*Chapter By SweetBirb *

[Y/N POV]

The white, overbearing lights up on the ceiling, the cold air prickling at my arms...

The day [it was suddenly real] Friedreich's Ataxia had been diagnosed to me.

  Staring with a bored look, a man clad in white entered the room. He fumThe words he spoke still stick with me now.

bled around with the wooden clipboard in his hands, a small sweat beginning on the side of his balding head. Clearing his throat, the words that came from him were rough and scratchy.

  "Tyler Slys is here to see you, miss," Came the hoarse words. Nodding, I sat up to await to familiar ash-brunette.

  Quiet steps sounded throughout the through hallways, until the pair of red vans appeared through the crack at the bottom. Entering the overbearingly off-white room, a young adult, about 23 years old or so. A few pink, fading scars ran across his face, such as the bridge of his nose or his jawline to his eye. I immediately attempted to see him upon entering.

  "Tyler!" Came the eccentric words, as I was shoved (rather harshly) back into the uncomfortable bedding by my friend. He opened his mouth, preparing to scold, as I cut him off.

  "I know, I need to be careful more, blah blah, I don't care, I have a terminal illness," The words made their way from my mouth. Tyler frowned, and opened his mouth to speak again.

  "Before you so r-rudely cut me off," he began, annoyance dripped from his voice, "I have s-someone for you to meet."

  That caught my interest, and I stopped my pouting face.

"Who?' I questioned.

  That simple question made him shudder from what I could see was fear, yet he straightened up and cleared his throat,

  "My boss, B-black Hat."