Brendon thought lot about where his bad habits had surfaced from- the bad habit of a few too many far too often that developed startlingly fast into a full-blown addiction that he couldn’t shake, that marred his once-golden reputation amongst his friends (he knew some of them said things behind closed doors they wouldn’t say to his face, which was strange, because the best time to say something hard to swallow to anyone was when they were a dead man anyway), that had, by the age of not even thirty, ruined and brought close the end of his life. When it got down to it, he remembered the almost foolish heartbreak he suffered upon leaving Ilvermorny, and the way to distract himself from Ryan’s absence and his parent’s inattention was whatever he got his hands on first- and that, to somebody who looked older than they were, was alcohol from people who just didn’t ask questions to keep their conscience clear.

It had began relatively mildly, where he didn’t get drunk every night, but he drank every night without fail unless he ran out. Soon, though, anxiety set in when he [i]couldn’t[/i] drink, and it was disrupting his schoolwork. Next he even drank all throughout the day when he could- then he stooped the level of stealing from his alcoholic maths teacher, at the stage where he began to get shaky without it and now schoolwork was interfering with his drinking. Brendon still wasn’t sure why he became hooked so quickly, and it was sort of morbidly amusing that in the beginning, he’d hated most alcohol anyway. His affinity for it came with frequent consumption. He wondered why his parents never noticed when he went home during the holidays, that his modest group have friends ignored that anything was happening, that the only professor who took notice was the alcoholic that simply recognised the symptoms (and also that some of his stash was missing). He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t bitter.

Joey. When Brendon first knew that he probably wouldn’t last much longer, and he wasn’t going to grow old with his husband like he’d planned, he’d thought about Joey, and how the hell he was going to be able to face him. If it was up to him, he’d refuse, but he was confined to bed and didn’t have the option to avoid him. The visit was heartbreaking for both of them- Joey felt guilt that he hadn’t been able to save Brendon, who was much younger, and Brendon felt like he’d disappointed a father. Which he had. Brendon was going to miss him- he hoped in the back of his mind that Joey would visit again so he could cry into his shoulder while Ryan wasn’t around to see him so weak. Then again, Ryan was a saint for even sticking around this long, he thought absently- it wasn’t like he was getting any prettier, and it had been weeks since Brendon had last even looked in a mirror. It was better this way- he could imagine himself as normal, even if he felt like death.

Brendon knew he was probably a little selfish in that he never wanted Ryan to go anywhere- mostly because he was terrified he wouldn’t be alive when Ryan got back to his bedside. He pretended to be asleep when arguments broke out between Ryan and the hospital staff about whether he had to leave or not, and always exhaled a shaky sigh of relief when they left and he and Ryan were left in relative peace. In the beginning, Brendon had been actively hoping for recovery, but now it was all too much too fast and he had pretty much resigned to his fate. He just wanted to be with his lover for as long as possible, but his heart sank when he realised no amount of time together now would make up for all the years they would lose. Brendon couldn’t think about it too long. The concept of being dead was relatively easy for him to grasp- it was the impossibility of Ryan’s absence, or rather Brendon’s own solitude, that shook him to the core. His life wasn’t meant to play out like this. He guessed he just had to make the most of it while he still had one.

It was one of those days where Ryan finally went home, even if only briefly. Before he had gone, Brendon had held onto him with as much strength as his weak body could muster, and gave him a hasty, watered-down version of his rehearsed ‘I’m moments away from death and I’m terrified I won’t get to tell you how much I love you’ speech. Ryan was still kind of in denial, so he just nervously laughed it off after tentatively retiring the gesture. Then he was gone, and Brendon resigned back to his bed, staring at the ceiling. 

But during the time of Ryan’s short three hour absence, too much happened for him to process, and when his husband got back, he barely even noticed because he was stiffened, his eyes closed and his throat tight. It was hard enough processing himself, but telling Ryan- he wished he had taken the offer of the nursing staff telling Ryan instead, but it was too late for that. [i]Hey, baby.[/i] Brendon felt his heart beat a little harder, like the sound of Ryan’s voice had revitalised it for mere moments. [i]Brought you got chocolate this time. Thought another caramel macchiato might be overdoing it, y’know?[/i] Ryan’s light attitude made Brendon feel a little worse about dropping this on him, but he soldiered through, sitting up straighter and finally opening his eyes, reaching up slowly to run a hand through his hair, pushing it to one side. [b]“Thanks,”[/b] He murmured, but didn’t touch it, just glanced at it and registered it’s location so he didn’t knock it over in confusion some time later.
 
[i]How are you doing?[/i] Brendon winced, looking at Ryan mournfully, his mind taking forever to form words. [b]"Not so hot,”[/b] He admitted, cracking a weak smile. It wasn’t like they expected anything else, but... Actually being told that he had a month, at best, wasn’t the greatest feeling in the world. [b]”I, uh- I’ve been given an expiry date.”[/b] Brendon couldn’t help but laugh, because if he didn’t laugh, he’d have broken down in Ryan’s arms by now. Not his proudest moments. [b]"A month, maybe.”[/b]