Sometimes It's Something, Sometimes It's Nothing at All.

I - Dear Diary, it's unfair.

The IwaOi Hospital/ apocalypse AU that literally NOBODY asked for... warning: this is going to be a rough ride, buckeroo.
This is going to be an g s t y af.
You have been warned.

Notice: I don't have plans for this story yet, so if there ends up being any triggers present, I will add the warnings individually in the chapters! Again: I don't have a plan yet, so I don't know whether there will be any triggers at all.
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Friday, 13th of August,

Dear Diary,

Outside it's scorching, but in my heart, snowflakes fall and I'm frozen over; I do believe I'll never be able to ignore the superstition surrounding Friday the 13th ever, ever again. Because today has without a doubt been the most dreadful, heartbreaking, and eerily misfortunate day of my short, bright life. It's unfair, I've decided, and to whoever may one day steal this little journal of mine; I would very much like you to know that right at this moment... well, I feel like breaking down and weeping, to tell you the truth. I feel like helplessly wandering around New York City as if I'm the damned Holden Caulfield himself — skipping around all depressed and humbling a worthless little tune-up in my head and wishing to phone my kid sister. I feel like riding the very same train he did and talking to a random person in their forties, simply so I can talk about a phoney classmate of mine. I'd shoot the crap around a bit about this classmate, the person's child, and call myself Rudolf fucking Schmidt.

The universe has done it, hasn't it?
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I recall the day quite well, the day that I met him. Some extraordinary eyes he had, truly. They were a deep brown, the most entrancing damn things I've ever seen, and full of pain. His hair, which I can only describe as hazel, was always extraordinarily untangled and un conforming to the laws of gravity; and not that it really matters, but he was a few centimetres taller than me. This is what happened:

    The day we met was a busy one and I was in a hell of a situation. I remember going to the beach — and it was pure coincidence that the both of, citizens of Miyagi, were at the same beach at the same time — and he was sitting there by some sort of rocks looking all depressed. So, for whatever reason, I went up to him and muttered, "Well what the hell's wrong with you, pretty boy?"

Those were the first goddamn words I ever said to the guy. Quite a surprise to myself, frankly, because I sort of hate going up to sad teenage boys just so I can make them feel better; I just don't see the point in it. I don't know if I just developed a quick little crush on him, or if he just draws everyone to him like sugar does ants, but either way: I went up to him that day, I sat down, and I asked him how the hell he was doing, and to which he replied, "I feel like shit, but that's not really your problem, now is it?"

He was absolutely right, I mean it wasn't my problem at all, or at least... it didn't have to be. But if going up to him at all wasn't already out of character, I had to make it my business. What can I say? He looked like he was in the doldrums. "Maybe not, but there's no one saying it can't be," I said, "My problem, that is."

He looked up at me with the most damnably exasperated expression and asked me, "Why would you bother?"

"Because..." I paused, "You are, I shit you not, a literal kitten in a box right now. You're just waiting for some little girl to come pick you up and bring you home to her parents like it's Oliver and Company and I simply can't, in good conscience, walk on my jolly-ass-way and leave you here to rot along with the cardboard of your homeless kitten box. Title: 'Up for adoption,' in bold text."