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When David began to show signs of aging beyond what was normal, all Hal felt was confusion at first. But as the process accelerated, Hal couldn’t control the unsettling churn in his stomach.
Tests, diagnoses—it didn’t matter. It was a nightmare watching David’s hair grey, his skin wrinkle, becoming someone who shouldn’t even be here yet. On the outside he showed restraint with his concerns, but inside he decayed. So what more was it like for David who had to feel it happening?
It was already a late night on the Nomad after an entire day’s worth of events. Its cold interior was the last thing from inviting. But it was home, despite its brutality—the often dim lighting, the constant hum of machinery, the damn turbulence at points.
They’d found another world-class doctor willing to work with them, ran some tests, yet nothing came of the results. Sunny had fallen deep asleep in her room. Hal had no idea where David was. And so he slumped in his seat as he mindlessly scrolled through his video files—a metric ton of anime he hadn’t touched in years. He wanted–no, needed to watch something to unwind that night. Yet as he looked through each anime he'd saved, it was like each tile was more unappealing than the last…
“Why are you still awake?”
A gruff, familiar voice. Yet Hal jumped all the same.
Hal gasped as he stood from his seat, his heart racing until he realized it was David standing by the steps. Would he call the man worse for wear? No, it was an understatement. A cigarette hung loose from his lips. He had on what he usually wore when relaxing—those thermal clothes, not like they had a choice for anything else while so high up. And it was then Hal realized that he should’ve showered and changed out of his usual get-up. But he brushed it aside, didn’t feel like it yet.
“Don’t scare me like that,” Hal said as he pushed his glasses against his nose bridge—not out of need, but it was a tic of sorts—and he stood up straighter now that there was another around. The cool air had grown a tad warmer with the other’s presence. “What are you still doing awake?” he asked, thankful he managed to mask his worry. “You know all the doctors ask you to do is rest. It’s the best thing you got.”
“All they’ve asked me to do is rest. Hasn’t stopped me from pruning up,” David grumbled as he reached into his pocket for a lighter. Yet when he tried to light the cigarette—right when Hal was ready to tell him off—nothing. He sighed and shook his head. “I just wanted to check up on you. See what you were up to.”
What he was up to?
Hal pushed his chair back towards the desk, motioning at his computer screen that showed an endless list of folders on its files tab. “Uh, trying to pick something to watch. Before I sleep.”
“Well, did you have anything in mind? I could join you,” David said, now playing with the cigarette between his fingers. He was clearly expectant from how his eyes brightened up for a moment. The same bright look he’d give every doctor when it sounded like they’d made a breakthrough. But when Hal glanced back at the screen, he shrugged.
“No idea what I wanna watch, to be honest.”
And gone was that eager look in David’s eyes, and he trudged his way to the couch. He practically flung himself onto the couch with nonchalance. The sound of its springs shifting under the sudden weight made Hal wince.
“You’re going to break that thing one day,” Hal said, like scolding a child.
David scoffed, and it was like his grin could be heard in his voice: “At this rate, I’ll probably die before that happens.”
A clear joke.
It was some dark humor to at least acknowledge the elephant in the room. But Hal couldn’t laugh. He clenched his jaw, his fists balling up by his sides. He stared at the ground as his mind raced, and raced, and raced. Hal swore that David’s feigned indifference was the worst thing in the world. Unbothered as David acted at times, Hal wasn’t stupid. Far from it. He could see the pain in his gaze, how it seemed as if he carried the whole weight of the world on his shoulders. He wanted to be mad at the man at times. But it was difficult to do so when David could barely even look at himself in the mirror in the morning.
Hal looked in David’s direction, tugging his turtleneck lower as it felt like the damn thing was choking him now. “Are you just going to stay here all night then?” Hal asked, supposed to be a light-hearted quip as a reply. But the shakiness in his tone gave him away. David sighed in response, loud as ever.
“Hal… please stop trying to hide it,” David said. His tone was softer than usual. “I know this is killing you.”
Hal held his breath.
He closed his eyes.
He nodded.
“It is,” Hal responded, voice faltering. “And I wish I knew how to help you.”
When Hal opened his suddenly teary eyes, he blinked as David sat up on the couch, beckoning him over with one hand. Though he hesitated, though he could excuse himself to shower, he stepped closer and let himself sit on the couch next to the man. Moments like these often warranted conversations about the past with these two, but it was like all the pair could do was stare at each other now. Hal was silent as ever as their gazes dug deep into each other’s soul.
“Don’t worry about me. You need to take care of Sunny… and yourself,” David said, mustering a small despondent smile that disappeared within seconds. It made Hal’s heart ache for a moment—out of love, out of misery, he didn’t know. “As long as you two are doing fine, anything can happen to me.”
“Well—speaking for Sunny too—I don’t want ‘anything’ to happen to you.” Hal leaned his head against David’s shoulder, tracing random shapes onto his bicep. By some miracle, David's body was still some level of fit, the muscle firm underneath Hal’s finger.
It reminded him when they’d both started Philanthropy together.
It wasn’t a rarity for David to return home, injured in some way: a bullet grazing his arm, a few unpleasantly large cuts. It was never fatal—thank the heavens it never was—yet Hal would rush to grab what medical supplies they’d have. Countless hours he’d spent doing medical work he probably had no business doing, hands trembling each time. But he wanted to do everything he could for his beloved.
David told him once that he was wasting his time disinfecting his cuts, stitching his wounds, doting over him like some nurse. He told him that from the first time Hal put his hands on him to the very latest. And yet Hal would always respond with the similar reasoning, always worded a little bit differently: Because you hate going to hospitals. If you bled out, and I ended up all alone… well, what’s the point of all we’ve done together?
As the memories came back, Hal hadn’t noticed that he’d collapsed against David, his head pressed against his chest as he sobbed like death had already stolen him away. His glasses had flung off somewhere. David pressed a small kiss atop Hal's head, his arms draped over his back. And Hal cherished it—the palms rubbing his back in reassurance, the pure warmth of their bodies amidst the cold air. He’d cherish it in his mind, repeat the sensations until his mind gave out.
When Hal pulled back to wipe his tears, a quick glance down showed how David’s sweater rolled up. It revealed a small sliver of skin adorned with a scar. One of the first cuts Hal ever stitched up.
Hal reached down, running his fingertip over the scar, and he cried harder than he could ever comprehend.
He swore he'd heard David start to sob as well.