Deep slumber

He did not take it right away. His Adam's apple bobbed again, his gaze shifting from the sweater to Klein's reddened ear tips before darting back down.

Finally, looking at the sweater, whose aesthetic was a little too far ahead of its time, I swallowed and said hesitantly.

"I could unravel it and knit another one, or go buy you one from the store first, one that fits. It'd be better than... this."

"No... this one's fine..."

He took it almost impatiently. The sweater was rather heavy, its warm weight pulling at his arms. Klein had knitted it. He had knitted it for him, and it was the only one of its kind.

"I-it doesn't matter if it's big."

He finally spoke, his voice still a little tight but carrying an unmistakable stubbornness. He drew the sweater closer to his chest, as though protecting some treasure.

"I can wear it. I'll just roll up the sleeves."

With that, he looked up at Klein, his blue-green eyes holding the light of the fireplace and a little childlike delight. He tugged at the sweater's collar and pulled it over his head. As he hurriedly slipped his arms inside, he brushed his cheek. The yarn grazed his skin, so warm that his nose prickled slightly.

The sweater really was big. The neckline left half his shoulder bare, the hem hung down to his thighs, and the sleeves not only covered his fingertips but seemed to be different lengths. Freddy swayed about like a child who had stolen an adult's clothes, yet his smile was truly sincere. Klein had knitted it. That was enough.

He rolled the sleeves up again and again until a little of his wrists showed, then tugged at the hem and made a small turn, the red and green stripes swaying in the warm light.

Then he came up to Klein and tilted his head back, the sweater's collar brushing Klein's fingertips. His voice was soft but certain.

"I like this one."

Looking at her sparkling eyes, I rubbed the tip of my nose sheepishly and solemnly promised Freddy.

"I'll practice some more this year. By next Christmas, I'll definitely be able to knit you one that fits... I thought it would shrink in the wash, so I made it a little bigger."

I muttered.

Freddy did not care about that. He did not even care whether it looked good or bad.

"I'm wearing it to school."

He said it with such certainty.

"Let's not."

I patted his head, facing his rather disappointed gaze. After all, I had a sufficiently clear understanding of my own skills.

"Just wear it at home. I'll definitely knit you a better one for school next year."

Time passed quickly. Before the sweet scent of Christmas had fully faded, the snow outside the yard had melted into wet mud, and tender green buds sprouted on the branches. In the blink of an eye, the few days of winter break were over. Pah, pah, pah.

That morning, I was still sunk deep in sweet, dark sleep when the alarm for the first day back at school blared over and over.

With difficulty, I sat up in bed, holding my forehead, irritated beyond measure. I rubbed my heavy temples with my fingertips. Every bone in my body felt as though it had come apart, and I barely had the strength to raise a hand to turn off the alarm. Faint dark circles lay beneath my eyes.

It's always hard getting up on the first morning. It'll get better... Probably because I've been off for too long, I told myself reassuringly.

After washing up and getting dressed, I went downstairs. Freddy was already eating breakfast, and he had prepared my share too: cereal with milk and fragrant, browned bread from the toaster. Simple and convenient.

"You're so hardworking."

I yawned, not forgetting to give Freddy a thumbs-up.

"I'm seriously dying of sleepiness, but I went to bed really early yesterday."

Freddy made no comment. After all, he knew there was a pile of science fiction novels on my bedside table. As for what time I had gone to sleep? He had no idea.

That was unfair to me. Lately, for some reason, even though I had done nothing and was not particularly tired, I was terribly sleepy. Once I returned to my room, I would collapse onto the bed. I really had gone to sleep early yesterday.

I pulled out a chair, its legs making a long screech against the tiles that made both of us bare our teeth.

I took a bite of toast, then gripped my spoon and ate a mouthful of cereal. It had been soaking a little too long and tasted rather like rubber. The milk was ice-cold too. Together, they finally helped me perk up a little.

After Freddy and I parted at the main gate, we each went to our own classroom building. He was in sixth grade now and would start junior high in the second half of the year. I was about to enter my final year of high school too.

It was the first day of classes, and the first lesson was math.

Ha... advanced functions and statistical probability...

I stared at those numbers, the letters representing certain numbers, and the numbers representing certain numbers. They were just like the bowl of cereal I had drunk that morning, all mixed together without even needing a spoon to stir them. I'm never buying number-and-letter cereal again, I thought groggily, my head swimming.

I vaguely felt that something was a little strange about me, but that was all. After all, sleepiness was hardly a serious problem.

Maybe it's puberty? Just a little late, I thought.

Over the following days, I seemed to grow increasingly exhausted. Every day after school, I did not even have time to eat dinner. Once I had made Freddy's dinner and prepared the sandwiches to take to school the next day and put them in the fridge, I would hurry through a shower and collapse onto the bed. The next time I woke, it would already be to the alarm at seven thirty the following morning.

Even so, nearly twelve hours of sleep a day still could not satisfy me. I frequently grew sleepy in class, and once, I even slept straight through from the first lesson until lunchtime.

The teachers had noticed something was wrong long ago. Besides, this was a critical period, and my grades had always been among the best, so they had high hopes for me. The second time I slept through class like the dead, I was called to the office. First came a reprimand, then an explanation that this was all for my own good, and finally some kind words of reassurance.

Generally, at least sixty percent of students responded well to this approach, especially my type. Yet I still grew sleepy in class, the kind of genuine sleepiness the teachers could recognize, not the drowsiness brought on by boredom. In the end, several teachers jointly asked me in a roundabout way whether something had happened.

But I brushed all their questions aside. Fortunately, even like this, my grades were still fairly good. The teachers also began turning a blind eye. As long as I did not go too far, I was generally no longer called to the office for a talk.

After that, I tried strong tea and coffee one after another, but when my eyelids really started fighting to close, they all deserted me and were of little use.

Freddy was the first to sense something was wrong. He secretly calculated how long I slept, then discovered that I was sleeping more than twice the normal amount for someone my age. This could cause disrupted sleep regulation, abnormal moods, and metabolic disturbances. That was hardly a good thing. After he told me, I consciously tried to reduce my sleeping hours, but I became even sleepier at school.

He also tried setting daily sleeping hours for me and even moved into my room to see for himself when I went to sleep. At night, before my designated bedtime, he would drag me into activities that kept me mentally stimulated, then wake me at a regular time in the morning. But none of it worked. I hardly looked like someone who had slept that long, exhausted and drowsy all day.

Even when I played thrilling, exciting games, or he made sure I had slept a full twelve hours before waking me, sleepiness still wrapped heavily around me like waterlogged cotton. No matter what I did, I could not shake it off.

Both of us realized something was seriously wrong. In the end, we chose to go to the hospital, the best one nearby.

The initial diagnosis was a disrupted sleep cycle caused by psychological stress. I was getting less than an hour of deep sleep. Though I appeared to sleep for long periods, it was actually only light sleep, which could not truly give my body and brain any rest.

This explanation seemed reasonable, but I knew my symptoms did not quite seem to match the doctor's diagnosis. I did not dream, nor was I ever half asleep. The moment I closed my eyes, I truly fell into total darkness. I even felt that I had no light sleep at all. An inexplicable unease rose in my heart, but I forced it down.

I accepted some medication the doctor prescribed for anxiety and depression, an arrangement for several months of counseling, and several recommendations to be followed strictly, such as exercising more, eating healthily, or having a good sleeping environment...

Freddy listened very carefully, even taking out a little notebook to write everything down. Although school had only just started, not even a month ago, the two of us took another month off.

Over these months, I kept taking my medication, while Freddy supervised me strictly. I could only go to bed at ten at night, and he would wake me at seven in the morning, then take me to exercise and attend counseling...

But none of it worked. I was still drowsy. I seemed even more exhausted than before, and my symptoms had even worsened, until...

The doctor recommended that I eat salad, and Freddy insisted on eating salad with me. How could a child his age live on nothing but greens every day? Fortunately, following my feasible suggestion, the doctor agreed to the occasional "cheat meal" to lift our mood and relieve stress. Only then did Freddy relent.

We went to the supermarket and bought the ingredients we needed.

Burger buns lightly browned in butter, lettuce, tomatoes, pickles, shredded onion, and the essential sauces.

The beef brisket, ninety percent lean and ten percent fat, was chopped into tiny pieces, sprinkled with some black pepper and salt, shaped into patties, and coated with starch, beaten egg, and breadcrumbs. They sizzled in the hot oil, and the fragrance of fat mingled with carbohydrates immediately spread.

I watched the clock, counting the time, because I needed to lay cheese slices over the fried patties while they were hot, right after they came out.

I should have been looking forward to this meal. I should have been concentrating on frying the patties. But for some reason, my eyelids grew heavier and heavier. Even though my brain had already told me I could not sleep, at least not now, with a pan of hot oil right in front of me, still...

The instant I realized something was wrong, I suddenly collapsed to the floor, and my consciousness sank into darkness. My soul seemed to leave my body, then be locked deep underground, whether it was the hot oil that splashed onto my arm and shoulder when the pan was knocked over, or Freddy's heart-rending cry.

"Klein!"