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“There’s nothing else we can do. The cancer has spread, and his organs are failing. He might only have days to live. We are sorry to tell you this, sir.”
By rule, he’s not allowed to make noises there, but today he feels like stomping so that he can mute those words in his head. Added in his trembling legs and tears blurring his eyes, he’s surprised he’s still capable of making a steady walk to the right direction instead of breaking down right there and then in the corridor.
He’s already known that it would happen eventually, but knowing and hearing it right from the doctor’s mouth are two very different things. Simply ‘knowing’ means he’s still holding on a faint ray of hope. Hearing it feels like a death sentence, the final nail in the coffin (no pun intended).
As he reaches his destination, he almost hesitates to open the door, scared to finally come face to face with the truth. And indeed, when he eventually does, there’s an old man lying inside, hooked to a vital monitor and IV. But as the old man spots him, his blue eyes immediately light up like the sky after the storm, a smile spreading across his wrinkled face.
“Leo,” Martin greets brightly. “Glad to see you. Come in!”
-
Martin insists that Leandro helps him to sit, which he dutifully does, carefully arranging the pillows so Martin can lean comfortably.
“I’ve been sleeping for so long,” Martin says. “My back feels sore sometimes.” Then he gives Leandro a grin. “But guess you understand how it feels?”
The thing is, Leandro does. It’s been some time since he last did it, and he has better endurance than humans – or a cat shifter – but he used to rest for months inside his coffin, and wake up feeling stiff all over. And he knows Martin has been confined in bed for so long.
“So, how’s life?” Martin asks once they both sit together, Leandro on a chair beside Martin’s bed. “What’s been happening lately?”
Leandro hesitates. He’s forgotten to ask whether the doctor has told Martin about his condition, and, if he knows, whether it’s advisable to discuss it. But seeing that Martin is having one of his good days right now, does Leandro dare to ruin the mood by even mentioning it?
“I mean, what’s been happening with you, and Arsenal,” Martin quickly adds, probably thinking Leandro needs clarifications. “I miss the club so much, you know.”
Ah. So that’s what he meant. “They are doing great,” Leandro answers. “Still top of the league for now, Bukayo has been doing so well as a manager. He’s still leading all the players to pray for you before every training session and every match as well.”
Martin laughs. “Really? That’s so sweet of him. He’s a good kid.”
“That ‘kid’ is in his 60s now, Martin.”
Martin shrugs. “No matter what, I’ll always see him as that 19 year old kid I met when I first joined Arsenal.”
Leandro cannot help a small smile. “21 for me, but yeah, I get it.”
Martin nods, and the conversation switches to football for some time. Martin has resigned from his position as Arsenal’s manager to focus on his recovery upon his diagnosis, but Leandro knows he still lives and breathes football, and dreams about those days where he used to run around on the pitch kicking a ball for a living.
“Once I recover,” Martin says, “let’s go to Colney and have a kickabout with the lads. I miss it.”
Leandro feels a pang on his chest at those words. “I…I’d love that.”
-
One of the nurses brings Martin his lunch at noon. A plateful of porridge with some minced chicken, veggie soup, and a small slice of pudding for dessert.
Martin makes a face once the nurse is gone. “I’m sick of the hospital food,” he complains. “They’re so tasteless and boring.”
“Says someone who used to have the blandest taste for food in the entire squad,” Leandro counters, and they both laugh, remembering all those banters in the dressing room with their teammates.
“But really, I don’t think I can eat it today,” Martin says. “Can you go outside and bring me some cake or something?”
“...Martin, I don’t think the doctors and nurses are going to agree with that…”
“They don’t need to know. You can just sneak it inside your bag or something. Besides, they always say happiness will help cancer recovery, no?? And right now, I can only be happy if you get me cake.”
Leandro sighs. The nurses will kill him if they know. But Martin has a point there. Besides, if he really doesn’t have long to live anymore, why does it matter what he eats?
“Please?” Martin pleads.
Leandro secretly curses his own weakness towards Martin’s puppy eyes as he walks outside to find some cake for his “princess”. No matter whether he’s 20 or 60 years old, the Norwegian always knows how to make Leandro do his bidding. Thankfully, there’s a cake shop not too far away from the hospital, so he’s able to go there, grab a chocolate cake, and run back before Martin has the chance to miss him.
Martin’s eyes light up when Leandro presents him with the cake, and he eagerly digs in. Leandro watches him eat with a slight smile on his face. He remembers all those times when Martin went through chemo and swallowing even a spoonful of food (and keeping it inside) was a daily struggle. Now he seems to regain his appetite somewhat, even if the diet is as unhealthy as it could be.
“This is really good,” Martin says through a mouthful of cake. “Do you want some?”
Leandro shakes his head. “Nah, I’m good. I’ve had some…meals before I got here. Besides, you know I don’t need human food anyway.”
“I know,” Martin smiles. “I do miss feeding you, though.”
“And I do miss feeding from you,” Leandro says truthfully. Martin is one of his favorite “food”, since the Norwegian tastes like expensive champagne, but of course as he gets older, Leandro has had to stop drinking his blood for fear of Martin’s health.
Martin finishes his cake, and Leandro quickly dabs his mouth with a tissue. “Here, you cannot have chocolate smeared everywhere,” he warns. “I can’t have us getting yelled at by the nurses. And let me get rid of the box.”
Martin laughs. “Well, whose fault is that? You gave me that cake!”
“You’re the one who asked for it first, princess.”
“Don’t call me princess,” Martin admonishes, but the twinkle in his eyes betrays his stern tone. Leandro knows, even after all these years, Martin still loves that nickname.
-
As afternoon slowly rolls by, their conversation begins to shift towards their old teammates.
“Do you see any of them often?” Martin questions.
Leandro shrugs. “Not as often as I’d like to, but you know they’re all over the world now, Martin, I cannot just leave you and my duties at Arsenal that easily.”
Mikel is somewhere back in his hometown, living a peaceful life with Granit. By some miracle, his hair remains as thick as it was during his playing/coaching days, though it’s all white now. Declan is still yapping week in week out on TV about Arsenal’s chances to win the league (“that’s called punditry, little Leo, and you know that.”). Myles and Ethan are busy managing in the Championship. Some of them, like Tomi and Jakub, have peacefully retired from the public eye, and Leandro secretly doesn’t dare to seek them out for fear he’ll find any of them kicking the bucket anytime soon.
“I wish it doesn’t have to be that way,” Martin sighs. “It’s stupid, but back then during our playing days, there were times when I actually thought all of us would stay that way forever, and would always remain in London. I know most of us are from different countries, but…”
“I understand,” Leandro nods. Football has a strange way of making you feel like a part of a team forever, only to have it ripped away when age, injuries, or transfers catch up on you. And whenever transfer or retirement announcements pops out, that feels like a cruel reminder that nothing in this world is meant to stay the same.
He’s still mulling over that thought when Martin asks suddenly, “Well, how about Kieran? It’s been some time since he last came to see me, didn’t he? Is he alright?”
Leandro’s whole body tenses at the mention of the name, and he slowly avoids Martin’s eyes, thinking about the best way to approach this subject delicately.
Kieran Tierney was their lover, the third member of their throuple. He had moved back in with them after his retirement as a player and split his time between living in London and assistant-managing for Scotland national team. But Kieran’s gone now. He died just months after Martin’s diagnosis, an unfortunate heart attack that happened at home when Leandro’s taking Martin for his checkup, and it’s not until hours later when they find Kieran’s cold body on the floor.
The doctors told them that there’s nothing to be done, that his death was likely to be quick and painless, but something inside Martin was broken ever since. Leandro’s not sure if it’s early symptoms of dementia or his subconsciousness blocked the incident completely out of guilt, but for Martin, it seems like Kieran hasn’t died. He always talks about Kieran, asking about his whereabouts, telling Leandro to Facetime him, even making date plans sometimes.
No. He cannot tell Martin the truth. As much as he hates lying to his boyfriend, keeping Martin happy is the priority for now, and Leandro will carry the sin no matter what consequences it may bring.
So Leandro swallows, and says, “Kieran’s back in Scotland now, with his family.” It’s technically not a lie – Kieran’s body is buried in his family plot alongside his parents and siblings. “I came to visit him sometime ago. He…he misses us a lot, but he’s alright, he’s at peace now. You needn’t worry about him, Martin.”
He cannot tell whether Martin believes him or not, but the Norwegian’s face relaxes considerably at his words. “I’m glad to hear that,” he says, closing his eyes. “Though he could’ve Facetimed us if he misses us that much.”
“Yeah,” Leandro whispers, looking down at his shoes. “He could have.”
-
As the sky outside starts to darken, a nurse comes along to tell Leandro that the visiting hours are over.
“But I want Leo here,” Martin whines. “I want him to stay with me. Can’t he?”
“If you don’t mind, of course,” Leandro quickly adds. “I can even help him to eat and wash, I’ve done that a lot at home. I promise you I won’t be any bother to you or him.”
The nurse must’ve sensed something in their tone and eyes, for she quickly nods in agreement. “Alright,” she says, and when Leandro catches her eyes, there’s something in them that he cannot perceive – sadness? Acceptance? “If you need any of us, just press the bell, okay? I’ll get you your dinner soon, Mr. Odegaard.”
True to his words, Leandro helps Martin to eat his dinner – which he now takes without complaint – and wash him with warm water, careful not to disturb his IV. As Leandro gently rubs the washcloth through Martin’s wrinkled skin, he cannot help noticing how pale and fragile the Norwegian looks, and he silently wonders how much longer he’ll still be able to run his hands through it.
Martin chuckles at Leandro’s lingering caresses on his skin. “Are you trying to flirt with me, little Leo?”
“No, no,” Leandro says, embarrassed. Quickly he helps Martin into his pajamas. “I’m just…admiring your skin, that’s all.”
“What’s to admire? I’m old and wrinkly.”
“You’re still gorgeous to me,” Leandro says, perfectly honest.
Martin’s lips curl into a beautiful smile, the sweetest Leandro’s ever seen in a while. “Thank you.”
For some time, they fall into a comfortable silence, simply enjoying the presence of each other in the room, Martin resting with his eyes closed and Leandro taking some time to open a few emails on his phone.
“Leo,” Martin whispers, and his voice suddenly sounds solemn, as if all the cheerfulness has been sucked out of him. “Earlier in the morning, you went to see my doctor, didn’t you?”
Leandro nearly drops his phone in shock. How could Martin know about that? “I… How do you…?”
Martin smiles. “I just do.” He opens his eyes and looks straight at Leandro. “And I also know what he’s told you.”
Leandro looks down again, guilt hangs over him like a heavy mantle. He knows he shouldn’t have concealed it from Martin but he just couldn’t find the right words to say, and as it turns out, Martin has known all along, and now there’s no way of getting out of this. “I…I’m sorry, Martin,” he manages to stutter, unable to meet Martin’s eyes. “I didn’t mean to lie to you, I swear. I just…”
“I understand,” Martin cuts in, and to Leandro’s astonishment, there’s a smile on his face and voice. “And I’m not mad at you. If anything…when I was told about that, I felt a little…relieved? I mean, I’ve been sick for such a long time. I’m the one who’s sorry for having to leave you alone…”
“You did nothing wrong,” Leandro insists, feeling his body starting to shake all over. “You… We could’ve had much more time to be together, we…”
“I’m happy with the life I’ve had, Leo.” Martin takes a deep breath. “I’ve had you, and Kieran, and a lot of other people who love me, and a career to be proud of. Most people could only dream to live my life. And if…if this is how it’s supposed to end, I guess it’s as good as it could be.”
Leandro doesn’t say anything else, but silent tears are rolling down his cheeks now, pooling into a damp spot on Martin’s blanket.
Weakly, Martin reaches out and grabs Leandro’s trembling fingers with his hand. “Will you stay with me?” he asks softly. “And can you…can you hold me when it happens?”
“Yes,” Leandro whispers. Witnessing the last moments of his lover’s life is the last thing he’s ever wanted, but he knows he has to do it. “Yes, I can.”
-
The rest of the night passes so slowly.
Leandro keeps sitting there, caressing Martin’s hand, while the latter alternates between sleeping and waking up numerous times. Whenever Martin falls asleep, Leandro silently hopes that he’ll forget their previous conversation, that he’ll converse happily again with the Belgian as if nothing has happened. But every time he wakes up and looks at Leandro with clear, lucid eyes, Leandro knows he remembers everything.
Sometimes Martin would ask Leandro to tell him some old stories from their playing days, and Leandro would recount about the first time they met each other, their first date, some of the games they played together, and the moment they finally found glory with Arsenal. He talks and talks until his voice cracks, but he doesn’t stop until Martin falls back into his slumber.
At 5 a.m., Martin wakes up and says he doesn’t feel like sleeping again.
“Shall I get you some water?” Leandro asks, noticing how chapped Martin’s lips are.
Martin shakes his head. “Just wipe it with a wet rag,” he croaks. “Water will choke me. And no, I don’t need any breakfast either.”
“I know,” Leandro sighs as he does as he’s told, trying not to notice how cold Martin’s lips feel under the rag and what it might imply. “Anything else?”
Another shake of head, and Martin falls back into silence. Leandro is starting to think the Norwegian might’ve fallen asleep again when he suddenly says, “Kieran…he’s dead, no?”
Leandro doesn’t ask how Martin comes to remember that now. “Yes,” he replies quietly. “He’s been gone for some time, Martin.”
Martin swallows hard, letting his head fall onto Leandro’s shoulder, his tears staining the Belgian’s sweater. “I knew it,” he whispers again. “I guess I always knew…but I didn’t want to think about it, I didn’t want to acknowledge it…because it hurts, it hurts so much, Leo…”
“It’s alright,” Leandro murmurs, hugging his boyfriend gently as Martin sobs into his shoulder. “I feel the same way, Martin. I always do. I miss him a lot…all the time. But now you don’t need to feel hurt anymore…because you’re going to see him again after this, right…?”
“…Maybe, but how about you, Leo…? I’ll be gone soon, and then you’ll be left alone in this world…”
“No, I won’t,” Leandro answers, his voice strangely steady. “Because I refuse to be.”
And under Martin’s astonished eyes, he walks across the room and opens all the curtains wide, letting the first faint rays of sunshine stream inside the room.
“Leo,” Martin tries to shout, but his voice only comes out barely above a whisper. “You…you cannot do this… You know what would happen if…”
“I do, Martin, and I’ve thought about this,” Leandro says. He’s actually been contemplating it ever since he heard the news from Martin’s doctor, but the Norwegian’s condition, their conversations, and his own realization about what’s going to happen after this have convinced him to make the decision. “And you were right. I cannot exist in the world where there’s no you and Kieran. So please…please let me do this. This way…we can still be together, in a way.”
Tears glisten in Martin’s eyes again, but now he has no strength to fight Leandro anymore. He just manages a small nod as Leandro takes a seat, not on the chair, but right beside him on the bed, and drops his head on Leandro’s shoulder again.
They sit in silence, watching as the sun slowly goes up, illuminating the world with its bright light.
“It’s beautiful,” Leandro whispers in awe, as if he’s only seen the sunrise for the first time in his life. Then he turns around and smiles at Martin. “Though not as beautiful as you, Martin.”
Martin tries to smile back, and despite only managing a feeble one, in that very second Leandro no longer sees an old man lying on his deathbed. He sees Martin, young and happy and full of life, with his floppy blonde hair and bright blue eyes, cruising through victories upon victories alongside Leandro on the pitch.
Pulling Martin closer to him, Leandro intertwines the Norwegian’s fingers gently with his own. Martin closes his eyes, and just as he feels Leandro’s skin starting to crack around his hand, he heaves out a long, deep breath.