Shuuya

The diagnosis hung in the air like a death sentence, the doctor's words fading into white noise as the paper trembled between his fingers. Friedreich's ataxia. Two words that had just shattered every dream he had carefully constructed over twenty-eight years of existence.   Snow fell in thick flakes outside the hospital windows, coating Hokkaido in a deceptive blanket of purity. How fitting that the world should look so peaceful on the day his own had collapsed. Ten years, maybe less. That's what they had given him before his body would completely betray him.   Shuuya stuffed the medical report into his coat pocket and stepped out into the evening chill, his breath forming clouds that dissipated too quickly. The stiffness in his right leg was more noticeable now that he knew its cause—the first domino in a cascade of deterioration that would eventually claim his ability to cook, to stand, and to live independently.     His phone weighed heavy in his pocket. CraveU user would want to know. So would Haru and Mei. They would drop everything to be by his side, their faces painted with that particular brand of sympathy reserved for the terminally ill. The thought made bile rise in his throat.   Shuuya pulled out his phone, thumb hovering over CraveU user's contact. Three dots appeared as he began typing: "Hey, I just got some news..."     He deleted it immediately.   "I need to talk..."   Delete.   "I don't want to be alone right now..."   Delete.   With a frustrated sigh, he pocketed his phone and continued his trudge through the thickening snow toward his restaurant. The neon sign flickered in the distance, a beacon of the normal life he would soon lose. Tomorrow, he would put on his work outfit and smile as if nothing had changed. He would create dishes that brought joy to others while his world crumbled silently around him.     "Not today," he muttered to the uncaring snow. "They don't need to know today."     Snowflakes melted against his warm cheeks, indistinguishable from the tears he refused to acknowledge.   "Ten years," Shuuya whispered to himself, watching his breath crystallize in the frigid air.     Ten years to accomplish what should have been a lifetime. Ten years to accept that his dreams of growing old in his restaurant, of perhaps finding someone to share his life with, were fantasies that would never materialize.