himself before a voice broke the necessary silence.
"Rise and shine!" Familiar. He knotted the blanket's fabric between his fingers, and when she tried to pull it away, he clung to it with as much strength as he could summon.
"I need more time," he said, though he managed to blink a few times. Through woven cotton the light was filtered white, sun behind an overcast sky. It was a good description: overcast. So many clouds that none were distinct, worse than a barren blue. Shikamaru wasn't sure if he had a headache. He wasn't sure about much.
"It's high time you got out of bed," she said, and with a more forceful yank, the blanket was jerked away. He covered his head and went through the pleas he'd used as a child: not yet, too sick, just a few more minutes. Reality was coming back slowly, and an irrational fear told him that if he moved too far or too quickly, the rest of himself might not find him.
So that was what dying felt like. And this was what life felt like, if one hadn't had sixteen years to adjust to it. It wasn't until she tried to pull on his arm that he sat up of his own volition, but the disorientation didn't pass. "You'll feel better once you get some food in you," she said. The idea of eating made him nauseous.
When she finally got him into the cafeteria and loaded a plate with food, Shikamaru sat as far away from the others as possible, eyes on the ground ahead of him. As much as he wanted to bury his head in his arms, he knew the nurse would protest. Instead, he pretended to focus on the food, pushing the syrup around with a plastic fork until he realized that his hands were trembling too much to properly hold any kind of utensil. Great. Just what a ninja needed. The lights were too bright and everything inside him was dull and unfinished, grey. Distantly, he knew that he should be glad to be alive, but he couldn't summon the energy to be glad about anything.
no subject
Later, much later, Shikamaru would realize how strange it was that he didn't wake up with a start. Instead, awareness came slowly, so slowly that he might have have found it painful if everything hadn't felt so numb. After burying himself under the blanket he curled up, arms around his body and knees to his forehead, eyes closed. His body protested, muscle memory claiming that he was better at unfolding than folding, but he had no other option. Beneath the numbness but not quite an emotion, something close to panic forced him to hold himself as closely as possible. Hold on to anything he could. He barely recognized himself before a voice broke the necessary silence.
"Rise and shine!" Familiar. He knotted the blanket's fabric between his fingers, and when she tried to pull it away, he clung to it with as much strength as he could summon.
"I need more time," he said, though he managed to blink a few times. Through woven cotton the light was filtered white, sun behind an overcast sky. It was a good description: overcast. So many clouds that none were distinct, worse than a barren blue. Shikamaru wasn't sure if he had a headache. He wasn't sure about much.
"It's high time you got out of bed," she said, and with a more forceful yank, the blanket was jerked away. He covered his head and went through the pleas he'd used as a child: not yet, too sick, just a few more minutes. Reality was coming back slowly, and an irrational fear told him that if he moved too far or too quickly, the rest of himself might not find him.
So that was what dying felt like. And this was what life felt like, if one hadn't had sixteen years to adjust to it. It wasn't until she tried to pull on his arm that he sat up of his own volition, but the disorientation didn't pass. "You'll feel better once you get some food in you," she said. The idea of eating made him nauseous.
When she finally got him into the cafeteria and loaded a plate with food, Shikamaru sat as far away from the others as possible, eyes on the ground ahead of him. As much as he wanted to bury his head in his arms, he knew the nurse would protest. Instead, he pretended to focus on the food, pushing the syrup around with a plastic fork until he realized that his hands were trembling too much to properly hold any kind of utensil. Great. Just what a ninja needed. The lights were too bright and everything inside him was dull and unfinished, grey. Distantly, he knew that he should be glad to be alive, but he couldn't summon the energy to be glad about anything.