Disclaimer: I don't own the characters, the places, anything really except the way the words are arranged and the situations the characters get into.
Author's Note: This was actually inspired by something other than grief entirely. I'm not sure if I like how this turned out, but, well, I can't think of anything else to do with it. So here it is. Enjoy!
"Is there something wrong with him?"
"Well, yes, he's dying of a broken heart."
The doctor walked over to where the young man was sitting, staring straight ahead. The look on his face was almost expressionless, where it not for the pain that shown in his eyes. His cheeks were sunken; he looked as if he had been terribly ill. He was too thin.
Toulouse went to Christian's side as the doctor leaned forward to look into his eyes. "Please," the painter implored, "you must do something."
"Christian," the doctor said, putting his hand on the writer's shoulder.
Christian raised his eyes painstakingly to meet the doctor's face. Other than this, he made no other move and gave no indication that he had heard.
"Christian," the doctor repeated, "I'm going to examine you. I need you to tell me something, though. Have you eaten at all today?"
The writer's mouth moved, barely, but no sound came out.
"I'm sorry?"
The words were hardly more than a soft exhalation. "No."
"He hasn't eaten very much in days!" Toulouse supplied, looking terribly worried. "He won't move, won't talk, won't eat. He even stopped crying! He's killing himself!"
The doctor looked into Christian's eyes, and then surveyed the rest of his body. He took out a stethoscope and listened to Christian's soft breathing and to his heartbeat. He muttered, "You're right about that."
"What should we do?" Toulouse asked as Christian returned his gaze to some point out the window. He wasn't looking at anything, though; his expression was pained and distant.
"He seems to be in a sort of catatonic state," the doctor said. "He will soon be too weak to even move."
"What should we do?" Toulouse repeated.
"He needs to eat and drink," the doctor said. "And…" He seemed to hesitate. "And you should try to take his mind off of the person he is grieving."
"I've tried," Toulouse said, "but you see, the person who died was his lover."
"Well, unless you want him to die…" the doctor sighed. "This is something that medicine cannot cure. He needs support. He needs to move on." And then he left, leaving behind a strange air of hopelessness.
Toulouse turned back to Christian and, voice full of bitterness that was quite uncharacteristic of him, asked, "What are you trying to do?"
He did not expect Christian to answer, so it surprised him when he heard the writer's voice, dark and low, reply, "I'm trying to drown the world out."
"Why?" Toulouse asked, coming closer. It had been ages since he had gotten anything out of Christian.
"I'm tired," Christian muttered. "I'm tired of living with this pain. This is no life."
"It's no way to die, either," Toulouse pointed out.
Christian allowed him a tired smile. "Until now."