Brendon tried not to think about everything he was leaving behind, everyone. He’d shut out memories that choked him up and made it difficult to find peace when he was on his deathbed, lying there and practically counting the days. The difference between him and Ryan was that Brendon had already accepted that there was no coming back from this- he needed surgery, and for the right surgery he’d need to be clean for a long time, and he knew when the doctors told him that he just couldn’t do it. He couldn’t manage. And he felt guilty, useless, awful, because other people did it, why did it have to be so [i]hard,[/i] he was young and there were alcoholics who died at near normal ages and why couldn’t that be him? Ryan’s dad- Ryan’s dad succumbed to his addiction a few years ago, and he was much older than Brendon. It wasn’t fair. And it was ironic- the person he’d started drinking to try and forget was the one by his side in his last months, weeks, days, the one who had sworn to love him in sickness and in health, until death do them part, and Brendon was at least comforted to know that he meant what he said. He just didn’t think their vows would play out so soon, and he knew that Ryan would love him far beyond death. There was a comfort in that, but also an ache in his heart- people did say that death only really hurt those that were left behind.

As much as he loved and valued and [i]needed[/i] Ryan’s presence to stay sane, there were times when he went through periods of being repulsed by anyone’s touch, be it the nurses, doctors, even Ryan, and he felt awful, but his whole body felt disgusting and he was too hot and then too cold and he couldn’t bear being around anyone. He just shut his eyes and tried to zone out but everything was so loud and jarring, noises scraping at his skull and nothing would let up and allow him to rest. Ryan was so patient- he waited, sat far away from him if Brendon asked him to, or even if he didn’t and he could just tell. This had turned into their norm and Brendon hated it. It wasn’t living- it wasn’t even surviving, because every day brought him closer to the end. He supposed that happened to everyone, but Brendon’s end was much sooner than it should be. He had so many plans, so much he wanted to do, and some fucking disease had taken that from him, and it was his fault, his own stupid fault, he sabotaged his own life and there was nobody to blame but himself-

[i]Ryan,[/i] He thought suddenly, weakly, his husband’s name cutting through his downward spiral of self-accusatory thoughts. Ryan was with him, as long as he was, It’d be fine. Brendon wished he could turn, wrap his arms around him tightly, but he was too weak and hooked up to too many machines so he just stayed quiet as his throat closed up, trying to calm himself down because he [i]was[/i] scared, he needed comfort and Ryan was there and his mouth pressed against Brendon’s temple and Brendon felt his heart flutter uneasily, hearing the reflection of that from the beep of his heart monitor. His breathing slowed, though, coming down from his anxiety, and he felt his fingers twitch. Being confined in bed like this was his own personal hell- somebody as active as he usually was needed to roam and move and even though he was too weak to be as energetic as he was maybe a few months back, he needed to at least walk around, feel his legs again. But he couldn’t, and he tried not to focus on the bad, he thought about Ryan, he felt a little calmer, easy enough to make jokes.

[i]Not funny.[/i] Brendon shrugged one shoulder, and the effort it took to do that was alarming. [b]”I think it’s pretty funny.” [/b]Smiling even so at the ceiling, he felt Ryan turn his head and do the same, four eyes trained at the bright ceiling, Brendon’s view for the past few months, the first thing he saw when he woke up, the last thing he saw when he went to sleep. Would it be the last thing he saw before he died? No, no, It’d be Ryan. What if Ryan wasn’t there? Panic set in again, his thoughts a chain reaction that grasped violently at his throat, tightening his airways and closing around his lungs and Brendon moved his hand to find Ryan’s, tangling their fingers together, seeking reassurance. [i]Brendon, if they’re right, I don’t know, um.[/i] Brendon bit his dry lips, closing his eyes to listen, feeling close to pessimistically correcting the [i]if[/i] Ryan used but he felt the strange need to protect him. [i]I don’t know what I’m supposed to... do.[/i] Oh. Brendon swallowed, because- he knew Ryan felt a little hopeless, he knew it would be difficult for him, but he didn’t realise he felt so lost that he had to ask Brendon, the one [i]dying,[/i] for help. 

Brendon saw Ryan from his peripheral and he knew that he was crying, heard the unsteadiness of his breath and the shakiness of his breathing. He swallowed the lump in his throat, tried not to cry himself, just intently listened to what his husband had to say. It wasn’t [i]all[/i] about Brendon, after all. He only had to live with his for a month. Ryan had to live without him for the rest of his life, Ryan would remember Brendon in his final days as malnourished, deathly thin, sickly, weak. That wasn’t the Brendon either of them knew, and Brendon hoped that Ryan would always think of him instead as he was in his finest days, vitalised and happy with bright eyes and a wide, showstopping smile, soft, healthy hair, smooth pale skin and actual muscle definition he’d been so proud of. Not this shell that he’d become. He felt bitter, thinking about everything his disease he taken from him. [i]I mean, I don’t even know what to do when I’m at home now.[/i] Brendon didn’t know what to do when Ryan was at home, either. He felt lost amongst the nurses and machines, only vaguely happy when his husband was by his side. Brendon squeezed his hand with all the strength he had left, which was startlingly little. [i]Like. What would you do if I- like, after. How would you go on?[/i]

That was a strange question, because Brendon was the one dying, it was weird to think of other hypotheticals. He decided to try and lighten the mood as much as possible. [b]”That depends,”[/b] He mused, gracefully pretending still that he didn’t notice that Ryan was crying. Brendon had seen him cry maybe five or six times the entire time they’d known eachother, including happy tears. It meant he was truly overwhelmed, and Brendon made it his mission to calm him down as much as he could. [b]”What are you dying of?”[/b] He grinned, nudged his side gently with his bony elbow, then exhaled gently, stroking his thumb across Ryan’s hand. [b]”I think I’d, like, be really bummed, because I wouldn’t get dick anymore.” [/b]Brendon couldn’t help but splutter with laughter because it was so inappropriate, but that was Brendon, Ryan couldn’t really be surprised. [b]”In fact, that’s what’s so lame about this whole thing. I’m too sick for sex.”[/b] He was laughing again, and it hurt his throat because it was so dry, but he felt momentarily distracted. He hoped Ryan was, too. Brendon calmed down, but he was still smiling gently, and he turned his head to look at Ryan, consider him. [b]”You know, I don’t know. It’d be difficult, but. I know I’d- I know you’ll get through it, you know? You better.”[/b]