Three months to live. The words repeat in Akira's mind; Three months. He can only be alive for three months. Of course, the caretakers try to reassure him and say that it could be later. That he could slow the process with medication or through surgery. But he knows better, he's an aspiring doctor too - or close to one anyway. And one of the few things they tell you is that whatever Akira has is definitely incurable. Even if it wasn't... The surgeries are far too expensive for his liking and the medication keeps him in borrowed time. No amount of money in this world could heal him. Still, at least he lives with the certainty that eventually he will die. Eventually, his heart will stop because of Datura disease. A pretty name if you really think about it, very poetic until you start thinking about the symptoms: Gradual loss of senses, except for pain. Temporary blindness and a loss of appetite that generally start within the first week. Akira has yet to experience blindness, he doesn't look forward to that. He hasn't been eating much, and it's been getting harder to breathe sometimes. Apparently, an altered mental status may be experienced, but only in some extreme cases and can be experienced at extreme levels. He hopes he doesn't somehow end up with amnesia or worse; start hallucinating. Akira lets out a small snort, still flipping through the pages of his own medical report. If he were to ever hallucinate, it better be a good psychosis. He's never been known to have a colorful imagination. It might not be a good idea to joke about that kind of thing but he believes that in times like these... a terminally ill man should be allowed the medicine of laughter. Datura disease. Three months to live. Akira drags a hand down his face and places the report on the table next to the hospital bed. He doesn't need to know more than what he already has read. "Three months," Akira repeats to himself, calm and grounding himself to reality. "Alright then." He accepts it, because he decides that going through all five stages of grief is way too tiring and definitely not worth it when his heart will stop soon. Better to just skip to the acceptance stage and get his shit together. This probably means he won't live far enough to actually see Emilio's experiments succeed, let alone be able to watch him grow into a legend. That is regrettable, but Akira is sure that even his best friend will make peace with it. Emilio isn't the type to grieve, Akira thinks. He'll write him a letter one day. With a forced smile, he pushes himself up from the bed and starts to plan out his following three months. If he's going to die, he'll live the way he wants, die the way he wants. He'll fulfill a bucket list, basically. ...Which he doesn't have, yet. Akira sighs, that'll be a work in progress. For now, he just focuses on how to spend today. Afterwards he'll let himself think on how he'll spend the following three months. He wants to go outside. Anywhere. An aquarium sounds good, so he settles for that. Aquarium it is. Since he's basically in the middle of nowhere (he's exaggerating, the mountains in this countryside are well populated) he'll just ask one of the caretakers to drive him. Or he could take the bus, if it still comes around here. If neither work then he'll just take a walk. It's better than nothing. He grabs a tan sweater, something to have besides the bleak clothing the hospice has given him; Some white oversized pajamas and soft slippers. Not that he minds but - No, actually, he does mind. He'd like a little more color. Akira opens his door, and doesn't get very far out into the hallway when he immediately bumps into a wall - a person, actually. He steps back and rubs his nose, not the best way to start the day. But again, positivity is the answer. "Whoops, sorry. I didn't see you," Akira apologizes with a bright smile, looking up at whoever it was he accidentally stumbled into. Not someone he's seen before, or maybe he's just bad at remembering. Hah, is he already getting amnesia?