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“You have six months at least. 10 months at most.”
Those weren’t the words George wanted to hear from the doctor's mouth. He didn’t want to have to listen to the fact he probably wouldn’t make it to see the next year. It was a Friday morning appointment.
He chose to ignore them. He went home to his shared home of his two best friends, pretending everything was fine. Deep down, everytime he looked at the blonde giant who had a heart of gold, or the brunette sweetheart who showed his affection through actions, he felt like he was dying faster.
He doesn’t even know what disease he has. Something fatal. No cure. Something like that. Again he ignored the words the doctor said. Everything felt numb after that appointment.
The first time he realised that it was really going to happen, that he was really going to die, was on a Tuesday morning. Well, really it was Tuesday afternoon, but he had only been up for about half an hour. Nobody else was home, Dream was with his family for something, and Sapnap was doing whatever he did when he left the house for a few hours at a time. George was trying to reach for a bowl to eat cereal, but before he got the chance, he felt the sudden twist in his stomach. He had barely enough time to rush to the sink before he was throwing up. He gagged for what felt like hours, but really must have only been a few minutes. He looked at the sink and saw red mixing in with whatever he had eaten the night before.
He had lost his appetite. He quickly rinsed the sink out and left the kitchen, unable to calm the rolling of his stomach.
The next time, Dream had been home. They were laughing and watching a movie, a comedy, George thinks. It was about two months after his appointment, and the verdict was still weighing heavily on his mind. George had felt weaker as the days went on, but he felt strong enough to continue normally. He had his bad days, but today was a good day. Or so he thought. After only a few minutes watching the movie, he suddenly felt sick. This time it wasn’t just the nausea, this time his whole body ached, and stomach rolled, and he suddenly felt like passing out. He must have gotten really pale, because Dream had jumped up and ran to the kitchen. He brought out a glass of water and gently pressed it to George’s hands.
“I need you to drink this,” Dream said gently, pushing it towards him. George could barely shake his head, his tongue feeling heavy.
After a moment, he finally lifted his hands with all the strength he could muster, but he hardly registered anything else, because the next moment, his arms dropped and his head lolled to the side.
When he came to, his eyes were blinded, and he groaned, just barely turning his head. He fell asleep on the couch? That didn’t make sense, the living room’s ceiling light wasn’t that bright.
Only then did he register the beeping noises around him. He opened his eyes slowly, blinking to adjust his eyes to the brilliant lights.
Around him were gray walls, a large window overlooking pretty green gardens. He groaned again, rolling his head to the otherside, before slowly opening his eyes that way. The sight before him surprised him. Sapnap and Dream were leaning against each other, both sleeping in what seemed to be the most uncomfortable position imaginable. Both were sitting up on the hard hospital couch, their shoulders shoved together. Sapnap’s head rested on Dream’s shoulder, and Dream’s head was atop Sapnap's. George looked at the machine attached to him, and suddenly it hit him like a train. He was in the hospital.
Sitting up was difficult, but he managed. He looked down at his arms seeing both were hooked up to tubes. Around him several bags were hanging, and he felt dread in his stomach. He turned back to the boys in the room with him.
Before he could make a sound, the door opened. The nurse walked in, looking at a clipboard. She looked up and she seemed surprised to see George sitting up.
“Good morning,” she said after a second, setting the clipboard down and walking towards George.
“Hi,” he croaked out, cringing at his own voice.
“Don’t worry,” the nurse smiled, her eyes crinkling at the outside, “I'm sure your throat is dry. You’ve been out for a few days.”
“Days?” George gasped, turning to look outside, “It can’t be.”
“I know it's hard to take in,” she had said, gently taking his right arm to check the IV, “You have good friends. He brought you in as soon as it had happened. He said you just passed out all of a sudden and got pale and cold.”
She nodded her chin towards Dream, and George nodded slowly. He remembered how they were watching a movie. It made him sick to his stomach.
“Does he… does he know?” George whispered. The nurse’s eyes flicked up to look at him, before dropping back down to smooth down the fresh bandages.
“I was about to ask you the same thing,” she moved on to his left arm, changing the IV needle in that arm as well, “I didn’t tell them yet, I wasn’t sure if they knew.”
George nodded, the feeling getting worse. “They deserve to know.”
“But you haven’t told them. I’m assuming you’ve known for a while?”
“Two months,” George whispered hoarsely, “Six minimum, ten max.”
The nurse looked at him with pity and George wanted to sink into the floor. He knew it was bad, but he didn’t need the sympathy of a girl he didn’t know the name of.
“You’re strong, you’ll pull through,” she had said. With that, she smoothed the second bandage, picked up the clipboard, and left the room.
George didn’t wake the boys up.
The nurse was wrong. He wouldn’t “pull through.” If anything, he probably wouldn’t make it more than six months. By month four, he was in the hospital nearly every week, and Dream and Sapnap were increasingly worried. Finally, George was forced to tell them, by the same nurse as before. He had found out her name was Elena.
“They want an answer,” she had said when she walked into what had become his room. He had rolled his eyes, looking out of the window at the green gardens.
“I don’t know how to tell them,” he responded.
Elena said nothing more as she checked his IVs, checked his vitals, and wrote on that clipboard.
“Talk to them,” was the last thing she said when she walked out, the two boys walking in.
George could tell it was weighing on them. Dream had eye bags underneath his eyes, and Sapnap looked pale. He could barely bring himself to open his mouth to tell them. Luckily, Dream beat him to it.
“You’re sick,” he said dumbly. Sapnap shoved an elbow into his ribs.
George giggled though. He laughed like it was the funniest thing in the world. He laughed until his breaths weren’t even, the tears on his cheeks were of pain and sorrow and not humor. He laughed until he was choking on sobs. He reached up, his arms hurting as he moved his IVs around.
“Yeah, about two more months to go,” he said around another sob. This time, a second choked sound came from the room. He looked up to see Dream holding a hand to his mouth. Sapnap’s eyes were filled with tears.
“What..?” Sapnap whispered, and George bursted out into tears. Dream followed behind, tears dripping silently down his face. The two other men sat on either side of George, carefully holding him close.
“I’m really sick,” George finally said, “I don’t know what's wrong with me. All I know is that I had six months minimum, and ten months maximum.”
His breath caught in his throat as he spoke, stuttering through his sentence. All he felt was the tightening of arms around him, and quiet sobs coming from both men beside him.
They stayed in that embrace for a while.
Once he was able to leave the hospital for the rest of the week, Dream made it his mission to take him places before it was too late. They went to the beach on a Friday, the carnaval on a Sunday. George wanted to go to an aquarium, and that's how they found themselves there on a Monday. Tuesday they went to an art museum, so George could see the paintings. Wednesday he was in the hospital. Friday, he was out again. Sunday, they went to see the stars.
It was on a Friday that Dream finally kissed George. They had gone to see the stars again, though this time there was a meteor shower that was passing by. George’s eyes sparkled, and Dream couldn’t hold himself back.
George returned the kiss, and it was a Sunday they were officially boyfriends. That Wednesday marked five months since George found out.
On their one month anniversary, George was hospitalized for what would be the last time. It was a Wednesday. Dream had been planning to take George to the park for a small picnic, but before he had the chance to even bring George outside, the british man had thrown up the same blood-substance he had all those months ago. He wheezed, reaching out for Dream. The blonde man had rushed him to the hospital.
Elena had met them, looked sadly at George and Dream, before taking him quickly to his room.
George didn’t say much, and three days later, a Saturday, marked his six months. He cried at midnight, knowing that while it really wasn’t set in stone, it meant he was on a timer now. He woke up the next morning to his boyfriend bringing him flowers, specifically lilacs. He smiled weakly, reaching out to take Dream’s hand. Dream sat down on the hospital bed, careful of all the IVs. Gently, he gave the flowers to George.
The man in question held the flowers like they were the most delicate things in the world. He brushed his fingertips over the small flowers, smiling gently at him.
“Thank you,” his voice cracked, and he could see Dream’s eyes get glassy at the sound.
No words were spoken between them for a few minutes. When they were, it was soft memories and words of affection. Not about what was happening.
George didn’t get better.
It was a Monday, a couple weeks after he was admitted again, when Elena pulled Dream aside.
“His labs are bad,” she said, her own eyes glassy, “They aren’t getting better.”
“Only worse?” Dream asked, his own voice water and broken.
Elena nodded in confirmation, and Dream felt tears slip down his cheeks. He nodded back, and Elena let him go to George’s bedside.
He looked at his beautiful boyfriend, who was no less beautiful than the day they met when they were young. Though, now instead of the rosy cheeks and lively eyes, his skin was pale and slightly sunken in, eye bags deeper than they had been in years. When his eyes were opened, they were dull, just barely taking things in now. He had gotten a breathing tube on Saturday, and Sapnap had stopped visiting then. He still called and talked to George, but once the tube was put in, he pulled Dream aside, sobbing as he said he couldn’t watch George go through this anymore.
Dream understood. He understood more than anyone. He wanted to save George, to help him. But in the end, even he knew that this was more than he could do. He hated seeing his strong boyfriend go through this, and now knowing George was getting worse? It hurt even more.
The universe liked Fridays. Dream didn’t. Or, he supposed he did for some reasons. It was a Friday when Dream kissed George for the first time. It was a Friday when George moved in with them. It was a Friday when Dream decided he was going to marry George. It had been a Friday when George found out he was sick. It was a Friday when George died.
Two weeks after their wedding, George fell asleep and didn’t wake up. It was peaceful that way, but the loud beep that jerked Dream awake was anything but. He screamed his throat raw, and he barely remembered Elena rushing into the room, several people behind her. They all surrounded George, words being thrown out. Dream could only sob.
He barely remembers sitting down on the uncomfortable hospital couch, he could barely remember Elena wrapping her arms around him. He could barely remember hearing her own sobs.
The next thing he remembers is leaning down and pressing a final kiss to his husbands lips. The doctors took his body to who knows where. Dream stayed in the room, staring out at the window where George used to look. The gardens didn’t look so green anymore.
The funeral was a Thursday. Dream didn’t go. He couldn't look at the body of his husband. Sapnap sat with him, sitting in the spot he had gone with George that Friday all those months ago.
They didn’t speak. There was nothing to say.
Elena had found a way to contact them. As a doctor, she made sure the two boys took care of themselves. She had gone to the funeral, and cried for hours afterwards. A patient turned friend. She remembered some of her first words to George.
“You’ll pull through.”
He hadn’t.
It was a Friday that Dream sat down next to the gravestone of his husband, and wished him a happy anniversary. He set George’s ring down on the headstone, and sat with him until it was dark. He didn’t leave until it was too cold to possibly stay any longer. He told him he would be back soon.
It was a Friday when Dream stopped visiting the grave.