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heathendolan · 6 years ago

Text

People Like Grayson (G.D)

Summary: The last words your soulmate will say to you are tattooed on your wrist.

Warnings: none besides swearing and a lot of sad stuff

A/N: hi everyone, maybe not the type of fic you wanted but i really wanted to challenge myself as a writer and write something that i would never typically write. honestly i could hardly do it i was an emotional wreck lol :// extended authors note here. Ethan’s version: Forget Me Nots.

Word Count: 14.9K+ || masterlist

You waited until your fourteenth birthday to check what your wrist said.

You'd waited years until you really wanted to know, until you couldn't wait, and then you waited some more. You never saw the point in finding out; you weren't a fan of the future when your life was average and rocky, and you didn't want anything to be set in stone, including the words you'd hear echoing in your head torturously after you'd lost the one you would love. So, you avoided the ink like the black plague and hoped that maybe if you didn't know, it wouldn't happen.

But then, you were twelve and you stood at the wake of your grandpa's funeral with bloodshot eyes and a lawless hatred for the universe and you held your brother's hand like it was a lifeline. From the corner of your eye you saw your mother cry hysterically into her hands and that was just too much for you, no matter how much you bit on your lip, no matter how much blood seeped into your mouth, no matter how much you clenched your jaw to hold back strangled sobs, you couldn't hold it in, so you let it out. You shook your head and cursed your emotions, cursed your love for people, cursed your giant heart and the memories it held for the little old man who brought you to ice cream parlors every Sunday.

You curled in on yourself in the back of a church bench, wrapped your own weak arms around your own weak knees because you'd shoved away the affection of everyone else that night, because it wasn't fair. It wasn't fair that we spent our lives loving and losing and trying to deal with the aftermath of constant heartbreak. You were bawling into balled fists when you heard the creak of old wood beside you, and you feared it might be God himself coming to chastise you for your doubt, for your anger and your hostility.

But it wasn't. It was your grandma, sweet as honey and warm as the sun, grinning softly as she rubbed a wrinkled hand down your back. You scrubbed away your selfish tears, humiliated as you stared at the woman that would suffer the most from it all, the woman who smiled in sympathy as she lost her soulmate. "Darling you're going to flood the Sahara with all these tears," she cooed, chuckling as you groaned.

"Gram, I don't wanna go a Sunday without ice cream," you whispered, sucking in your bottom lip.

"Who says you gotta?" she asked.

You shrugged and picked at a loose thread in your very prickly dress. "Fate."

"Did fate kill all the cows and steal all the sugar?" she laughed, patting your thigh casually, and that stung more than anything--that your Grandma was cracking jokes for your sake when you were sure she was withering inside.

"Gram, it hurts," you breathed, your words practically inaudible. "Please don't act like everything's okay."

"But everything is, Sweetheart. I got all I need. I got closure," she beamed. She yanked up her shawl sleeve and ran her finger over the veiny skin of her wrist. "Says 'Don't forget to feed Brutus while I'm gone,'" she grinned, still petting the ink where it marked her.

You weren't quite sure how that could sugarcoat the fact that her husband was dead.

"He knows I forget. He knows me better than anyone else, and he just had said it as I sat in the hospital holdin' his hand. Such a bittersweet feeling knowing you spent your life with the right person as they die, and Honey, I had your grandpa for forty-eight years; had him for long enough for him to know me and love me too. Everything is okay."

Your eyes flooded once more and your nose stung. "What'd you say back?" you asked, your voice thick with emotion.

"Said 'Don't forget to love me when you leave,'" she smiled, squeezing your leg painfully tight and you knew it hurt her. But then she was chuckling all raspy and saying, "Bastard. Gave him such a romantic tattoo, and all I have is this reminder," with a laugh, waving her wrist.

So, you waited two more years to find out, itching with curiosity.

Waited until you wanted to know, and then when you really wanted to know, you waited some more. So, you sat at the counter with your birthday cake in front of you, illuminated with fourteen rainbow candles. "Alright go ahead- wait, hold on, let me get the camera," your mom squealed, running off. You stared down at the frosting with a watering mouth and watched the wax dribble down under the heat. "Okay, okay. Make a wish!" she cheered, snapping pictures left and right.

You sucked in a chest-full of air and puffed out your cheeks, blowing out the flames one by one. Let it be good, let the words be good, let him be good, let life be good, let it be-

"What'd you wish for?!" your mom shouted, clapping her hands together excitedly.

"Mom, stop, you're being weird," you chuckled nervously.

"Oh, don't tell me fourteen comes with this angsty teenage sass?" she wailed. You rolled your eyes at her and shook your head. "See! None of that," she said, pointing an accusatory finger at you.

"Well, I can't tell you my wish, then it won't come true," you whined.

"Don't tell me you believe that old myth, c'mon, share with your momma," she grinned, pulling up a stool and propping her chin on her fist.

You glared at your cake, twisting the candles out of the glaze. You did believe that old myth. "Of course I don't, you just don't need to know everything about me," you sniffed haughtily.

Your mom cocked her head, a disapproving frown on her lips. "(Y/N)."

"Fine," you groaned dramatically. "I'm just hoping my soulmate words are good. Well, as good as they can be. They're gonna be bad either way since my soulmate will be dead after I hear 'em," you shrugged, sucking the frosting off the bottom of a candle. You grabbed the kitchen knife beside the platter and sliced a slit into the fluff. After a few beats of silence, you dragged the slice onto your plate and mumbled, "And I don't care if you think that's dumb. I just want life to be good."

Your mom cleared her throat and you glanced up at her. "I didn't realize you hadn't looked yet," she frowned, grabbing the knife and dishing herself her own slice. "I didn't realize you thought so cynically about your words, either."

You glared at her and said, "I don't know how you can think so positively about them. They're torture. And that's not my 'teenage angst' speaking or whatever, that's realism. What if you don't meet the right one, and you spend your whole life with someone else, only to find out that they're not actually the one? Or that you've already heard them, and you don't even know it. It's stupid, like how do you even know if Dad's the one? That's right, you don't." You stabbed your fork too aggressively into your birthday cake, feeling more miserable by the second.

"Missy, I don't know where this know-it-all complex came from, but until you fall in love with someone, you don't know what you're talking about. I'd risk everything for your father, so if he's not the one, I couldn't care less. I'm insanely in love with him. I'm sorry babe, but life isn't gonna be that bad for you," she smirked, shoveling a forkful of cake into her mouth. You mumbled your mouth in mimicry, and she reached over and smacked your head. "Enough of that, and I'm not kidding. I'll take your phone. Where's my sweet thirteen-year-old?" she frowned.

"She's dead and gone," you smirked, chomping down on another chunk of dessert. "Thank you for the cake, mother dearest," you drawled, tossing aside your attitude and kissing her on the head. "And thank you for the great birthday. Now, I'm off to go look at my words. Read 'em and weep," you snorted sarcastically.

You clambered up the stairs to your bedroom, taking the steps two at a time. Your hands shook a bit as you sealed your door shut, locking you in a silent room full of nervous, breathy sighs. Okay. Okay, you can do this. You trudged over to your bed and fixed yourself crisscross-applesauce on it, sucking in a deep breath. Just do it. Just do it. Just do it.

So, you flipped over your wrist quickly, in hopes of ripping the band-aid off--but it would only open up a fresh new, undeniably painful wound.

It was nice to meet you.

What? you thought, your lip wobbling as your eyes studied each word separately, then together, then again, and again, and again.

It was nice to meet you.

What the fuck did that mean? You're only ever going to meet them, and then lose them right after? What?

It was nice to meet you.

No, no, no.

It was nice to meet you.

You tangled your fingers in your hair, tore knots in it and yanked out hair with shaky hands. This was a joke right? A fucking joke?

You only vaguely remember screaming, screaming bloody murder and sobbing profusely. It wasn't until your mom busted down your door that you realized you were deaf to the world--apart from the high pitched ringing echoing in your ears. Your lips were numb, your hands were numb, your legs were numb, and the only thing you could really feel was the anxiety churning in the pit of your stomach and your heart thumping radically in your chest.

What's wrong? you saw your mom mouth, undoubtedly screaming, but fuck, you couldn't hear. You wailed and thrashed; you'd take your Grandma's 'Don't forget to feed Brutus while I'm gone' etching over this any day. You'd take anything but this; you'd do anything to get your soulmate the way everyone else did; for life. Your mom yanked your wrist to her and reflexively gasped into her hand. And you might have laughed bitterly, or you might have cried harder--didn't matter to you.

Yeah Mom, life is gonna be that bad for me.

You sat with Anna at a coffee table, disgustingly-sweet frappuccino in one hand, phone in the other. "Did you see Karlie got lowlights? What is this, 2004?" she spat, shaking her head with a pair of wide eyes.

"They might look good," you shrugged, licking away a drizzle of caramel syrup from the rim of your cup. "Besides, absolutely nothing can be worse than her bubblegum pink hair from last year," you snorted. Anna flipped her phone to you, and you squinted at the picture. "Oh, oh god, never mind," you winced, sipping from your straw.

"Uh-huh," Anna nodded, scrolling with her thumb.

"So, how's Chris?" you asked with a smirk, flexing a brow.

She curled her lip and shook her head. "Not feeling it."

"Anna, come on. You've ditched every guy you've dated so far," you said, cocking your head disapprovingly.

"So? I'm sixteen, what do you want me to do, marry them?" she laughed dryly and rolled her eyes.

And maybe that did sound a bit stupid on your part. "Well, no, but who do you really want? Like, what are you looking for that they don't have? Cause Chris is rich as hell--if you're not gonna take him, I will," you giggled, grinning warmly at her in hopes of rekindling the carefree atmosphere you had only moments before.

She smirked and said, "I don't know, just none of them compare to your brother," airily. You suddenly couldn't care less if there was a carefree atmosphere; she was pissing you off too. "I'm kidding!" she exclaimed, stirring her latte with a straw.

But you knew she wasn't.

"Besides, he's like, way older and- and I don't even think about him that way," she bluffed, twirling a strand of hair around her finger, which was her lying tick.

"Uh-huh," you chuckled, shaking your head. "Whatever, I don't care."

"Speaking of soulmates, got any ideas of-"

"Whoa, holy fuck, you did not just call my brother your soulmate!" you screeched. Everyone in the cafe turned their heads in interest, ready to hear the juicy details of this real-life soap opera. She ducked her head low, her face tomato red, and you squeezed the bridge of your nose. "Sorry. Kind of. Anna, what?" you sighed, sliding a hand down your face.

She cowered beneath your gaze and said, "I mean, nobody knows for certain, but-"

"Anna."

She groaned and pressed her head against the table and mumbled something incoherently.

"Anna."

She stomped her feet against the coffee shop's floor. "I'm in love with your brother. And my wrist says 'Please spend Christmas with my family even after I'm gone, you know my mom loves your apple crisp,' so I think that's pretty damning," she squeaked.

And it was. Your mom loved her apple crisp.

"Fucking aye," you growled, falling back against your seat with a stone expression. You didn't want to be sour--it's not like she chose her soulmate. It wasn't even necessarily that it was your brother, it was that she had someone for life and you didn't.

"(Y/N), look, I'm sorry," she gushed, grabbing your hand from across the table. "If I could choose anyone else, I would. But-"

"But you can't choose, and I get that. I'm not mad at you. I'm mad at everything else," you explained, shrugging a shoulder.

"What do you mean?" she asked timidly, propping her chin on her fist.

"I mean, I'm pissed that you get a soulmate," you grumbled, pounding the table with your fist. And Anna looked like she might cry. "No, no, no, sorry, okay, no," you rushed out when it dawned on you just how awful that sounded. "I-"

"You don't think I deserve a soulmate?" she croaked, curling in on herself.

"No, Anna you know I think you deserve a soulmate," you sighed. You picked at your cuticles with a scowl, unsure just how to go about explaining that you'd be alone, forever. She waited patiently, sadly, quietly. "I don't get a soulmate. Well, not for long, at least," you admitted, tears pooling in your eyes.

"What?" she breathed.

You shoved your wrist in her face and avoided that sympathetic gaze she was bound to give you. You heard her gasp softly, and then she was tugging you into her tightly. And you cried on her shoulder in the middle of that coffee shop, and that's all you needed for a second, some release.

"I left money for pizza on the counter, her bedtime's 9:30 and she'll definitely try and convince you to let her stay up and watch Looney-Tunes, and she's good at it too okay, she can nearly persuade me, but just, be strong. Also, she'll use these super cute eyes and ask for Kit-Kats, just, don't give them to her, especially since she's already had two donuts today, god what kind of mother am I-"

"Carol, get out of here," you chuckled, shooing her from the door. "Brooke and I are gonna have an awesome night, aren't we Brookie Dough?" you asked, bouncing her where she clung to your hip. Brooke giggled and nodded, tangling her stubby fingers in your hair.

"Okay, okay!" Carol said, waving her hands about. "But seriously, no Looney-Tunes, it ends after 10:00 and that's way too late for her-"

"Carol!"

"Fine! Alright, bye you two," she smiled, backing out of the house and slamming the front door shut.

You grinned devilishly down at Brooke as soon as you saw Carol's car pull out onto the street. "You wanna Kit-Kat?"

"Yes, please," she giggled, crooked-teeth in full display.

You laughed and nodded, juggling her as you walked to the kitchen, grabbing a basket stowed away on the top shelf. You held it out for her and said, "Just one." Brooke nodded furiously before grabbing two, layering them discreetly, and you pretended not to notice. With a chuckle, you asked, "Where's your momma going?"

She hugged the candy bars to her tummy, attempting to be discreet. "Ummm, she's going out on a date with Daddy. And she says- and she says he's her mate person," Brooke says, cupping her hands around your ear and whispering not-so-quietly.

"Oh, that's good!" you cheered, your stomach wrenching at the thought of soulmates.

"Yeah, her wrist- and her wrist says, 'I'm glad'- it says 'I'm glad we spent our whole lives together,'" Brooke mumbled, her words stringing together messily.

Jealousy sprouted in you and your heart began to ache. "Well, your momma and daddy are very lucky to have one another," you said, kissing her temple.

"What's yours say?" Brooke asked, jabbing you in the wrist.

The permanent smile you wore for babysitting duties faltered a bit, but you quickly recovered and said, "It says, 'Hey, it was nice to meet you.' Not very exciting." You forced a laugh and pinched her side, sending her into a fit of giggles. "What does yours say, Brookie Dough?"

She giggled some more and pulled up her knitted sweater. "I don't know, I can't read yet," she said. Above it was a temporary tattoo of a butterfly, iridescent and glittery and childish and perfect. "Can you read it to me?" she asked flashing her wrist to you.

You grabbed it and scanned the tattoo. Your total will be 3.58. Your heart sank to the pit of your stomach.

"Gosh, I can't read it either, Brookie-Bear!" you fibbed, animating your lie with a shocked, believable expression. You weren't sure if you were awful for postponing her heartbreak, or kind for letting her learn on her own, just as you had.

"That's what momma and daddy said, too!" she laughed, shaking her head so her curls bobbed around. "Weird."

And that's when you realized you didn't have it so bad. So, you gave Brooke another Kit-Kat, flipped the television on, and let her watch Looney-Tunes until 11:00 PM.

Sunshine peaked from your cloudy mind after that, because someone out there was always going to have it worse than you, and that was just a fact.

"So, you gonna throw a rager for your eighteenth?" you smirked, eyeing Anna in the passenger seat.

"Maybe if you can get my parents to fuck off for a weekend," she laughed, rolling her eyes. "No, I'm kidding. Kind of. I don't think I'll be able to if they're home, obviously, so probably not," she shrugged. "What about you? Your B-day is pretty close, too," she said, poking your arm.

"Nah, can't throw one or drink at one, Mom would kill me," you laughed.

Anna groaned and dragged a hand down her face. "Dude, you gotta live on the edge for once in your life. What's the worst that could happen?"

"That's one stupid fucking question," you chuckled, pulling into your driveway.

"Okay, but what's the best that could happen?" she prompted, hope in her voice and a skip in her step.

"Harry Styles spontaneously makes a pit stop in New Jersey and absolutely rails me-"

"(Y/N), you're disgusting," she laughed, shoving you into your house.

"I'm disgusting? You literally have a kink for-"

"Don't say another fucking word," your brother garbled around a mouthful of Special K. He was lounging on the couch, feet kicked up on the coffee table with Rugrats reruns playing, and Anna's breath hitched and her face blushed a furious red, just as it always did when she was around your brother, and you smacked her upside the head.

"You really are disgusting," you grimaced, strutting into the kitchen.

"Hey," your brother shouted, still chomping on his cereal. "You have some mail from Berkeley," he mentioned casually.

You spun on your heel, sprinting back towards the living room, grabbing his head. "What?"

He scrunched up his face and swatted at your jazzy hands. "Ew, get off of me," he groaned.

"Oh my god, why wouldn't you tell me as soon as I walked in the door?! Why aren't you excited?! Why-"

"Jesus Christ (Y/N), just go open the fucking letter," he grumbled, jerking his head away from your hands.

Anxiety bubbled in your stomach as you scampered off to the kitchen, rounding the corners by sliding on your socks, and rummaged through the mail, tearing a few envelopes in your haste. Your hands fluttered as you shredded the casing. You could hardly hear anything over the coursing of blood through your ears. Through tunnel vision, you examined the letter.

Dear (Y/N) (Y/L/N),

On behalf of the Admission Committee, it is my pleasure to offer you admission to University of California, Berkeley-

"Holy fuck!" you screamed, your arms flying skyward compulsively. "I got into Berkeley!" You darted all around your home, working the seemingly-endless supply of adrenaline out of your system. "Anna! Anna, I got into Berkeley!" you cried, your hands flailing around. "Anna! Anna! Anna, you got into Berkeley too!"

"We got into Berkley!" she yelled, tackling you in a hug. You could only return it momentarily, squeezing with all your might before breaking away with another surge of energy.

"Oh my god, oh my god, I can't believe- Oh my god," you screeched, back to hustling about the house.

Your brother paused his Rugrats and between bites, said, "Hey, you make it in?"

"Yes! Oh my god, I can not-"

"Yeah no shit, the whole neighborhood knows," he snorted. "But hey, congrats. Proud of you, (Y/N)."

You bit your lip and squealed, hopping in place. "I'd hug you but-"

"No, please don't, that's okay," he cringed, resuming his cartoon. You rolled your eyes, before prancing around, skipping as you paced through the house, 'cause you made it into Berkeley.

Your brother walked through your dorm room door carrying the mini fridge and the microwave and the coffee maker with strained muscles. Anna's eyes bugged out at them, and you smacked her upside the head.

"Where.. do you want.. this stuff," he muttered, before immediately dropping the boxes to the ground with a crash, undoubtedly breaking something.

"Great fucking job, you probably broke the Keurig," you huffed, pinning him with a glare.

"You're pissed that I carried up all this shit for you-"

"-and Anna!"

-and Anna, and I set it down?" he asked incredulously, his face contorted with annoyance.

"Obviously I'm not pissed that you set it down, I'm pissed that you dropped it like an idiot-"

"Oh, so I'm an idiot for helping?" he barked, his hands flying around.

"No! You're an idiot for-"

Anna's head fell back and she groaned, "Jesus Christ, shut the fuck up, both of you."

And you stopped because it was Anna, and your brother stopped because it was Anna. You glanced at him to find him watching her with those googly-eyes he so-often gave her, and you smacked your forehead. You were not putting up with their bullshit today.

"Okay. Anna, top or bottom bunk?" you asked, craning your neck to the stacked beds.

"Bottom bunk."

You stamped your foot childishly and said, "No! I want bottom bunk."

"Then why'd you ask?"

"To be nice!"

"Too late," she shrugged.

"Okay, I don't think that's-"

Your brother crossed his arms and added his two cents. "Anna should get the bottom bunk if she wants it."

You were irritable and cranky and annoyed. But before you could spit out something nasty, Anna said, "Look, there's only one desk, and I know you need to work at a desk in order to study. So, I'll use my space on the bottom bunk for a study spot, and you get the top bunk but you get the desk too. That's fair, and you know it."

You weighed your options, and then realized you had none because Anna was right and blindly supported by your brother. You set your jaw and said, "Fine."

"So it looks like you two are getting along great as roommates already," your brother snorted. You scowled at him, which did nothing, and Anna ignored him, which was enough to wipe the grin off his face. You pinched your eyes shut and counted to ten before you heaved a dramatic sigh and began fitting your sheets on the top bunk.

Kraigshaw droned on and on about the importance of velocity and you had absolutely zero interest. You leaned back in your seat, rearranging every few seconds when the wood dug uncomfortably into your spine and shuffled your legs. With a sigh, you flopped forward and began doodling a cartoon beach on the margin of your notebook.

A boy behind you grunted and fidgeted furiously, rustling around in his very squeaky chair.

You shaded in the masts of your comic sailboat, tuning out both the professor and the idiot behind you.

But he kept whining.

So, you twisted in your seat and said, "Dude, are you okay?"

He scowled at you with dazzling hazel eyes that stirred something warm in your stomach. "I'm fucking dyslexic. I can't keep up with his slides."

And then you kind of felt like an ass, because you were rude to a person with a learning disorder, and he was really, really gorgeous. "Oh."

"Yeah," he sniped, setting his jaw and rolling his eyes.

Your professor clapped his hands together with finality and said, "Alright y'all, that's enough for the day. I'll see you all... Tuesday? No, Wednesday, sorry." Students clambered out of their seats and up the lecture hall stairs, desperate to ditch physics as quickly as possible.

The boy behind you groaned and let his head fall into his hands pathetically. "I don't get any of this fucking shit," he grumbled.

You bit your lip, and without a moment's thought, said, "I could help you," because he looked so sad, and your heart simply couldn't take it.

He peeped through his fingers. "What?" he asked.

"Could help you, with physics. I'm not that good, but I'm not that bad either. Or, at least help you with the slides. If you want. If you don't then never m-"

"No, I'd love that, I would love that so much," he insisted, nodding frantically.

You giggled and grinned at him. "When are you open? I don't have class until three, so-"

"I'm free right now, I'm done for the day. We could go to the library or one of our dorms, but I don't recommend mine cause my brother Ethan is such an ass and-"

"We can go to mine," you smiled, nervous jitters coursing through you. What if he thinks my room smells weird. Wait what? What am I thinking-

"Perfect, it's probably cleaner than mine too," he laughed.

But it wasn't clean. You laughed for conversation's sake, and then frenziedly texted Anna to clean the room ASAP.

"Mine's good. Um, what's your name?" you giggled, collecting your belongings and striding towards the door, mystery boy on your heels.

"Grayson, how about you?" You could hardly respond, you were stuck on the fact that his name was Grayson and how fitting that was for someone as stunning as himself. Grayson. "What's your name?" he tried again awkwardly.

"Oh, sorry, uh, it's (Y/N). My name's (Y/N)," you fumbled, your cheeks boiling. "Not as cool as Grayson, I know," you laughed.

"Are you kidding? That's a beautiful name," he breathed, stepping in time next to you. "I mean- I mean it is, I-I just- I didn't mean to-" he squeaked, his words jumbling together nervously.

"Thank you, Grayson," you smiled. You'd never been this nervous in your life, you nearly got lost on your way to your dorm, despite having lived there for nearly a month. "I don't know why I'm so nervous right now," you blurted for some unknown reason. You wanted a hole to swallow you up.

"Me too!" Grayson cheered, really laughing for the first time since you'd met him. Dimples popped in the creases of his cheeks and you sucked in a short breath, feeling dizzy and tingly all over. "It's probably because you're really pretty," he confessed, his voice cracking halfway through 'pretty', and he slapped a hand over his mouth with embarrassment.

"I think you're pretty too!" you cried, and then winced. "Handsome, I meant handsome. Well, I meant pretty, but handsome works too. All of those adjectives that mean attractive," you rambled, feeling stupider and stupider by the second. Grayson ducked his head and smiled sheepishly, and you thought your heart might just burst.

You rummaged through your pockets for your dorm key and busted down the door, praying to god Anna cleaned it up before she left for her 1 o'clock. "I don't know that much about physics, but I have a pretty good handle on the math stuff and the history part and the vocab and stuff," you shrugged, dumping your stack of books on your desk.

"That's everything."

You rolled your eyes, "But it's not everything. But I'll try," you mumbled, flipping open your binder. Grayson grinned down at you with the softest of smiles, and you realized physics could be your favorite subject.

You had spent a few hours pouring over formulas and equations (and completely sidetracking with conversation), when you slapped the textbook shut, pinching your nose.

"That's enough for the day, I can't read the word velocity one more time," you groaned, falling back against your chair. Grayson chuckled and agreed, fidgeting nervously where he sat on your desk.

"What are you fussing for?" you asked, teasing him comfortably after spending a few hours with him.

"Nothing," he denied, anxiety in his voice.

"Grayson." He avoided your eyes, so you repeated, "Grayson.”

"I wanna kiss you, okay!" he exclaimed, his hands flying defensively. Your jaw dropped, and then his head sunk into his hands, and he started cursing himself. "Just ignore me, okay. I didn't mean to do that."

It took you a few moments, but you finally worked up the courage to say, "Then kiss me."

And Grayson's eyes bugged cartoonishly, and you shrunk back in your seat and let him scurry over to you, pad either side of your face with his hands, and kiss you clumsily with all the electricity in the world.

Physics was definitely your favorite subject.

"Who knew Cali was so hot," Grayson groaned, screening his eyes with a hand.

The air smelled of tropical tanning oil and chlorine, which was ideal for the blistering heat California so-graciously gifted you. You were stretched out on your stomach, soaking up the sun, Grayson at arms reach, with Ethan fetching you lemonade--life was good. "Literally everyone. It's one of those notoriously hot states," you snorted, nuzzling your nose in the crook of your arm. You peeped open on of your eyes to gauge his reaction. However, Grayson was squinting at his arm with a frown, ignoring you completely.

"Think I got sun poisoning," he mumbled, folding up to inspect his skin better.

"Not possible, we've only been out here for an hour," you laughed, rolling your eyes. "Always so dramatic," you sing-songed vexingly.

His eyebrows shot up and he held up his arm pointedly.

You cocked your head, amused by his theatrics, before yanking his arm over to you so you could fuss over him properly. A nest of butterflies wrestled in your tummy as your fingers brushed over his words, far too scared to ever look at them since they couldn't possibly be meant for you, but you were quickly distracted by the fact that Grayson did indeed have dark red speckles blooming across his skin. "Huh," you muttered, poking your tongue against your cheek.

"See! I'm not the dramatic one, Ethan is," he huffed, pushing at you playfully.

You caught his hand and pulled him towards you, grabbing his jaw and kissing his cheek. "Mmm, no you're still dramatic," you teased, smacking a few more kisses wherever your lips landed. "You're scruffy too," you admired, tapping your fingers against his five-o'clock shadow.

And then he was grabbing your face and scrubbing his stubbly chin all along your cheeks, scratching your skin and giggling like a kid.

"No! Grayson, Grayson!" you screamed, squealing. Grayson chuckled and continued his torture, buffing your skin with his prickly jaw. "I'm gonna get a burn," you whined, pushing at his bare chest.

"Oh, I can't imagine what a burn would feel like right now," he mocked, gesturing to his patchy skin. "And you say I'm dramatic." You giggled and pinched his chin, beckoning obedient lips to yours, kissing him just as you'd practiced hundreds of times before. He was lazy to slide off his pool chair, climbing aboard yours and pressing a palm to your slippery, tan-oiled skin, moving his mouth against yours in that mesmeric way that he did. His kisses slid sideways, exploring their way to your jaw, to your neck, that spot by your ear, the tops of your collarbones and the knoll of your shoulder.

Your fingers teased the nape of his neck, swirling a stray strand around the tip of your finger, and you said, "Gray, nuh-uh, Gray," you laughed as he snuggled deeper against you. "It's too hot--your skin proves it. God, I can't believe you got sun poisoning," you frowned, shaking your head. You dragged a hand down his arm until you reached his blemished forearm. You scowled at the skin. "Stupid."

"Stupid?" Grayson blurted with laughter. "Did you just call my skin stupid?"

You shrugged with a poorly-suppressed grin and said, "Well no, I meant the sun. Your skin's stupid too, though."

"The sun is stupid, as well as my skin?"

"Do I really need to explain everything I say?" you griped, shoving his hovering body out of the way. "Now, move. We need to get you inside before you turn to bacon," you insisted, dragging him by his wrist.

"Bacon? What do you mean, ba-"

"Christ, Grayson."

You laid in your top bunk, completely smushed in your twin-sized bed with Grayson. "Can't wait until we can get out of this dorm," you groaned, pressing your fist against the ceiling that was a hair shy of touching your nose. Grayson grunted in agreement. "Actually, I can't wait until we can get out this college. Like, I love it and all, but I have so many things I want to do."

Grayson turned his head to you and kissed your cheekbone, sending a flurry of butterflies to your stomach. "Like what?" he murmured, his lips moving against your cheek.

You grinned and said, "A lot of things. Like even just in the state of California."

"We could do those together," he prompted, squeezing your side where he held you.

"Could we?!" you gasped, flipping over to face him. He chuckled and nodded.

"Say the place and I'll take you there," he smirked, brushing a stray hair out of your eyes.

You couldn't be more in love with him.

"Alright..." you breathed, filing through your brain for all those little spots you were dying to see. "Well, there's Point Reyes, first of all. That's the number one stop. We are going their first, and not a single place before," you stated pointedly, jabbing his chest.

"Alright, noted," he chuckled, sliding both his arms around the small of your back.

"And then, we're gonna go to Glacier Point. They have the best star gazing I've been told, and I love me some stars," you nodded, completely blissful at the thought. "And then, we're going to Big Sur Coastline and going cliff diving. And then-"

You yapped for hours and hours about all your favorite destinations without ever picking out dates for these wondrous ideas, because you had all the time in the world with Grayson.

Anna shuffled into the library, balancing two coffees and two donuts atop her laptop. "You think they'd give me like a carrier or something," she sniffed haughtily, setting everything down gently.

"Cut 'em some slack, do you think everyone just bends at your will?" you laughed, hardly lifting your head from your textbook.

"I will eat your donut."

You snorted and fake gasped. "You wouldn't," you cried dramatically, earning you a glare from a neighboring student, and you just smiled at them. "Besides, you actually wouldn't. You'd complain about the extra carbs and blah, blah, blah," you smirked, grabbing your sprinkled donut and chomping down on it.

She curled her lip at you and rolled her eyes. "Whatcha working on?"

"Physics. I gotta redo my notes, they're all messy..." you frowned, combing through your stack of papers for that one equation.

"Fuck, can you help me with that? I have no idea-"

"I gotta help Grayson too..." you mumbled unapologetically.

"Oh, that's not fair. He's your boyfriend, he gets help from you all the time," she whined, grabbing your donut and taking a huge bite. "I'm not sorry for this, either."

"Well now you're definitely not getting my help," you grumbled, grabbing your stuff.

"Dude, don't leave because I took a bite of the donut I bought you," she scowled, rightfully irritated.

"Oh, I'm not," you snorted. "Grayson's just waiting in our room for me to tutor him. But thank you for the donut," you said, shoving the round into your mouth. "Means a lot," you spoke through a mouthful of pastry.

As you walked back to your dorm, you munched happily on your food and sipped your very sugary drink. You twisted the key in it's slot, propped open the door, and said, "Hey babe."

"I thought you'd never show up," Grayson groaned and shimmied out of the covers of your mattress, before angling himself and springing from the top rung of your ladder, and dropping to the floor.

A sickening crack sounded, immediately followed by the painful howls of Grayson, and it all happened so fast you nearly had whiplash. "What? Gray what happened?" you shouted, rushing to his aid, panic pooling in the pit of your throat, and you felt as if you couldn't breathe at the sounds of his cries.

"I think I broke my ankle," Grayson wheezed with wide eyes, still thrashing with agony.

"So you're saying you just jumped, maybe six feet high, and broke your ankle?" Dr. Schneit frowned, tapping a pen against his pursed lips.

"Yeah, that's exactly what I'm saying," Grayson grumbled, glaring at his boot.

"And... of course this is unusual," Schneit thought aloud, squinting at his chart. "You seemed to be in peak physical condition a few months ago."

Grayson blushed across the tops of his cheeks and said, "Well, I don't know about peak. I've been pretty tired lately, and headaches and stuff."

Dr. Schneit's brows sloped further. "Grayson, it says here you've lost twenty pounds since you came in September. Did you notice any weight loss?"

You could tell Grayson was clearly sheepish about speaking on this subject, so you quickly said, "Gray, I'm gonna go to the bathroom and get a coffee, I'll be right back," and deserted him with privacy.

You roamed the halls until you found the restroom and ducked in. As you shut the stall door, two nurses ushered in and began chatting, their conversation echoing throughout the tiled walls too loudly to be ignorable. "Lisa won't even take my shift tomorrow. She's all, 'I have a bachelorette party tomorrow night and I want to get a good night's rest' and whatever."

The other girl hummed in affirmation. "Totally typical of her. She never takes shifts but she's always asking for them off."

"Yeah, and like, I don't want to be here for the bone marrow test cause that shit chokes me up."

"No way, who's it for?"

"Some kid who broke his ankle. Literally just fell on it and it shattered."

"Shit, he's gonna have tons of blasts. That's really sad, dude."

"I know, I don't want to be there to take his stuff. I'll start crying."

Your heart was racing at a trillion miles an hour and you pushed out of the stall and into the hallway again, your blood coursing through your ears. You sped back to Grayson's exam room, a sick churning feeling in your stomach, and you pressed your ear against the door to listen.

"Does your family have any track record of cancer, Grayson?" Dr. Schneit asked.

Silence.

"Grayson?"

After a few beats, Gray said, "Yeah. Dad."

"Alright..." Schneit replied, shuffling through papers. More silence. "Do you know what type?"

More silence.

"Grayson, this kind of information is important."

Grayson cleared his throat, which was clearly thick with emotion, and said, "No. I was too young."

"And your mom never mentioned-"

"No."

More silence.

"Shows here that your twin, Ethan, is your emergency contact. Does that still stand?"

"Yeah. But you could add (Y/N) (Y/L/N) as my second emergency contact."

You shoved open the door then and smiled tightly at the two of them. You slid into your seat beside Grayson and immediately clasped his hand in yours, hoping it could calm the horrible shakes you had. Grayson lifted up his other arm and scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, clearly uncomfortable with your presence during his exam but you couldn't help it, you needed him right now, as selfish as that was.

"Grayson, what's that on your arm?" Dr. Schneit mumbled, wheeling his chair over your chairs. "How long have you had that?"

"This?" Grayson murmured, craning his arm in Dr. Schneit's path of vision. "Sun poisoning. I don't know, a few weeks."

Dr. Schneit shook his head and bit a wobbling lip. "W-we're going to have you, have you come back in tomorrow, maybe around 10ish? Whenever you're comfortable. Whenever it fits your schedule Grayson, take your time," he assured, patting Grayson's shoulder in an attempt for comfort.

Cancer.

You watched Grayson's face crumple, and you hoped yours wouldn't, because you had to be strong for him.

"Grayson, there are treatment options. You're in stage three, which means you have a chance. We could..."

Schneit droned on and on and you rocked Grayson's crunched body. This couldn't be real. This couldn't be real.

"Grayson, your ankle broke because you have acute myeloid leukemia, or AML for short. It's a blood and bone marrow cancer, so your bones were extremely weak and that little jump was enough for them to collapse under pressure. It's a very... very quick spreading cancer. The first sign was that 'sun poisoning' as you called it. It was actually petechiae, which is surfaced blood from eaten away blood vessels. The white blood cells in your body-"

Grayson's shoulders began to shake with sobs and you whimpered, falling on top of him and exhaling blubbery wheezes.

You were convinced you really had jinxed your life the day you told your mom your birthday wish, because life? Life was not good.

"First round of chemo today," Grayson mumbled, bouncing his leg at an alarming speed.

"Gonna be there for you the whole while, G," you promised, leaning forward and kissing him. He fisted a chunk of your hair, really pulling you in tight, and slotting your mouths together to distract him, and you welcomed it generously. You pulled back and kissed his cheeks and his nose, and mumbled, "It's gonna be okay. I've got you."

Grayson blew air out his cheeks and nodded, staring down at his feet, mumbling something incoherent.

"What was that?" you asked.

"I might lose my hair," he croaked, playing with a loose thread in his sweatpants.

"You're already too hot for your own good. You'll pull it off, I just know it," you grinned, running your fingers through his messy locks.

He looked up at you and smirked softly, leaning forward once more to peck your lips. "I love you."

You felt that rush of feeling, that indescribable feeling, and nodded. "You know I love you too. Is Ethan coming?"

Grayson's positivity seeped out of him and he shook his head, glaring at the wall. "No, said he couldn't miss his lecture. Promised he'd be here for the next one, though."

You nodded, your blood boiling beneath the surface. If you could ditch your bio lab, Ethan could miss a lecture. "Well, that's okay, cause I'll be supportive enough for the two of us."

Dr. Schneit rapped his knuckles against the door and creaked it open. "Good morning Grayson, are you ready?"

Grayson squeezed your hand so viciously you thought it might break, but you just kissed his cheek. "I'll be here." And with that, he left the room with a nurse, thanking Dr. Schneit on his way out.

You hung your head between your hands, utterly heartbroken at the sight of your boyfriend walking out the door towards cancer treatment.

"He thanked me. He thanked on his way to get chemo, which I prescribed. He thanked me for putting him through hell," Dr. Schneit said with an emotionless gaze.

You nodded your head. "That's just the kind of person Gray is."

Grayson intertwined your fingers together, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles. "Hey, baby?"

You glanced up from your book and turned to him in your shared cot. "Hmm."

He was biting his lip nervously and squeezing your hand subconsciously, so you folded your novel shut. "Could you- Could you maybe wash my hair?" he asked. "Hurts to lift my arms."

You grinned at him and nodded. "Of course, babe. Wanna do it right now?" you asked.

He nodded sheepishly, and you pulled him off the stiff hospital bed and into the suite bathroom. "I haven't been able to wash it in forever--it's probably so gross," he groaned.

You laughed and shrugged. "I mean, I'm washing it, it's not like I can't wash my hands as I do it."

"Well I'm thankful," he gushed sarcastically, palming his heart. You shoved his shoulder, twisted the tap, and waited for him to get comfy. When he dunked his head beneath the water, you lathered your hands with cheap hospital soap and said, "We need to get you some better shampoo. This stuff is so gross."

He snorted and said, "Yeah, how about you just bring me your $20 shampoo-"

"Not even in your dreams. Not everyone gets to have luscious locks like mine," you drawled snobbishly, grinning.

He rolled his eyes and grinned with dimples. "I think I deserve it," he prodded, squeezing your calf where it draped over the tub.

"Keyword: think. Sorry champ," you smirked, digging your hands into his mane. You scrubbed at the gunk with gentle hands, sudsing up every strand.

"Then I could smell like you all day," he giggled happily, his eyes drifting shut under your touch.

You tangled your fingers all through his hair and then pushed his head beneath the faucet again. "Yeah, but then I wouldn't get to smell your cologne, and that's one of those girlfriend perks that I'm not ready to give up."

Gray might have responded, but you were too shocked to soak up what he was saying. His hair was flowing from his head as the water ran through it. Clean off. Not all of it, but a lot of it, and it was disappearing down the drain.

"(Y/N)?" Grayson asked, flicking your leg. "What's wrong?"

Should you tell him? "Uh," you stalled, glancing down at your fingers that were littered with his hair. "Nothing's wrong. Your hair's just falling out, that's all," you tried to sound casual, as if this was inevitable and common and not heartbreaking.

Grayson froze and scrambled out of his position and to the mirror, gawking at himself. It wasn't super bad, but it was noticeable--he'd probably have to buzz his hair.

"I'm going to be bald," he breathed, staring back at you with saucers for eyes. He pulled at the strands that flattened to his forehead and whimpered as they stuck to his fingers.

You bit your lip and nodded. "Yeah. Want me to shave it?" you asked quickly.

Grayson cocked his head and stared at you with an unreadable expression. "Really?"

Heat flooded your cheeks and you feared you overstepped your boundaries. "Just thought it'd be easier-"

"You don't care that I won't have hair?" he mumbled.

And if that wasn't the most ridiculous thing you'd ever heard.

You shook your head and laughed out loud, covering your mouth. "Gray, what?"

"I'm going to be ugly."

And then you were really laughing, with wheezes and an incurable case of the giggles. "Grayson, you couldn't be ugly if you fucking tried," you gasped. "Enough of this bullshit, I'm gonna go ask the nurse for a razor," you snorted, rolling your eyes and turning the tap off. You strutted past Grayson only to have him pull you back and kiss you with enough unspoken emotion to trap you there for five (or twenty) more minutes.

"Ethan, you just need to come visit him," you whispered furiously into your phone. "It's not that hard!" You stood outside Grayson's hospital room, pacing back and forth and back and forth, completely irate. After a minute of white-noise, you threatened, "Ethan," through clenched teeth.

He sighed loudly into the receiver and said, "You don't get to decide what's hard and not hard."

Your vision blurred with rage and you nearly chucked your phone against the wall. "Then who gets to decide? Because you fucking love to take the easy way out. I don't get you, Ethan, I really don't. He's your twin, you've been best friends for life, and then he gets cancer--a time when he needs you most--and you fucking ditch him. How cruel are you?" you spat.

"You don't get it." And you didn't. "You know how fucking hard it is to watch him die? To see him fall apart right in front of me? I can't handle it, (Y/N). I don't want to be awful, but I don't want to be heartbroken, either. This is killing me," he growled, as if you'd stepped out of line by asking him to see his goddamned brother.

You barked a cold laugh. "Yeah, okay Ethan, this is too hard for you. Imagine losing your soulmate. You know what? Fuck this, you're the one that's going to regret disappearing when Grayson needed support the most. I don't know why I even bother when you're fucking heartless," you snarled, hanging up the phone.

Quite possibly the hardest part was watching Grayson fall apart at the seams.

And yeah, we'll get to the worst part, but you never imagined how torturous the secondhand pain would feel. Never in a trillion years would you suspect he wouldn't just be your other half, he'd take up camp in your aching nerves and desperate lungs and quaking legs as you watched Grayson weaken, and weaken, and weaken.

You rushed to the bathroom, trailing at his heels as he pitched himself to the hospital bathroom floor, scrambling to the toilet. He ducked his head into the bowl, emptying his stomach with guttural groans and chokes and breathy sighs. "Fuck, fuck, fuck," he managed between heaves. You slid down to the floor and pressed a hand to his back, only to have him flinch and jerk away with his last ounce of energy, and that stung. He hung he head in the toilet long after he finished, absolutely drained of energy.

"G?" you whispered after ten minutes, tentatively poking his arm.

He rolled his head onto his arm, far enough away for you to flush away the mess. "Hot," he rasped.

And you think you understood. His cheeks were flushed and beads of sweat trickled down his temple and he was pressing against the cold tile like it could cure him. You wished it could.

"Want ice?" you asked, already leaping from your spot. You scurried over to his cot, fetching his water and an ice pack from the mini fridge. You rushed back to the bathroom, finding him pale as you'd ever seen him in a heap on the floor. You towered over him, and that was new, and that was just sad. Sad to think you were taller than the man that used to put you on his shoulders--well, you and the world. He glanced up at you through glassy eyes, his mouth parted and his lips chapped. "Water?" you offered, crumbling to the floor next to him so you could feel a little stabler.

It seemed like blinking might be too much for him. Or breathing. Or living.

So, all he could muster was the shortest of nods, and you reached out to hand him his glass, which was fucking stupid of you to offer it to him, because he stuck out a wobbly arm and a limp wrist and grabbed a glass that weighed more than all his sorrows and you two watched it slip through his fingers, to the ground, water splashing everywhere.

Grayson started crying. But, not in the way where he was thrashing and crying and frustrated--like he did when he could be considered human and not a shell--but quietly, distantly. Tears dribbled down his cheeks as if his eyes were raining, as if this was just his body's reaction to all the pain and he wouldn't have cried if given the option. Seemed like Grayson didn't get a lot of options these days.

You bit back your own sadness, choked down all the emotion you could, because Grayson didn't need that. He needed support and love and patience and it seemed like all you did was ache and pity a man who was stronger than you'd ever be. So, with fumbling movements, you grabbed the rub near the sink and soaked up the mess you'd made and sat the glass upright. And then you turned to fetch him some more when you heard him swallow.

Swallowing. That's what Grayson had resulted to for communication. Swallowing.

You twisted and found him shaking his head. He tapped his finger twice against the tile, and so you sat beside him again, ready to force the sun out of the sky if he so asked. "You're still burning up, G," you mumbled with droopy eyes.

He nodded. Kind of.

And then he placed his fingertip over yours, and then you sat on that hospital bathroom floor until your legs were as numb as Grayson.

"Ms. (Y/L/N)?" Dr. Schneit spoke softly, cracking the door open only enough to fit his nose through.

You nodded and slipped your hand from Grayson's slack one, leaving him to sleep silently in the comfort of his cot. You ducked into the hallway, wincing under the glare of the yellow lights. Dr. Schneit was holding his clipboard so tightly you thought it might snap in his shaking hands. His knuckles were white and his jaw was clenched, and it was one of those things you just know.

"How much longer?" you think you asked. You couldn't hear, really.

His nose flared with emotion and you stared back at him, sure you'd pass out from the pain. It'd be nice if you did.

"Not much," he said, voice strained in that professional way that Doctors' voices strain when they tell someone that their loved one's going to die. Oh, how you'd wished it would have cracked--for proof that you weren't the only one falling apart, that Grayson was so much more than a patient or even a person, that Grayson was Grayson and there'd never be another like him. "The cancer cells have just spread to the central nervous system and it's only a matter of time before they reach the brain. Maybe a few weeks."

Oh. Not much at all.

"Feels like I'm dying too," you mumbled. "Kind of wish I was. And I know I shouldn't say that to a doctor who would prescribe me a therapist, but you probably know how to deal with telling people their soulmates are gonna die and all, so. Figured I'd rather tell you than my mom. Or Anna. Or Ethan," you shrugged a shoulder, too desensitized to bother with anything but the truth.

"It never gets easier," Dr. Schneit confessed.

"Really?"

"No. All the good ones get cancer. And all the best ones get leukemia. And people like Grayson, people like Grayson get an incurable case of Acute Myeloid Leukemia. And it never gets easier, and it never makes sense," he said with a wavering voice. And then he was throwing his clipboard on the ground with a deafening smack, and sliding down the wall with rainclouds for eyes.

You fell down beside him and breathed deeply, swallowing down the sob that echoed in your throat.

"People like me don't deserve people like Grayson," you cried, burrowing your head in your arms.

Dr. Schneit grabbed your shoulder and squeezed it and said, "People like Grayson deserve people like you."

You sat in your 11 AM, rigid in your seat with a foot bobbing at a thousand miles an hour. Your stomach was churning with anxiety, and you could hardly hear anything but Dr. Schneit's voice concluding that yes, Grayson was dying.

"It has been remarked by at least one of my colleagues that one reason we have such a hard time teaching Newtonian physics to college students is that we have to first unteach them their already prevailing “natural�� worldview of physics, which dates all the way back to Aristotle-"

Your mind was moving at the speed of light. Grayson would have hated this, you thought, your mind racing back to the time you tutored each other and he hopped from your top bunk and broke his ankle and went to the doctors and got diagnosed and-

"Newton’s discoveries were a core component of the Enlightment, a period of a few hundred years in which Europe went from a state of almost slavish, church-endorsed belief in the infallibility-"

You chewed on your lip so viciously you thought you might bite right through it.

"Hey, could you stop tapping your foot? You're shaking my table," the boy next to you asked somewhere between kindly and irritably. You didn't have the time or the patience to figure it out.

"Again, interested students are encouraged to look up Karl Popper’s “Falsifiability” and the older Postivism. A hypothesis must successfully withstand the test of repeated, reproducible experiments that both seek to disprove and-"

"Dude, seriously, I'm trying to focus here," the guy snapped.

Your eyes darted to the door again, and you said, "I can't do this," and shot out of your spot, books already tucked in your arms. You marched with a mission towards the door, uncaring of your disturbance or the silence that settled over the class as they watched you walk away.

"Um, Ms. (Y/L/N), please-"

"My boyfriend is dying!" you shrieked, your chest heaving as you spun to look your professor dead in the eye. "My boyfriend is dying from acute myeloid leukemia, and I don't give a single fuck about whatever Newton did! He's already dead, I have someone else I have to worry about!"

And then you shoved the door open and sprinted down the hallway with tears streaming down your face.

"Where're we going?" Grayson asked, twisting his head to look up at you. You rolled him down the sidewalk in a wheelchair, jouncing over cracks and pivoting into the parking lot.

You pulled his beanie over his ears despite the warm spring temperature. "Somewhere--gotta get you out of that gloomy ass hospital," you smirked, digging your lanyard out of your purse and unlocking the car. Grayson folded his hands together in his lap, hunched over. "You cold? Didn't think it was too bad out, but I can grab your jacket if-"

Grayson groaned irritably and cut you off. "(Y/N). Stop babying me because I have cancer. I'm fine."

For the first time in forever, it felt, you laughed outright and hugged the back of his neck, kissing his cheek around the bend. Independent Gray was something you'd missed--he truly needed help with just about everything these days, and he used to be so picky about assistance. "Oh, shut the fuck up, I'm not babying you because you have cancer, dumbass, I'm babying you because you're my boyfriend and I love you," you smirked, opening his passenger door.

Grayson smiled sheepishly and avoided your watching eyes, so you walked in front of him and pulled his lips to yours. He smiled freely when he kissed you, slipping a cold hand into your hair and his tongue into your mouth. It'd been so long since you felt life in him. You held onto the sides of his wheelchair, ducking low so he could feel bigger so he could tower over you like he once did, and Grayson pulled apart chuckling. "You are 100% babying me because I have cancer now," he laughed, tucking the bulk of your hair behind your ear and off your shoulder.

You grinned and kissed his cheek. "Why're you all in my business? I will baby you if I so please, Grayson Dolan. Now get in the car, we're going on a trip."

He huffed and rolled his eyes playfully before clenching his jaw with focus. He took his time standing, working his sore, sore legs straight. You forced yourself to ignore his winces and whimpers, because he was still human after all, and he deserved to have his dignity during his struggles. You'd let him do the things he could on his own; you knew he wanted to.

Once he stood completely, he loomed over you arrogantly, pushing your back against the fender of your car, splaying a possessive hand across your stomach and kissing you deeply. You yelped with surprise and he just swallowed it down, kissing you feverishly, like he didn't have a spare second. He doesn't, you reminded yourself. So, you wrapped loose arms around his neck and pressed your body flush against his, and made out with Grayson against the hood of your car like the teenager you were.

Grayson pulled away, breath wheezing in and out of his lips. "Too much?" you asked, flattening a palm against his chest. He nodded with a furious blush and dodged your stare. "All good. I'm gonna go put this in the back," you said, jutting your thumb to the wheelchair. "But get in the car! Jesus Gray, how many times do I have to ask?" you whined dramatically.

"I'm going, I'm going," he laughed, climbing into the ajar door.

After loading the wheelchair into your trunk, you hopped in, eager to get there.

"Where're we going?" Grayson asked again, sifting through his phone for music to play.

"Somewhere as pretty as you," you smirked, pulling out of the hospital parking lot.

He snorted and shook his head, nibbling on his thumbnail. "Can't believe we're going to a literal art museum," he laughed, shaking his head comically.

You pushed his shoulder and giggled. "How far do you wanna go?"

"That's what she s-"

"Grayson," you chuckled.

He smirked. "Well, do I have to be back at the hospital tonight?"

You pursed your lips in thought and shrugged. "Don't think so. I mean, I could call them but like, it's your life, I don't think Schneit's gonna follow us and force you to come back, you know?" you said, mentally reviewing the pros and cons of pissing off the hospital staff.

Grayson smiled at you and leaned over and kissed your cheek. "Thank you, for doing this. Alright, let's go on an adventure," he cheered, reclining his chair and propping his hands beneath his head. You fixed him with a judgmental stare, shaking your head. Grayson returned you with a smug smile. "What? I'm too sick to drive so I'm gonna use my cancer perks and take a good ole nap for the whole ride-"

"Oh, fuck off," you grumbled, much to his amusement.

Point Reyes was as peaceful as you'd imagined. Just as Grayson had promised, he slept the whole ride, and you understood. You shook him awake and assisted him into his wheelchair as much as he'd let you, and then pushed him through the famous breathtaking arc of trees, as blissful as you'd been in a long time. "We can check it off the bucket list," you said, overwhelmed by all the beauty. Grayson didn't respond.

You had wheeled Gray down the soggy forest trails before landing on the cliff overlooking the Pacific. He was propped up beside you, crisscrossed and snuggled in his hoodie--one that used to fit him, but now engulfed his scrawnier body. He plucked dandelions off the ground and tossed them every which way: off the cliff into the jagged rocks below, behind him without a care, into your lap--and pretty forcefully too.

You kept quiet until he wanted to talk. And then he said, "I'm kind of like a dandelion."

The wind blew at liberty, calm but using its freedom to billow on the coast where the only skyscrapers were peaks of rock. You wrapped your arms around yourself and bit your lip, mulling over the words Grayson had said so bitterly. "What do you mean?"

Grayson's lip curled and he looked off distantly. "Weed. I'm a weed," he said, and you would have laughed any other time at his ridiculousness, but he looked a little heartbroken. "A weed in all this grass. Or maybe, no, maybe I'm the grass, and the dandelions are the cancer cells, and they just keep spreading and spreading and it doesn't matter how many of them chemotherapy tears out of the ground, it's too late, and I'm just dying," he scoffed, throwing another dandelion into the bay.

You knew he had more in him, so you sat tight and waited. "At this point, I'm just a dandelion, actually. I'm 100% cancer. 100% poison," he laughed dryly. "And I don't want to be bitter in my last few days, okay? I don't. It's just, it's just that I'm so fucking tired. And I don't have any hair. And I'm cold. And I have so many reasons to be bitter, you know?"

You nodded solemnly, letting the breeze blow cool air against the gaping wounds in your heart. Grayson plucked a few more weeds and tossed them your way, so you grabbed them and started wielding them together. "And honestly," he continued. "I wanna be like a... fuck, I don't know, a daisy. Or fucking- fucking baby's breath, I don't know! Something that spreads like wildfire but is still good. Something people want around them, something pretty. Something not cancerous, obviously," he huffed. You nodded along as you tangled the dandelions in on one another, braiding them together.

After a few beats, you said, "I know you're frustrated, and I know I might not mean much, but you're the whole damn bouquet to me." You outstretched a hand and, without any permission, snatched his beanie off. Grayson sucked in a harsh breath; he never took off his hat.

"(Y/N), don't-"

You shook your head. "I don't care how insecure you are without hair. You're breathtaking to me Grayson." You grabbed the crown you'd constructed and plopped it on his head, twisting it around his ears and smiling to yourself. Beautiful. "There. And also, I get what you're saying, but fuck your idea of yourself. That's the stupidest bullshit I've ever heard. I am in love with the strongest man in the world. You've got the weight of the world on your shoulders and you take it a day at a time. Do you know how hard it is for me? How hard it is to watch you go through all this, and then hate yourself for it?" you asked, hoping emotion didn't creep into your voice.

"I know you need someone to tell this stuff to, I know you're going through it all, I know you're dying Gray, but part of me is dying too. I want to burn off these words," you said, voice starting to waver. "and-and live life with you. I'm bitter too, Grayson. I'm bitter that everyone else gets a soulmate for life, that some people never have to go through this, that I have to go through this, that you have to go through this. And then I thought about the fact that there is a little girl named Brooke who will never fucking get to meet her soulmate, and at least I got you, however short of time. And more than that, I'm convinced you gave me enough happiness for a lifetime--that people will never feel the same amount of love in their entire life as I got while you were here. So, maybe it's unfair for us, but it's also unfair for everyone else to see how fucking incredible we are."

The waves crashed ashore far below you two, and the meadow of dandelions bent to the will of the wind. It was warm, but not warm enough for Grayson, and yet he sat there with you on the edge of the Pacific without a single complaint of the weather. You fell back on your elbows and stared at Grayson, feeling hopeless and hopelessly in love with him, trying to come terms with all this, even if it was a lost cause. You meant every word.

Grayson's hand crept up to the wreath on his head and grinned warmly. With absolute certainty, Grayson said, "You still love me even if I'm a dandelion."

You smiled at him, kissed his lips, and cupped his face. "I love you like the daisy you are."

You sat in a coffee shop with Anna, stirring your black coffee with a complimentary wood stick, distinguishing vague patterns in the swirls it created. You knew you were boring Anna, or making her uncomfortable with your silence, but what was there to say?

She drummed her fingers against the wood table and chewed on her lip, clearly scrambling for conversation. "Uh, how's Grayson doing?" she asked tentatively. "I mean, I know he's... you know..."

"Dying?"

Her eyes softened and she hunched in on herself with guilt. "Yeah, that."

You huffed a laugh and dragged your stick through the sea of brown in your cup, hardly entertained by the waves it created. "Yeah, he's okay. I think he wants to die, a little bit, so that's kind of fucked." You pursed your lips and shook your head, your gut wrenching.

"Oh."

"Yeah."

You returned to glaring at your drink, too tired to put any real effort into speaking to your best friend.

"You look pretty tired," Anna noticed, frowning sympathetically. "You could come back to the dorm for a night, get some real sleep," she persuaded.

You wanted to, but if Grayson died while you were gone, you'd never forgive yourself. "I'll be back when Grayson's gone, promise."

You didn't want to be this cynical, but you couldn't hold these thoughts in any longer. You felt so much fatigue, and yet, it felt like there was something inside you pounding its fists against your bones, begging, 'let me out!'. You sucked in your lip and bit down on it hard enough for it to really hurt, but it felt a little good to feel something.

"Um, so how'd your religious studies test go?" she prodded, hoping to coax you out of your daze.

"Didn't take it. Was at the hospital," you shrugged, marveling at the bubbles that speckled in your cup.

"Didn't take it? Dude, did you email your professor?" she chastised, eyeing you quizzically.

You fell back in your seat and shook your head. 'Life is better with a cup of joe' read one of the cliche signs that dangled on the walls of the cafe. You looked at your mug and frowned.

"(Y/N), you can't... you can't just throw away college for this, throw away your life. I know you're sad, but-"

Something inside you snapped, right in half, and you began crying. "Throw away my life? Anna, my life is fucking laying in a hospital bed searching for a bone marrow transplant! My fucking life is dying, he's got no hope and neither do I. He's sleeping in an uncomfortable cot waiting for me to come back, because his own fucking brother won't even visit him! I'm literally all he has, and sometimes it feels like he's literally all I have! Jesus Christ, do you think I wanted this?" you cried, uncaring of who listened in on your very public outburst.

"Of course I don't think you wanted this! (Y/N), I know you love Grayson and I know you're going to be heartbroken and I know I could never understand, but you are paying thousands of dollars in tuition to fail out!" she hissed, slapping her palm against the table.

"Grayson is paying thousands of dollars to die!" You wailed. "Oh my god, Grayson is going to die."

And just like that, it really hit you. That you'd have a lifetime to pay off student loans, and Grayson was going to die.

You started crying, really crying, in the center of that coffee shop, and Anna came over and hugged you tight, and you sat in a coffee shop and weeped on Anna's shoulder for a second time.

You pressed the phone against your ear with your shoulder as you held Gray's hand in both of yours.

Ethan picked up after a few rings. "H-"

"Come see Grayson today. I'm not asking."

And then you hung up.

Grayson's legs were tangled with yours under the thin hospital sheet, and you cradled his head between your hands. "I'm thinking of an animal."

Grayson chuckled and kissed your temple. "Does it have spots?" he asked.

You groaned and shimmied away from him. "I'm not sure. Let me look it up," you huffed.

"That was only the first question," Grayson snorted.

"I'm aware."

"I can literally see you looking up 'poison dart frog.'"

"No you can't," you grumbled. "Alright. I'm thinking of an animal-"

"Is it an amphibian?"

"Maybe-"

Three knocks resounded through the room and then the door creaked open hesitantly. Grayson shuffled into a sitting position and peered his head around the curtain, but you already knew it was Ethan.

"Hey," Ethan mumbled tentatively, waving a lame hand before stuffing his fists in his pockets when he reached the foot of the bed.

It only took Gray a single second--which was truly a feat for him in this stage--to scurry out of the bed and launch himself onto Ethan, hugging him harder than you thought his muscles could allow. Ethan dug his hands out from his jeans and squeezed Grayson back with a lot of pent-up regrets.

You did your best to suppress your disgust for Ethan and simply offered him a raised brow in greeting. He licked his lips and nodded, noting your hostility, and smoothed a hand over Grayson's back. It sent a pang through you when you found Grayson was smaller than Ethan. Grayson held on for a few minutes, and Ethan held him back.

"What are you doing here?" Grayson blubbered as he pulled away, wiping away his tears frantically.

Ethan shuffled from foot to foot. "Got two tickets with our names on them to the Kings game tonight--if you wanna go. We don't have-"

"Yes! Yes, let's go, please," Grayson begged, grabbing Ethan's forearm desperately. "(Y/N), can I go?" he asked, gawking at you with pleading eyes.

"Did you just ask me for permission?" you snorted.

"Yes or no!" he cried, his arms flailing.

"Yes, but be back by 9:30," you smirked.

"9:30? (Y/N), it's already four, I can't-"

"Oh my god, I'm kidding, go!"

- +

You sat up in the hospital bed, reading your book and reminiscing about the old feel of the bed in your dorm and the life that came with it.

The door creaked open, and Grayson was rolled in by a nurse. You offered him a sympathetic grin; he looked absolutely beat. "How was it?" you asked, patting the spot beside you.

Grayson just gave you a lazy, sleepy grin.

You bid the nurse a goodnight and hopped out of bed to help him in it. As you swept his blankets over him, you snuggled into his side.

"Did LA win?" you asked, your finger dragging a stripe down the bridge of his nose.

"No, but that's okay," Grayson shrugged.

"Good to see Ethan?" you whispered.

Grayson's throat bobbed and he nodded, tears beginning to stream from the corners of his eyes. "Yeah," he croaked. Silent sobs racked his body as he turned into you, cowering in the warmth of your body. "Miss him so much," he bawled, an agonizing weep echoing through the room, and you knew then, as you held Grayson through his meltdown, that you couldn't forgive Ethan for abandoning Grayson, not now, not ever.

It's one of those things you just know.

So, when you stood in front of your closet, simply looking for a change of clothes after all those days spent in the same ones, and the hospital's phone number blinked on your screen, you sprinted down the flights of stairs by your dorm room, into your car, and floored 60 in a 30 with your emergency lights on.

You don't even know if you really threw your car in park because your tears were blurring your vision so much. Five more minutes, give me five more minutes Gray, you prayed. Wishing for forever just wasn't an option anymore.

You skidded into the clinic, your shoes slapping the linoleum as you raced into an elevator and back out again when you realized you didn't have the time to wait for it to go up a floor. You took the stairs two at a time and ran like wind blew.

Only briefly did you note the woman sitting in the hallway, crying as she stared at her wrist. She was wailing and trashing in pain, and you knew it was only a matter of minutes before that was you. But you didn't have time to think about her. Grayson didn't have time.

You burst through his door, your nerves buzzing horrifically.

"Hey," Grayson wheezed from his bed, so quietly you had to read his lips.

You rushed to his bedside, unaware you were already falling apart. You clamped your jaw so tightly it might crack and hot tears burned the tops of your cheeks. "Grayson, fuck- I can't, I can't fucking do this, I can't watch you leave," you yelled through clenched teeth. "Grayson, Grayson," you cried, so frustrated you couldn't even think. Fuck everything you told him at Point Reyes, you were selfish and you couldn't do this, you wanted a refund, you wanted anything else, you wanted to die, you wanted to never exist.

"(Y/N), look at me," Grayson whispered, squeezing your hand so limply you screamed. You wanted more time. He turned your arm ever so slightly, and smiled at the words. "We need to do this. I need to say this," he said, tapping his finger against your wrist.

You shook your head with a pained face and wheezed, "Grayson I can't, I can't."

"You have to. You're going to." He was so tired, you could see it. It took everything in you to look into those brown eyes, the ones that were losing life by the second. "I love you. I love you more than anything in this world," he whispered.

"Grayson, I can't," you insisted, burying your face into his knuckles. It hurt so bad. It hurt so bad.

He ran his hand down your cheek and whispered, "Let me let go, please."

And then you were nodding despite your anger, your hatred for life, because you loved Grayson. Because he was dying, and he wanted to die, and that was something you would have to accept later and help him through now.

"I'm lucky I got to spend the rest of my life with you. It was nice to meet you." Grayson rasped, his head lolling against the pillow, and you could practically see the life drain from him, and you couldn't find the stopper.

And you could have never prepared yourself for the pain that surged through your body at those words.

"Yeah," you nodded, your voice hardly distinguishable. "You too, G."

And though it should have been so very expected, you felt his hand uncurl from yours, and his pulse fade as your pressed your lips to the words on his wrist, and that hurt, to put it simply. And then he was asleep, somewhere much farther away than arm's reach, and you pressed your head to his hand and stayed there until it turned cold.

And then, you walked out of his room and sat next to the woman pressed against the wall down the hall and held her hand instead.

They took his beanie off for the funeral. You knew he would've hated it.

All you could think was 'Sure are a lot of people here that never bothered to visit him in the hospital.' But it was a tough pill to swallow that some people just took Grayson for granted, and that you were probably guilty of it too.

Ethan sat beside you and held your hand so tight you lost feeling. You nearly shook him off when he reached for you, your hatred for him still boiling too close to the surface, but his hands felt so much like Grayson's.

And funerals were for closure, you always thought.

And when you looked back on your Grandfather's funeral when you were twelve, you nearly threw up. Your Grandma was content with her loss, and promised that the words would be bittersweet when you heard them.

Those words were nothing but dreadful.

And the remainder of your night was spent sobbing, thinking that Grayson was six feet below you with a plethora of bouquets and a dandelion resting on his casket.

"Hey," you mumbled, trudging up the hill Gray's tombstone. "You'll never believe this, but Anna got engaged to my brother. Guess they stopped dancing around each other and finally started dating. It's only been like, six months, but I guess when you know, you know, you know?" you laughed, plopping down on the grass. "We would have gotten married. I thought about it all the time. Think we would have done a winter wedding, so all our family could vacation in Cali for a week. Maroon and gold for colors. E could have been your best man," you murmured, trying to keep your emotion at bay.

"Tried to go on a date. Wasn't worth it. Free dinner, though," you laughed. "Um, I went to Point Reyes the other day, by myself. That little field isn't filled with dandelions anymore. Think that's kind of symbolic though," you snorted, tears slipping from your eyes.

You sat with him and updated him on all the little things and all the big things that had happened in the past few days. You made it a habit to come around a few times a week and keep him company, because he always loved to be around people. Must get lonely up there.

"Hurts to come around sometimes. I know you're listening, but you're not talking, and that just... just hurts, G. God, I miss you," you breathed, pressing your palm to the cold marble of his tombstone.

"But I'm still gonna come, you know? Cause that's what people do for the people they love. Even if it hurts. But Gray, it hurts so bad," you whimpered, thinking of Ethan without malice for the first time in a long while.

And maybe you understood a little.

"How do I look?" Anna fussed, her hands fluttering around undecidedly. She stood in her dressing room, sheathed in white, with fidgety feet and a restless mind. "Fuck, he's gonna think I'm stupid for wearing all this makeup-"

You snorted and jerked her into a bone-crushing hug. "Anna. It's your wedding day. I don't think he thinks you're stupid for anything. Well, except when you got that neon green stripe in your hair in sixth grade. That, he definitely thought was stupid," you chuckled, feeling her slump against you. "You're beautiful," you whispered with complete sincerity.

She squeezed you tighter and nodded. "I know."

You broke into a fit of laughter and swirled a piece of her hair about your finger. "You already knew that, you literally were just fishing for compliments."

"Yeah, pretty much. Holy fuck, I can't wait to marry him," she grinned cheerily, biting her lip.

"Anna, I literally could not be happier for you. Literally," you smiled, pinching her cheek. "Even if it's my brother. Which is disgusting. You could do better."

She smacked your arm and snorted. "Like who?"

"The world's second greatest man," you smirked. "Sadly, I already got the first one, so you're gonna have to suck it up and take whoever's in second place."

"I'm pretty sure your brother's the second place-"

You barked out genuine laughter. "Ha! Yeah fuckin' right. I personally think it could be Harry Styles," you quipped, tossing your styled hair off your shoulder dramatically.

Then Anna cocked her head and gave you the warmest of smiles and said, "(Y/N), I'm so happy you're back. Grayson would love to see you again like this."

Your heart fluttered and ached all at once at the mention of him. Whether they were happy or sad, tears surfaced in your eyes and you giggled and said, "Yeah, he's watching over me all the time. Which is nice, cause I'm a firm believer he still laughs at all my horrible jokes that you never think are funny."

Anna hugged you tight, so tight, and you hugged her hard back.

"Enough of this mushy shit, I have a wedding to be a maid of honor to, and you have a wedding to put on!" you shrieked, dragging her by her wrist to the french doors. "One last thing..." you muttered, leaning in close.

"What?" Anna mumbled, chewing on her lip anxiously.

"I left the back door of the church open, so when you realize my brother's a fucking idiot and flee, it's ready-"

"(Y/N)!"

New Jersey was just as cold as Gray always described it.

You slipped your hands beneath your sweater sleeves and balled your fists in the fabric, breathing hot air into your hands in an effort to warm them. You rung the doorbell once more and tapped your foot anxiously.

Muffled voices sounded from the other side--the warm side--and you waited. The door unlatched and then swung open, revealing Ethan in very festive attire. "(Y/N)?" he gasped, his eyes widening. He looked so much like him still. You smiled, and before you knew it, Ethan was tugging you into him.

You didn't want to hug him back.

Well, yeah, you did. So you did.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, squeezing you too tightly and it felt just like Grayson.

"Um," you said, tucking your hair behind your ears after he let you go. "Wanted to spend my Christmas with some family."

Ethan searched your eyes as his watered and nodded slowly. "Well, you know you're always welcome. We have drumsticks," he cheered, guiding you into the kitchen.

"You know those are my favorite," you gushed, grabbing a plate and loading it immediately.

"Gray’s too,” he smiled sadly. “My wife's upstairs, but I'll be sure to introduce you. She's heard a lot about you," he said, scratching the back of his neck.

You nodded and turned to face him, tension still resting between you two in a very obvious way. "I-"

"I regret it every day (Y/N). I was young and stupid and so hurt and I'll never forgive myself for it. He was my twin. My best friend," he whispered, turning away from you. "Do you know how awful I was? Of course you do. You were there every step of the way and I wasn't there for one. You know I got the call? I was his emergency contact. And I cried in my room, and didn't show up because I couldn't move," Ethan gasped, balling his fists at his side. "I lost him too, you know. It might not have seemed like it, but I lost him. Eighteen years of being inseparable, and I deserted him. I can't even- I will never forgive myself, (Y/N). I regret it more than I can even explain."

You heaved a deep sigh, and all those years of hating Ethan dissipated away. "I know you do," you accepted. "If you can't forgive yourself, I will."

"What was saying goodbye like?" Ethan breathed, his voice trembling terribly.

You leaned against the counter and bit your lip, swallowing down any emotion that threatened the surface. "Well, it was awful. Hardest thing I'll ever go through. But, he was sweet, and he was ready. "What did he say? Before he went?" Ethan garbled, tears streaming down his face. You grinned one of those grins that took years and years of healing to even form, and flashed him your wrist. And then Ethan was crumbling.

You stood in front of Ethan, and then you reached out and wrapped your arms around him, hoping that your tight grip would piece him back together, and if it didn't, you were going to be there to help search for the missing bits, because Ethan was family. And with that, you joined Ethan and his relatives in their living room, exchanging hugs with people you had never met and sharing stories you had nearly forgotten about the boys, and it gave you a feeling, an indescribable feeling, that you had really, really missed.

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