quickly learned that her and August weren't very different, certain aspects of their lives were very much the same.

August was in foster care, just like Daisy. His mother was dead, just like Daisy's mother was. Though his father was still alive somewhere, he was completely out of the picture just as Daisy's father was. August had a social worker, just like Daisy.

Yet despite the startling similarities, there were still a few subtle differences between the two.

August had cancer, while Daisy didn't. August's cells had developed mutations and were dividing at an uncontrollable pace while Daisy's cells remained healthy and evenly-split. August was completely alone, and—even though some days it felt like it—Daisy wasn't alone. Daisy had people that cared about her, while August didn't.

"What do you mean?" Daisy had frowned upon hearing the information that nobody came to visit August. He didn't have any parents that visited him, no foster family or friends to come see how he was doing.

"I don't know. I just don't get that many visitors, I guess."

The information made Daisy upset, the thought that August always sat alone in his hospital room, waiting for his impending death as he shuffled chess pieces back and forth in a never-ending game against himself.

"But you said you have a social worker." Daisy pointed out. "Isn't his whole job to watch after you and keep you safe?"

"He has that same job description for a billion other kids. He can't sit in a hospital room with me all day." August laughed lightly. "It really doesn't upset me, Daisy. I think you're more offended than I am."

Daisy couldn't help it. She didn't like that nobody came and visited the boy—not even his own social worker.

Daisy liked to think that if she were confined to live in the hospital, Octavia would visit her often. At least once a week.

"But...nobody? Nobody comes to see you?

"You come to see me." August pointed out. "And I like that you come to see me. It gives me somebody to ruthlessly beat at chess."

Daisy would've smiled if she hadn't remembered her conversation the night prior with Mark.

"I can't come as much anymore, though. Mark said he doesn't want me hanging out down here."

August frowned, slightly tilting his head to the right. "Who's Mark?"

"Legal babysitter." Daisy spoke, expecting August to understand her terminology seeing as he too was a foster kid. When the confusion on August's face deepened, Daisy let out a quiet sigh as she further explained. "Foster dad. He's a doctor here."

"Your foster dad is a doctor? Here?" August's eyes widened, the boy staring at Daisy in awe as the girl slowly nodded. "That's so cool. That sort of makes him a genius."

"Not really. 'Cause he's really bad at math. He yells at my homework, it makes him mad that they changed math."

"They changed math?" August's brows furrowed, his frown deepening.

"It's an old person thing." Daisy explained, still able to hear Mark's constant comments over Daisy's riddling math homework and the grief he expressed over why they would stick letters in equations.

"You're lucky." August spoke up quietly, organizing his medication into the appropriate containers. "I think if I had a foster dad, I'd learn how to play baseball. And I'd get a glove and everything, and he'd teach me how to catch."

Daisy smiled at the nice thought August already had mapped out for himself. "You don't need a foster dad to play baseball, though. You can still do that."

"Not with cancer. I can't even go to the bathroom without a nurse's help, there's no way I could stand long enough to catch a ball." August let out a quiet laugh, ignoring the somber topic he was laughing about.

Daisy understood August's fantasy to a degree. The idea that if there wasn't something holding you back, you would do anything and everything.

Though Daisy wasn't dying like August was, she felt like she couldn't do the things she wanted to with her OCD. Daisy didn't ever dare dream about a future career because she was scared nobody would ever hire her. She didn't dream about getting married or anything because she didn't think anybody would want to be around her ticks 24/7.

Her ticks were distracting, and noisy, and annoying. Even Daisy knew her constant tapping and counting and breakdowns were annoying. She knew that nobody would ever willingly subject themselves to that torture; she still wasn't sure why Mark had.

Daisy was fairly certain Mark would call Octavia soon. Calypso was the only reason Daisy had been around anyway, Daisy knew Mark only had the intentions of bringing Calypso into his house. Now that the girl was gone, Daisy knew she wouldn't be long after either.

She just didn't do anything anymore. Daisy didn't really talk to Mark, though he always tried to start up a conversation and she never had the energy to speak. Daisy didn't acknowledge Mark if she didn't have to. All Daisy ever did was cry, and Mark was the one that had to deal with it. Daisy genuinely wouldn't be upset if Mark called Octavia to come take her away because she would do the exact same thing. Nobody wants to have to deal with the needy kid.

"Do you know what today's date is?" August broke Daisy from her trance, preventing her thoughts from heading towards a fast downward slope. "I can't remember if it's-"

"May 15th." Daisy spoke up without missing a beat.

August nodded, using the ballpoint pen in his hand to scrawl down the time he had taken his medication for the day. "Is today important or something? You knew the date pretty quickly. I never remember the date like that."

"Because it's the 15th." Daisy spoke gently, a small smile coming onto her lips. "And the 15th is always the greatest. It's my favorite day of the month."

August scrunched his nose up slightly. "Why?"

"Just because it's fifteen. I have a theory that it's sort of the greatest number ever. And by default, the fifteenth of each month is the greatest day ever."

"Fifteen." August repeated, a small smile taking as he spoke. "I'm supposed to turn fifteen in July."

Supposed to.

Daisy noted the boy's choice of words, as if he believed his birthday wasn't something he would one-hundred percent experience. He would turn fifteen in two months, and July still felt like years away.

"You will turn fifteen in July." Daisy corrected August. "Birthdays are inevitable, and you get older every year. You are going to turn fifteen in July."

That's not what August had meant, though, and they both knew it.

"Yeah." August quietly let out the word, picking up yet another small pill. Daisy wondered why he took so many medications.

"Is that to help you get better?"

August only shook his head. "No. Just to sort of make me more comfortable."

The medication was to prepare him for his death, to reach out and grant him every morsel of comfort until death suffocated him. The cancer would take over every part of August until he was nothing but an unresponsive body.

"Oh."

The room was somber, an awful silence filling the air as the heavy weight of death creeped in yet again.

"God, you made it all sad in here again." August grinned slightly, taking a sip of water as he attempted to down another pill.

"You're the one that brought up the birthday stuff. It's your fault this time."

August's grin widened, the boy nodding slowly as if to concede. He looked thoughtful, opening his mouth for a moment when the appearance of a doctor interrupted him.

"August." Arizona smiled brightly, her eyes focusing on Daisy as her face slightly dimmed. "And Daisy. Hi."

Arizona looked more surprised than she did upset that Daisy was in August's room, and Daisy figured it was because she wasn't supposed to be in patient rooms. She wasn't supposed to be in August's room specifically, per Mark's request. Daisy felt herself redden a bit as Arizona and the pediatric nurse beside her entered the room.

"Have you been feeling okay?"

August only shrugged. "Sort of. My back's starting to hurt pretty bad."

The thin line that Arizona pressed her lips into made it evident the woman wasn't happy to hear that information, and August turned to look at Daisy.

"That means I'm dying quicker than they anticipated, because Dr. Robbins always has that look when my T-cell count is low or when the pain is pressing everywhere."

"August." The boy's nurse frowned. "Quit talking like that."

August only shrugged. He didn't understand why they were scolding him as if he wasn't speaking the inevitable.

The boy spared a glance over at Dr. Robbins, the kind doctor he'd grown incredibly familiar with over the course of his nearly two-year cancer journey.

"It's bad, isn't it?" August questioned as he scanned the adult woman's face. "My T-cell count? That's why you look so bummed out?"

Daisy had no clue what a T-cell was, nor did she have any clue what it had to do with cancer.

It was clearly something heavy, that was made evident in the way that the air in the room became unbearably stiff and quiet.

Arizona flitted her eyes over to Daisy, and it dawned on the girl that Arizona probably couldn't disclose that medical information with Daisy sitting right there.

"I can leave." Daisy offered, not wanting to impose and get in the way of the patient and his doctor having an important discussion. "I have psychiatry in a few minutes anyway, so I really should-"

"I can take you up." Arizona offered, not leaving any room for Daisy to speak up as she turned to August. "Nurse Dylan can help you with a shower, and when I get back, we'll go over your results."

August winced, and Daisy couldn't tell if the boy was nervous about the news Arizona had to give or if he just really hated having to have a nurse assist him with showering.

Daisy slowly stood up from her chair, August giving her a desperate sort of look.

"Will you come see me tomorrow?"

"I have school, and I don't have psychiatry tomorrow." Daisy explained, August looking a bit upset. "But I'll come on Wednesday."

"Okay, good. That's good." August looked a little more at ease as he watched the girl begin to leave his room, a tiny smile creeping onto his face. "Bye, Daisy."

Daisy smiled at her friend, crossing the threshold of the room's doorframe and entering the hallway.

Arizona was beside her, walking at the same steady pace that Daisy walked. The girl figured Arizona had things to talk over with her, but Daisy's curiosity jumped the gun first.

"What's a T-cell?"

"You know that you're not supposed to be in his room, right?" Arizona ignored Daisy's question, thumbing off to the more pressing subject.

Daisy frowned. "Are you gonna tell Mark?"

"No. I don't entirely agree with him. I think it's good that you have a friend to talk to."

"Really?"

"But I don't entirely disagree with him, either. I don't think it would hurt for you to keep a little bit of distance so you're not so devastated when he does go."

Daisy's frown deepened, her thoughts pulling her down as she was reminded for the billionth time that August's death was inevitable.

She didn't want him to die, though. August was the kindest person that Daisy had ever met, and the girl didn't think it was fair that his life would be cut so short.

"What's a T-cell?" Daisy asked quietly as she circled back to her thoughts from earlier.

"White blood cells, they're part of your immune system. They sort of attack all the bad stuff, like diseases and cancers. They're literal bodyguards."

Daisy let the information absorb in her brain, thinking back to the words August and Arizona had exchanged back in the boy's room.

"So then...that's why a low T-cell count is bad? Because cancer is spreading faster than your body can fight it?"

Arizona didn't answer, pressing her lips into a thin line again as she kept her gaze forward.

"You don't have to quit visiting his room completely. But...you really should stop visiting him so often, to prepare yourself."

"He's my friend. He's the first actual friend I've ever made, and I like talking to him. He helps me not think about Calypso, and that's a good thing because I don't want to think about her."

Daisy didn't mean to sound so harsh and insensitive, but thinking about her little sister always made her cry. Daisy hated being sad all the time, and she hated that her sister was the one that was upsetting her.

"See? Because now I'm sad." Daisy frowned as pictures of Calypso came flooding into her brain. "This wouldn't have happened if August was here."

Arizona let out a quiet sigh, footsteps faltering as the two had reached the psych wing.

"Please talk to your psychiatrist today. It's important to talk things out."

"I will."

"Actually talk things out." Arizona requested as gently as possible, referring to Daisy's relative unresponsiveness with her new psychiatrist.

Daisy let out a quiet sigh. "I will."

Arizona gave the girl a small smile, looking down at her wristwatch. "Are you good from here?"

"Yeah." Daisy nodded, staying quiet for a moment before gathering the thoughts to speak up again. "And...you're not gonna tell Mark, right?"

"Goodbye, Daisy." Arizona let out a faint laugh, letting her feet take her in the direction she had just come from. Daisy knew that the woman was probably headed to give August bad news about his health, and that made the girl wince.

Daisy tried to focus on her next task of getting through psychiatry, walking in the opposite direction that she and Arizona had come from.

The psychiatric wing of the hospital was Daisy's familiarity, and she knew the winding halls as well as the back of her hand.

Though that was probably a bad thing that the psych wing was so familiar to her. The thought only encouraged Daisy's fear that she was genuinely crazy.

The girl walked to the end of the hall where the door to Dr. Perkins' temporary office was sat. Daisy usually would've knocked, seeing as she knew the psychiatrist had other patients.

But Dr. Perkins had his door skewn open, the man writing something down at the desk while Daisy stood awkwardly in the doorway.

"I know that I'm a little early, um...do you want me to wait in the hall until you're ready, or..."

Dr. Perkins looked up as Daisy's speech trailed off, the man glancing back down at his papers.

"You can come in, I'm just finishing up a report. Take a seat."

Daisy slowly made her way over to the cushioned chair, letting herself sink down and be embraced by the furniture.

Silence filled the air as Dr. Perkins wrote, giving Daisy the time to be as observant as ever over her surrounding environment.

The office was very similar to Dr. Sen's, the only difference being the paintings on the wall and the positioning of the potted plant. The overall set-up of the room was relatively the same, which comforted Daisy.

The girl cast her eyes out the window, staring out the familiar glass pane that she always fixated on as she watched an endless amount of cars pass.

The room was warm too, Daisy noted. Warmer than the rest of the hospital, at least. Warmer than the temperature that August's room was kept at. Daisy didn't like it.

Dr. Perkins pushed the papers he had been writing on to the side, glancing down at Daisy's file and very evidently ready to start a session.

Though Daisy wasn't quite ready to start a session, and the girl still had trouble focusing on anything that Dr. Perkins said.

The psychiatrist had learned very quickly that if he wanted Daisy to talk to him, he had to speak about topics that sparked her interest—whether that be in a positive or negative way.

Blood always made her wince, but she answered his questions regardless. She was desperate to find a solution that would erase the sticky feeling from her skin.

Calypso made Daisy want to cry, but she listened attentively to Dr. Perkins' thoughts on the matter. He came up with different solutions on how to fill the huge hole in her life that Calypso had left.

Fifteen was one of Daisy's favorite topics, and Dr. Perkins quickly learned that the girl could write a twelve-page paper on why the number was so wonderful.

"What's up with fifteen?" Dr. Perkins spoke, watching the noticeable shift in Daisy's posture.

She sat upright, looking attentive. Her eyes had been drawn away from the window, the cloudiness gone at the mention of her favorite number.

"What do you mean?"

Dr. Sen looked down at the file in his hands. "Dr. Sen has the number fifteen circled and highlighted in your file. You've gone through a pretty decent amount of trauma, and the fifteen is what he chose to place emphasis on. Why is fifteen so important?"

"It's sort of like my lucky number, I guess. Everything in my life happens in fifteens." Daisy tried her best to explain her infatuation with the odd number. "I was born on the 15th, which makes it my golden birthday too, so I'll turn 15 on the 15th. My sister was born on the 23rd, my mom the 1st and my dad the 7th, so the days of their birthdays subtracted is fifteen."

"I think I would pin that as a coincidence, though."

"The house we grew up in was on 15th Avenue. My mom went through three courses of chemotherapy before she died, and each course had five cycles, meaning fifteen cycles when she ended it. My dad's accident happened on Interstate 15 in Arizona. It's...it's everywhere, fifteen is all over the place. I count to fifteen and I tap in fifteens and everything is always fifteen."

"Do you like that?" Dr. Perkins proposed the question, Daisy furrowing her eyebrows. "Does it comfort you to have a specific number to fixate on, or does it make you nervous that that's the only number you can fixate on."

Daisy hadn't ever truly thought about that. Fifteen was just a number, a safe little increment that she knew would keep her secure throughout every nervous breakdown and sob-fest. Fifteen kept Daisy safe, and she liked that the number stayed the same each time.

OCD was sort of funny in that way. Doing the same things over and over again was truly maddening for the vast majority of the human population, but Daisy loved familiarity. She loved repetition, she liked things that stayed the same and didn't change. She liked things that repeated over and over and over and over and over again. The value of fifteen never changed, always staying the same, and Daisy loved fifteen for staying the same.

But was Daisy just a number? Anybody who knew Daisy immediately thought of fifteen upon hearing the girl's name. Daisy wanted to be seen as a person, a human being that experienced a whirlwind of emotions and made both good and bad decisions. Daisy didn't want to be seen as merely a number. Daisy didn't want fifteen to become her identity, an odd integer on a scale of trillions and trillions, infinitely many digits spanning on and on.

Daisy didn't answer, instead focusing on the sweat building up on the pads of her fingers. Moisture collected as Daisy's hands rested against the leather of the couch, and she pulled her hands away.

"It's warm in here."

Dr. Perkins nodded. "Only a few degrees. Warmth isn't a bad thing."