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Just looking at him, you’d never know Moist von Lipwig was a man on borrowed time. Just looking at him, you’d never tell he was one illness away from death. Just looking at him, you’d never know that Moist von Lipwig had AIDs.
The man lived his last bits of life as though he had forever more to go. He played people along, stringed them up as he harvested their attention, their affection. Most of them didn’t know he’d be dead soon. Most of them didn’t know how intimate his relation with death was. Most of them couldn’t see how he feared a cough, a sneeze, or the dreaded flu season.
Havelock didn’t want him to go out at all. “You’ll inevitably catch something out there,” he told the man, but he failed to realize that out there was where the people were. Out there was where Moist had meaning. Out there was where Moist found his amusement, his danger, his life. “Why should I live the last bit of my life as a dead man, Havelock?” Moist would retort. “Preservation,” was always Havelock’s answer.
Preservation. The notion had always been so funny. Why last in a dull world? But now Moist was on his deathbed, quite literally.
“Havelock,” he said, looking out the window. If he were able to persevere through the exertion of walking he would have been out there by now. “Do you want to know my final wish?” He asked, looking at the man who was ever so focused on him. Havelock was focused on him a lot now. Whenever he had free time he hung around Moist, taking him, studying him while he still could. He didn’t want to forget a thing. He wanted to know Moist, inside and out. He wanted to remember the man who rose above the rest, ascending to the position as an equal beside him. He needed to have a piece of the only man he could be himself in front of with him.
He could only hope that his mind could play a convincing role of Moist when he inevitably succumbed to his illness.
“Tell me,” Havelock said. His exterior had been stone as of late. It was the only thing containing his turbulent emotions, the suggestion of his normalcy. Moist would want it to be like this anyways. He didn’t seem to want people to know.
“I want to have a graceful leave. I want my head to be high in the air when I have to go. I don’t want to be weak. I want to live life until it’s gone.”
I know you want to live life, Havelock’s mind provided. “You’re a man of many composures, Moist. I know you’ll be able to leave however you want to leave.”
“But that’s the thing, Havelock. I’m a man of composures . When my time comes… I want to genuinely be ready. I want to face death head-on, let him suck the life out of me as I look him in the eyes. I want to truly be ready.”
But you’re running out of time , Havelock’s mind reminded, though he didn’t dare say it out loud.
Instead, he got up, sitting himself beside perhaps his favorite actor. He placed his hand on Moist’s knee, squeezing. “What can I do to help you?” He asked.
Moist looked to the door, closed as usual. It was good enough for now. It was good enough to break. Tears welled up in his eyes, and he pulled Havelock into a hug. “I-I need you to hold me right now. Because I’m- I’m not ready to go, but I know my time’s around the corner. I- I can’t even walk anymore, Havelock,” he began to sob. “I was going to do so much more. I was going to be so much more. I was going- I was going to shock everyone, make you proud, make my parents proud. I was going to be something to be reckoned with,” he buried his face in Havelock’s chest. “But before I can do that, this thing, all I’ve known, the bright vibrancies of life, Havelock, it’s going to be taken from me, stolen from me. I’m going to have nothing, not even you. I wish I could die in the glory of a fight. It’s so much more painful to be sitting here, waiting for the nothingness to consume me. Waiting to see if there’s a god, if he’ll even take my soul. Havelock,” he broke down, sobbing again. “I’m going to die doing nothing. I’m going to die being nothing , and there’s nothing I can do about it.”
Havelock’s eyes began to water as well as he pet the man’s head, trying to suppress most of his emotions. He couldn’t break down now, not while Moist needed him. Not while he could still provide comfort to him.
“Moist, if you believe you’re dying as nothing you’re truly a fool,” Havelock said, holding him close to his body, protectively. “You’ve touched so many people, Moist. No matter what, you’ll always be a memory for them. You’ll always be with me. Once you die I will be remembering you, every day. Moist, you’ve built an empire of people, something only you could do. You’ve become something that everyone cares about. You’ll never be forgotten, and… I’m proud of you. I’m proud of you for always rising above your circumstances, for pushing the envelope as far as it could go. I know your parents are proud of you, how could they not be? You’ve become so successful, you’ve become so famous, you’ve become someone people look up to. But… but now you don’t have to push the envelope anymore. No one’s expecting you to do that anymore. Pushing the envelope now is staying alive so I can tell you that I love you one last time. Pushing the envelope now is letting me hold you one last time, letting me kiss you, letting me take care of you for one more day,” Havelock’s eyes welled with tears that gently landed on Moist’s hair.
“I… I want you to know that you should die proud, Moist. You’ve earned everything, and I know you could’ve done so much more, but even now you’ve burned so bright you’ve burned yourself into our memories, into our hearts. You should be proud of that,” he sniffled.
Moist’s arms constricted around Vetinari, squeezing him, although his best was still gentle. He broke down into sobs again, those words running through his head over and over. They were what he needed to hear, and he didn’t have time to go into denial about them. “I- I love you, Havelock,” he said, his breathing getting heavy with the emotion.
Death walked into the room, looking upon the scene. YOUR TIME HAS COME, MR. LIPWIG.
Moist froze, but to Havelock he had lost control, leaning against him.
“Moist?” Havelock’s voice was panicked. “Moist, come on, NURSE!” He called, hoping what he knew was happening was just a farce.
“My time? Already?” Moist said, trying to back up with a coy smile as he wiped his eyes. “I’m not ready yet.”
NOBODY LIKE YOU IS EVER READY. THERE IS ALWAYS MORE TO BE DONE. STILL, YOUR TIME HAS COME, MR. LIPWIG. IT’S TIME TO GO.
Moist looked at him, wiping his eyes one more time as he steeled himself, his final act. “If you insist, then I suppose it’s my time,” he said, knowing that fate was in progress and he had no way of changing the outcome. He looked in Death’s eyes, fulfilling his last promise to himself.
With that, Moist’s body became lifeless, and Havelock held him, finally breaking down. He could only hope that Moist had gone how he wanted to. He could only hope Moist knew he loved him. But now was his time to move on. Now was his time to grieve Moist’s death.
Now was his time to remember him every day, in a desperate attempt to compensate for not being able to see him, or hold him.