Disclaimer: Final Fantasy X belongs to Square … not me.

Second attempt at a fan fiction, please let me know how it turns out, I'll be hiding under my bed.

I was bored one afternoon when Tears was being slow on me, so I decided to try something different, if you're waiting for an update on Tears, though, it's coming soon! I just got this idea and decided to get it on paper before it drove me insane. But this is sort of an experiment in the making, so please let me know how it is.

Unlike most of my work, this chapter has been written in first person (the other chapters will not be, but I found it more effective this way, please review and let me know what you think).

Also unlike Tears, this has a short prologue that is right below that I decided to include just for funsies.

Incurable Affection

Prologue: Nice to Meet You

I would have never guessed. Honestly, I thought everything was okay.

Sure, I knew that passing out at odd intervals along with those splitting headaches and the occasional blurred perception from my eyes wasn't exactly normal, but I would have never thought it was anything serious.

It's something that I've done since I was a child. I've always been subject to being anemic and dizzy, most times fainting dead away, but I always viewed it as my body's response to the world around it, you know, when things get too rough, just drop out for a few moments until you're ready to get back in the game.

Apparently not.

I can't believe I let my co-worker talk me in to seeing a doctor. I don't even like doctors, never trusted them, thought I knew my health better than anyone. I didn't know then that I was dead wrong.

But still, what harm could going to a little doctor appointment really do? It would put the questions of my health to rest, and I could get on with my life. Really, what could those blood tests that they offer prove? They're practically free, why not?

I wish I had had the foresight to just back out. I wish now that I don't know what those blood tests said. I wish everything could just return to normal …

Hello, my name is Tidus Lanar, I am 19 years old, am half-way through college, and have had hypertension since I was a small child. It's guaranteed that I will have a cerebral hemorrhage. No one knows when it will happen, only that it will, and when it does, it is almost certain that I will die.

Nice to meet you.

Chapter One: Five Stages of Grief

Denial. Anger. Bargaining. Depression. Acceptance.

I've experienced them all, more than anyone knows.

When the results came in, all I could do for the first week was deny it. I told the doctors that they were wrong, I told them to check again, and they, the great benevolent souls that they are, charged me fifty dollars for the courtesy.

Same results.

Okay, maybe their machine was out of wack. I'll just try the doctor down the street, no sweat. I told no one of my supposed 'condition', perhaps I knew that if I admitted it out loud, that if I stopped trying, it would come true.

So I kept silent. I didn't go to work, only to the doctor, asking the same questions again and again of different faces. All evidence pointed to the conclusion I was desperate to escape. I despised the pitying glances they shot me, I tried to ignore the conversations going on behind their hands. They told me they felt sorry for me, I never knew how fake those words were until now. I vowed never to utter them again.

A doctor, I don't remember which, sat me down and told me the truth point blank.

You're dying.

He told me other things too, but at that moment, all I could concentrate on were those words. My life was over.

To put it mildly, I lost it. I started yelling endlessly, unable to stop. What I yelled I can't even recall, mostly nonsense, I gather. I threatened them, I told them that they were wrong. I said any and everything that came to mind. I can't even recall a time when I was that angry. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew they were right, and I knew that the rage I held toward them was unfounded, but at that time, I didn't care.

Jumbled thoughts ran through my head, garbled messages with no meaning on their own, but begin to make sense once you see them all together.

I'm nineteen, I have a job, classes start two weeks from now. I've been saving my life, putting my social and love lives on hold until I finished college, then I'd have the money to find the woman of my dreams. I've been putting everything off until tomorrow. And now tomorrow isn't coming.

Miraculously, the doctor and his assistants were able to get me under control to finish our little talk.

Take some time off. Notify your loved ones. Get your affairs in order. If any complications arise, call us.

Then they threw me out, and somehow, I managed to find my way home. It was about that time, I believe, that I started in on the phase they don't mention in the five part process. Complete and utter shock.

It incapacitated me successfully for nearly a week, in which time the messages on the answering machine in the corner piled up. At first the messages were only products of mild curiosity, my employer, several of my co-workers, all wondering where I was. But it wasn't long until the idle interest gave in to worry. I was threatened that I would be fired if I didn't respond, but even my employer sounded worried.

Their worry, I believe, was what snapped me out of it. I was able to venture outside my apartment again, but I didn't go far. I attended every mass and service I could, placing my savings into the hands of the church, praying, begging for more time.

I said that I would be a better person, I would help those people stranded on the side of the road, I would donate money every week for starving children, I would do anything.

It didn't help. In fact, it only made me feel selfish and wrong. What could I possibly give for more time? If I am to die, then the time is beyond my control.

The hospitals couldn't help me, the doctors told me to start signing off my possessions and get a funeral in order, the church offered me nothing but small solace. There was good news though, if I changed my ways in the last months of my life I could find peace. That wasn't what I wanted, I want more time, I want a wife, I want a family, I want those golden years. But at the same time, I knew that they weren't mine to ask for.

With this, it was no wonder that I sank into despair. I couldn't sleep, I couldn't eat, I unplugged my answering machine. My apartment became a mess, my appearance not much better, and I just sat around contemplating everything and nothing.

I thought about killing myself then and there, but I was simply too scared, and the idea was discarded quickly in favor of a burning obsession with how people will view me when I passed. Will they just move on? Will they stop for a moment? Will they remember me favorably? Will they be glad when I'm gone?

Right there I decided that I wasn't going to let that happen. Finally I was able to get some sleep, and I woke with renewed purpose the next morning.

I sorted my belongings, drafted a will with the help of my newly hired lawyer, and decided that I wanted to be cremated.

The answering machine was plugged in again and messages checked, my employer was called and I found with great relief that they hadn't fired me yet. I called back everyone, fully intending to tell them the nature of my absence.

But for some reason, I just couldn't. I've seen the pity from strangers, but from friends … I just couldn't take it. I wouldn't tell them, and when I was gone, they wouldn't look back in pity of a dying man, they would look back on me with favor and remember good times.

At least that's what I hoped.

If you learned that you were dying, what would you do? As I understand it, most would spend money, go on holidays, to wild parties, and the like, but I've decided to stay right where I am and enjoy the last days of my life.

Listen to my story… This is my last chance.


Author's Note: Hello, I have to admit, this is the hardest thing I even written … Didn't flow well to me, but I'd be very happy if you were to tell me what you thought of it. I'm in the process of determining whether or not I want to continue this story, so any encouragement, criticism, or other reviews or messages you want to leave me will be much appreciated.

Good? Bad? Indifferent?

Here's the deal: Review and I update. Don't review and I still update. Review and I update faster.

Rose Northe