Not even thirty.

Ryan is a year older than me and neither of us have yet turned thirty- that’s why it seems so exceptionally cruel that when he holds me in his arms it feels like he’s trying to protect me from something he just can’t. We can’t be [i]just lovers[/i] anymore; we can’t kiss without my thoughts inevitably slipping away to ‘what if this is the last time I kiss him’, and I know he can’t wrap his arms around me without noticing how fucking thin I am. I’m not just his husband, I’m his sick husband. Dying husband. He’s going to be a fucking widow before he’s even thirty and it kills me to think about so I cut my thoughts off forcefully before they get a chance to spiral; I try and distract myself by listening to his breathing, steady by my ear. When I pull back slightly I’m smiling despite myself because here is the man I have loved all of my life, by my side even now, when things look so hopeless. Though I didn’t expect any less from him. Ryan would never leave, even if I asked him to. Overwhelmed, I resist slightly when he cradles my jaw and tilts my head up to meet his eyes- again, I am constantly aware of how sick I look, it’s written on my face, plain as day. It used to be something I was able to manage- appearance wise, anyway- now, I can’t fool anyone. So I’ve stopped trying. My hair is overgrown and I barely do more than run my hands through it, somedays not even that. Reflectively I run my hand through it as I hesitantly meet my husband’s eyes.

I try to stop worrying so much, for him.

[i]Charming way to put it.[/i] I can’t help the reluctant smile that creeps onto my face, reluctant even though I was the one who cracked the joke. I wonder if he can tell how desperately I try to pretend things are normal- when he’s beside me in my hospital bed I ignore the sounds of heart monitors and whatever other [i]crap[/i] is wired up to me (I’ve stopped fucking caring what they connect to me from one day to the next, Ryan knows more than I do at this point and we’ve had a few minor fallings out over just that) and I shut my eyes and I pretend we’re back at home, in [i]our[/i] bedroom, in [i]our[/i] bed. I fancy that we had spent the whole evening watching TV, maybe, curled up together on the sofa, and then I’d pretended to be asleep and he’d picked me up so gently and carried me up to bed, laid me down so tenderly and climbed in beside me. Sometimes I wake up from such fantasies and open my eyes expecting to be met with sunlight streaming in through the blinds and illuminating Ryan’s skin, the crispness of our own sheets, drowned in the hoodie I sleep in because it smells just like him. I’m wearing that now, funnily enough- I have stolen countless items of clothing from Ryan over the years but this is my favourite and when Ryan isn’t around, and I let myself break down in private, I cry into it, chest heaving desperately until I calm down and tire myself out and I am too dehydrated to cry any more.

[b]”What can I say,”[/b] I laugh, but barely. Charming, that’s what I’m supposed to be. I crack these jokes because if I stop, who am I anymore? I might as well be dead if I lose the part of myself that is immortal. I don’t want to be a shell. [i]...You took a lot more than just that, though?[/i] He nudges me and I elbow him right back, but I can’t really muster enough strength for it to be more than a gentle nudge. [b]”Damn right I did.”[/b] My voice is laced with amusement, but distant. Not really my own. [b]”I thought that was a sensitive spot, baby, I’m surprised you brought it up of your own accord.”[/b] I’m smiling, and he takes my hand, and it’s so warm and the callouses are so familiar, our fingers lace together like they have hundreds of times. Clockwork. We’re stood in the water and I try not to shiver and suddenly he turns to me and I can tell the stupid bastard is about to start blaming himself for something that is not his fault. Used to this guilt from Ryan by now I turn to him, smile fading, and will him to stop, I can’t bear that he blames himself. I know he can’t bear to hear me blame [i]my[/i]self either. But I’ve accepted that I’m the only one that can- or could- help myself.

But I’m breaking down, of course I am, these days I’m constantly on the brink. We’re flustered and stupid and chaotic and in love and as I lean forwards Ryan catches me easily in his arms and I kiss him, leaning against him. When I pull back he’s looking right me and my chest swells with sorrow and affection and then I remember what I look like and stubbornly drop my chin to my chest, swallowing. As I do this, Ryan bodily moves us so I am facing the horizon. It’s not really that impressive considering the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen is holding me secure in his arms right now. The sunset could only dream of matching that. Even so- he presses kisses against my skin and I sigh, appreciative. [i]You’re going to be okay.[/i] Why would I believe him when he just sounds like he’s trying to convince himself? Holding my tongue, I rest my chin in the crook of his shoulder and my eyelids start to droop. Fatigue has set in already and I’ve barely even walked anywhere. I’m weak, I’m worthless, it’s like he’s my fucking carer, not my husband. I hate it. I hate it so much. I’ve been on the edge for a while but before I can start shaking and before any tears start to fall I’m stopped when he starts to speak again. 

[i]I Know it. Trust me. [/i][b]”I trust you.”[/b] My response is immediate, unfaltering. There’s nobody I trust more. [i]I’ll be right there next to you, the whole time.[/i] [b]”I know.”[/b] My voice wavers and I clear my throat to try and disguise it but I know he will have noticed. Ryan is so observant- he only doesn’t notice things when he intentionally and actively tries not to. [b]”I don’t know what I’d fucking do without you.”[/b] Well, I did- but if I said so, Ryan would kill me before I’d even get a chance to die from my disease. The macabre nature of this business brings a mirthless smile to my lips and I stare still at the horizon while Ryan moves around me, wraps his arms around my waist. Here is the one place I feel safe. Home is a person and that person, for me, is Ryan. Automatically I relax back into his arms, confident that he can hold me. [i]It’s beautiful.[/i] My head dips in a lazy nod and after a few beats I reach one of my arms up to curl into the back of his hair, turning my head fully to the side and guildimg him awkwardly but sweetly into a short kiss. [b]”You’re beautiful. Baby, I- I love you more than anything. I wanted- to be with you forever. Find our first grey hairs, and now-”[/b] I shut my eyes tight and clench my jaw. Breathe, Brendon, breathe.