Work Text:
Sweater Weather.
Headaches had never been an uncommon occurrence. They'd never been anything to worry about, they'd always just been a side effect to life. Lin had never been concerned by headaches; after all, he got them all the time. Usually, it made him think. When was the last time he ate a decent meal? What about water? How long did he sleep last night, if he slept at all?
Admittedly, since he'd moved in with Jonathan, headaches hadn't been as common. With someone there to remind him every so often to eat something, and to sleep, and to drink, and to stop working dammit, Lin barely ever got headaches anymore.
When November started, so did the headaches. They were awful in the mornings and often came with a sickness, then they both faded off during the day, until the next morning, when they'd come back again the same. Jonathan had joked that he was pregnant. He was probably just coming down with the flu. Lin just brushed it off and took a painkiller most days, then got on with it. By 1 pm, it was basically gone.
Until, he noticed, it wasn't gone. The pain became persistent, and though the intensity varied on some days, it was still always there, manifesting itself as a dull ache about his forehead and feeding on the fear that nagged at him as long as the pain did. He'd never tell Jonathan, Lord, no. That would just get them both worried. It was winter. He was just getting sick.
He was sleepy. He was tired. Tiredness was another thing he'd learnt to deal with over the years: stretches of nights spent working instead of sleeping eventually taking their toll. Coffee helped, but sleep was what he needed. Usually, sleep came easy, especially with someone he loved beside him. But sleep, try as he might, didn't come so easy anymore. Lin lay awake staring at the ceiling for hours and eventually succumbed to an uneasy rest, that never lasted more than three hours. This would happen twice in a night, usually. He was tired, and being tired was what he pinnned how snappy he was getting onto. He could've sworn he was never this snappy before.
The headaches, with his lack of sleep, got worse. Though he did his best to keep it quiet, eventually there came a point where every day felt like he was nursing a permanent migraine. Lin tried not to worry, but of course, fears would always cross his mind. If anything else developed, he promised himself, he'd go to the doctors. If not, he'd get over it; it'd pass.
The nausea got worse in the mornings. He threw up a couple times. It was winter; he was just getting sick. It was winter. Sweater weather, he noted, as he tugged on the signature grey jumper. That was the Lin jumper. The grey sweater. Jonathan loved that sweater, he said so constantly whenever it was cold. No matter what girls on twitter said, Jonathan was probably always Lin's biggest fan.
A day rolled round when everything seemed okay. Perhaps the mysterious illness he'd been plagued with was subsiding. But it couldn't have been too far into the afternoon when his vision started to go blurry and he was forced to sit down and wait and try not to panic. For a long time, Lin noticed, he'd been neglecting glasses. His prescription wasn't that strong, but eyes can get worse, he knew that. Maybe it was time to see someone.
When his vision started to flick out unexpectedly, then come back after a short while, that was when he really decided he needed to see someone. He figured, maybe, a doctor was a better idea than an optician, because, come on, this couldn't all be a coincidence.
For a long time, Lin debated everything in his head. This could all very well just be some horrific winter sickness. It was winter, after all. Sweater weather. He could just be getting sick. A solid 15 minutes spent on google convinced him to see a doctor.
Maybe sweater weather wasn't to blame.
He booked the appointment: himself. Drove there: entirely himself. Sat for hours upon agonising hours, through tests and scans and questions, becoming less and less himself.
-
To: Jon <3 [Going to be another two hours at least. Start dinner? xxx]
From: Jon <3 [Oh... you okay? Will put something on xxx]
To: Jon <3 [I don't know. I'll keep you posted if I can. Love you.]
From: Jon <3 [I love you. Don't die.]
To: Jon <3 [Will do my best.]
-
It had been almost four hours. Lin was getting worried.
After an agonising wait, during which his phone battery died, a tall woman with dark skin and hair piled atop her head in a slick bun emerged from a room with a shiny, red smile and called him in.
-
"It's what?" Lin choked on his words as they came out, blinking fast. The doctor smiled at him sympathetically.
"A tumour, in your frontal lobe."
Lin bit back tears, just nodding slowly. Things made a little more sense now. Questions flew around his mind, but he didn't dare voice any. He was silent for a few moments, then the doctor sat down and handed him a pamphlet.
"Have a read." She smiled at him, too cheerily. Fakely. He nodded again, saying nothing. "Call back if any of your symptoms change. If no change, or nothing new develops, come back in a week."
He offered a smile. Fake smile. That was it. There was no more. Go home, tell the ones you love the world's going to collapse around you.
He drove home, himself, but also not. Himself, but another version of himself also. Himself, and his shock. His sadness. His fear.
He'd have to tell people. He couldn't not tell people. Jonathan. Jonathan was the first person he needed to tell. He was almost home now, almost back to dry land.
Almost home, but not close enough. He couldn't have been far when he started to think, but his thoughts rushed like the swell of the ocean, or a river after a storm. His head felt like a storm. There were clouds in the sky, could it start to storm later? Thoughts were circling in his head of people he loved, and what would happen to them and what would happen to him; of cancer treatment and cancer symptoms and cancer, and the fact that the ache in his head was cancer. Tears threatened to blur his vision and he pulled over, taking deep breaths to try and regain his composure. He tried to focus on breathing, on calming down, thought about the words coming out of the radio. Just to think about something else. It took a while. He was almost back to dry land, so maybe he could keep himself from drowning that bit longer.
When he pulled into the driveway and stepped half-shakily out of the car, he shivered. It was cold outside. December; close to Christmas. Sweater weather. Lin laughed to himself; what a gift. Feliz Navidad: It's cancer.
He pushed open the door. Something was cooking, aromatic and bubbling on the stove. Lin was too numb to care. He called out a weak hello, and Jonathan came into the kitchen smiling. The expression dropped quickly, though, and he rushed across the room and pulled Lin into his arms.
"What's wrong? What happened? What did they say?"
Lin shook his head, which hurt.
"Come sit down."
Jonathan practically carried him into the lounge, asking all these questions, and he couldn't answer one. Once they were both seated on the couch, facing each other, Lin took both of Jonathan's hands in his own.
There wasn't much he could say. It's a few words; five maximum.
'I have a brain tumour.'
'They said it's cancer.'
'It's a tumour.'
'It's cancer.'
'Cancer.'
At the end of the day, it only took one word. But whenever he tried, the word didn't come out.
"It's-" He started, and then choked on his tongue. "They said..." He shook his head, looking away to hide the tears in his eyes.
"You can tell me."
"Cancer," He breathed. Jonathan was silent. Lin looked up at him and said it louder. He nodded.
"Where?"
"Brain."
Jonathan just nodded again. He was quiet for a long time.
"What did they say to you?"
Lin shrugged, repeating the odd bits of information that he could pull from his foggy brain.
Foggy, cancerous brain.
They didn't eat dinner that night, just sat on the couch and held each other. Jonathan let Lin lie on top of him and let him fall asleep. He made a note of all the ways Lin's muscles pressed against his, all the curves and edges and dips and contours and the parts where Lin's bones dug into him. He listened to the way Lin breathed, watched his face as he slept, stroked his hair softly. He just memorised Lin.
As he slept, Lin let himself be memorised.
---------Act 2---------
Cancer.
It was cancer.
Jonathan still wasn't over it.
Lin fell asleep against his chest most nights. Jonathan would watch him carefully, knowing there was a tumour in his head. There wasn't really ever a time when it didn't leave his mind.
Except once.
It was Christmas day. Someone had made a joke; Lin was laughing. They were sitting around the table, dinner was out. Someone had made a joke; Lin was laughing. He was wearing the sweater that day. The grey one. It was the right weather for it; sweater weather.
Someone had made a joke; Lin was laughing. His eyes were sparkling. Lin was laughing.
Jonathan had to excuse himself from the room and try not to cry. Lin had come out and hugged him wordlessly, resting his head right above Jonathan's heart.
"It's okay."
"I love you."
"I'm gonna be okay."
"I love you so much."
"You don't believe me."
A pause.
"You don't believe you either."
-
Jonathan didn't want to listen when they came back. There were tears on both of their faces. Of course, family wanted to know what was going on. Of course, because why wouldn't you? They wanted to know. Neither of them wanted to say. Of course, they didn't. Would you want to be the one to tell your family you have a brain tumour? And on Christmas?
Jonathan couldn't do it. He couldn't bring the word to the front of his mouth.
'Cancer.'
It was such a sickly, bitter word. It burned like whisky going down and hurt like a punch to the gut coming up.
It was Lin who said it. It took a lot. He had to breathe a lot. He had to restart a lot. He had to restart his train of thought four times.
"I was diagnosed with brain cancer."
It fell out of his mouth like stuffed animals that had been packed too tightly into a cupboard. It fell unceremoniously and ungracefully into the air and hung there in the silence for what seemed like too long.
Questions came next. Lin put on a brave face and answered as many as he could.
There was so much he didn't know.
Talk turned after hugs were exchanged and tears were shed; reassuring words uttered and not believed. The talk went back to Christmas; to family; to love and life and happiness. The tumour never left Lin's mind after that, no matter how hard he tried to make it.
Christmas only lasted a while. Family went home. The house was empty and cold now, compared to how it had been. It was different now. Everything was real again. Lin fell asleep with his head against Jonathan's chest, like he always did. The days turned by like always.
Slowly, the news got out. To extended family, friends, the world. They tried not to pay attention to the world. The few comments Lin did see online were overwhelmingly positive. It made him smile knowing there were so many people in the world who wished him well.
-
Jonathan understood Lin's cancer in the same vague, incomplete way that people understand electrical circuits and ocean tides. He knew what to expect; what was normal and what wasn't. He knew when he had to call a hospital. He knew the names of all the drugs Lin had recently started being treated with, in alphabetical order: bleomycin, cisplatin, methotrexate, PCV. He knew the basics. The ropes. Nothing more complex.
That was probably why, once Lin started being treated, Jonathan felt like such an outsider. He didn't know enough to be helpful. He was there to hold his hand through injection after injection, there to provide a smile and a distraction when there was too much talk of 'what if' and 'perhaps'. But he didn't know enough. He didn't know Lin's condition well enough to be of use.
Most of it happened at home, which was good for both of them. Lin was shaken by it, toward the beginning, because, this was chemo. He had cancer, and this was chemo, and it was real. The first time he'd had that thought process was a weird one. He knew; of course he knew, but this was a slap in the face. You have cancer. This is chemo.
Injection after injection after injection. That was a large majority of it. Some of it wasn't that bad, sometimes it was a bulky, difficult to swallow capsule that sat too heavy in the stomach and made Lin feel sick.
He felt sick a lot. At first, it was worrying; he was being treated, he wasn't suppoed to feel worse. Then, he realised, it was down to the medicine, which just made him feel uneasy. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he'd known there would be side effects, but for some reason, he'd never really registered that until now.
He felt sick. He was tired; always fucking tired. That never went away. He was always tired. His head hurt. That was a little easier to get rid of.
There were a few days when he couldn't bring himself to get out of bed. A few days where he felt so ill and so weak and so helpless that there was nothing he could do. Jonathan stayed close to him on those days, holding him and murmuring small words of encouragement to him and just being there. That was enough, on those days. Just to have him there. Lin would curl up against him and they'd talk about memories and they'd talk abut the weather, they'd put on a movie, and Lin would fall asleep. Those days brought the worst headaches and the worst sickness, but the easiest sleep.
Sometimes, though not often, Lin would get shivery and hot, and not really want to move. That was the worst one. It was like the flu, but it didn't last as long. Lin hated those days. Jonathan didn't leave his side once.
Jonathan never really left his side. Lin could never thank him enough for that. Unless he had to, Jonathan never left.
-
It was a cold morning in late January when it started happening. It was cold. Always cold. Sweater weather. Lin had woken up later than he'd intended, limbs still heavy with the weight of sleep. He turned over; Jonathan wrapped an arm around him, and he spent the next hour or so drifting in and out of consciousness. When he woke fully, it was almost afternoon. He uttered a small apology for sleeping so long; Jonathan shook his head.
"No trouble. Are you hungry?"
Lin just shook his head.
"You look pale, are you okay?"
"I have cancer."
"I know that. But do you feel any different to normal sicky-grossness?"
Lin shook his head again, rubbing a hand over his face. "Tired."
"Nothing new, then."
He hesitated. "No. Not really."
There was silence for a short while then.
"Are you sure you're not hungry?"
Lin buried his face in the pillow. "You know what they said about making me eat."
"I know." Jonathan nodded, scooting closer and running a hand through Lin's hair. "Baby, you're losing this."
Lin sat bolt upright at that, which he regretted immensely. "What?" Jonathan just nodded at him grimly.
"It came out in my fingers. But you've huge patches all up the back."
Lin sighed, hiding his face in his hands. Jonathan rubbed up and down his back softly as he tried not to cry.
"It's gonna be okay."
Lin just shook his head.
"I'm scared."
A pause.
"What scares you?"
"Death," Lin replied, not skipping a beat. "Cancer."
"You might not die'. That was what terrified him. 'Might.'
"What if I do, though? What if they can't get rid of it and it gets too big and-" He cut himself off with a choked sob. Jonathan pulled him into his arms and shushed him quietly, rubbing his back and whispering nonsense into his ears.
Lin was scared. Genuinely scared. It wasn't often Lin got scared. He was scared and he was crying.
"Listen, okay, please don't cry." Jonathan took both of Lin's hands in his own, "Look at me?" Thankfully, Lin did. "You need to calm down. This won't help your case."
Lin nodded, drawing in a deep breath. He held it for a few seconds, then let it go. This went on over and over, till he was finally calm and the tears had gone. The fear remained, though, and Lin couldn't get it off his mind.
"I'm scared." He whispered, after a long while of silence.
"Of what?"
"Cancer. Dying. This."
Jonathan had sighed at that, pulling Lin that extra bit closer.
"I'm just saying, Jon... What if it kills me?"
"It won't."
"It could."
There was another silence.
"If it does, you'll not go out forgotten. You've impacted hugely on so many people's lives, Lin; so many people are inspired by you and motivated by you and-" Jonathan cut himself off with a shaky inhalation. "You've left a huge mark on the world."
"You think that?"
"I know it. If this tumour kills you, the world will remember you."
Lin was calmed a bit after that. Everyone wants to leave a legacy. Nobody wants to die and be forgotten. Nobody wants to just disappear. That's the fear, when you know that you could die. You don't want to be forgotten.
"I'm tired." Lin murmured, breaking the silence.
Jonathan was filled with a strange sense of peace. "Go to sleep. I'll be here."
"I don't want to. If I go to sleep... what if I just, don't wake up?"
"I wouldn't worry about that."
"That's the fear, when you have a disease that could end your life, hon."
Jonathan just nodded.
"I'll always be here, though."
Lin, eventually, fell into an uneasy rest. Jonathan, as promised, was there.
-
The rest of it happened slowly, then all at once.
Small patches that spread up the back, across the top, down the sides, and then it was all gone.
Lin couldn't say that it was the worst thing about the whole ordeal. Not when he woke up every morning feeling like he had the flu. He couldn't bring himself to care about the way he looked.
Until, he could.
He looked at himself one morning and almost fell over. His face was pale, his eyes bore dark circles that stood out hugely against his skin. With all his hair gone, he looked like cancer. There he was: stock photo of a cancer patient. That had brought on a bit of a cry. Jonathan had held him tighter than he ever had before, because, to him, too, this was real, now. Lin had cancer. Lin, the man that Jonathan loved more than anyone in the world, had cancer. He'd always known, but seeing him this way, cancer patient example #35712, hurt. It hit like a slap in the face. Lin had cancer. A constant reminder, right in front of him. Lin had cancer.
A day passed. Lin didn't get out of bed. Jonathan found him a beanie; dark red and soft inside, which lifted his spirits a lot. He still didn't move; just slept on and off and ate irregularly. He drank enough, that wasn't hard to get him to do. He just barely ate. That was... worrying. Normal, apparently, but worrying. He dropped weight like a hot stone, but he was okay. He was alive. At the moment, he was upset.
That was entirely understandable, Jonathan noted. He'd be upset if he lost all his hair to chemotherapy.
As Lin slept against his chest that night, Jonathan hatched a plan. Thankfully, by morning, Lin had moved off him enough for him to move. It was still dark out. Late February; still cold, still sweater weather. Jonathan looked at himself in the blue-white lights of the bathroom. He ran a hand through his hair. It was getting long, shaggy. It needed cutting.
Well, it did. Slowly, lock by lock, it fell to the floor. Jonathan just prayed that the buzzing of the clipper wasn't loud enough to wake Lin. That would ruin the surprise.
Jonathan checked three times. Once he was sure he'd got it all, he stared at himself, then at that pile of hair on the floor. For Lin. He looked back at himself.
For Lin.
He slipped back into bed just as the sun started to creep through the window and slept for another four hours. Since Lin had started sleeping in later, so had Jonathan. He got dressed, deciding to make breakfast. Since the red one, he'd found another beanie; forest green and much more heavy duty. Lin didn't like it, said it made his head hurt. Jonathan slipped it on after he'd finished buttoning the flannel he was wearing, and padded downstairs. He made cereal and ate slowly, reading the news on his phone. Lin came down, red beanie already slipped on. Jonathan smiled at him, and Lin smiled back, getting a glass down from the cabinet and filling it with water. He sat down opposite Jonathan and smiled at him weakly, taking a long sip of his drink.
"Sleep okay?" Jonathan asked, trying to conceal a smile.
"Yeah, thanks. You?"
He just nodded. Lin looked at the table, sighing.
"Are you hungry?"
"Actually, yes."
Jonathan smiled, standing and stretching. Lin stood too, making his way over and wrapping Jonathan in a hug.
He kissed Lin's forehead softly, and they locked eyes for a few moments.
Jonathan smiled, and Lin was confused.
"What?"
"Nothing," He giggled. Lin frowned.
"Tell!"
"All in good time."
Lin sighed. Jonathan made him breakfast, setting it down in front of him with another kiss to his forehead. Once he'd sat back down and managed to look casual, he spoke again.
"You know how you were feeling a little insecure earlier about your hair?"
Lin nodded. He still did feel insecure about his hair.
Jonathan pulled off the beanie. Lin's face lit up. What happened next was a mixture of happiness and tears and tight, tight hugs.
"I love you," Lin murmured, face pressed into the fabric of Jonathan's shirt. His voice danced with the threat of a sob.
"I love you too. More than anything."
"I can't believe you did that for me."
"Of course. I'm in love with you."
Jonathan was in love with him. That was all Lin needed to hear that day to make him smile.
-
That was... odd. New.
Another side effect he'd been warned of, but not one he'd ever expected.
But, there he was, curled up on the sofa under three blankets feeling sorry for himself. Jonathan was close by him, rubbing his arm softly. Lin sighed to try and keep himself from throwing up again. Pain shot through his abdomen again and he inhaled suddenly.
"It's okay, I'm here."
Lin nodded, taking a small sip of the water he had on a small table by the couch. A movie from the 80s played quietly on the TV. Lin fell asleep to its drone.
He doesn't know much in his dream. He's hot, then cold, then hot again. Lights flash in front of his eyes. There are people talking, too many people all at once. Hot. Cold. Hot. Cold.
A long and shrill sound: he knows it means something's wrong but he can't tell what. Jonathan cries out his name. Hot, cold, hot, cold, hot, cold, hot.
Light, dark, light, dark.
The sound continues. He is cold. He hears his name again. A searing pain in his stomach-
And he wakes up.
Jonathan was right beside him, hushing him quietly. "It's okay, I'm here."
Lin sat up too fast, and regretted it instantly. "Ow."
"You had quite a dream there. You okay?"
He wasn't okay, he was scared. He nodded anyway.
"Hold me?"
Lin's voice was small, raspy with tears. Jonathan pulled him close, holding him tight.
"I'm here. You're okay."
Lin wanted to object to that, because, no, of course, he wasn't. He stayed quiet, though, nodding. Jonathan was right, really. He was okay. With Jonathan's breath on his neck and his arms around him, Lin was okay. Right here, he was okay. Yes, his head hurt. Yes, he felt sick, and his stomach hurt. Yes, he was tired. Yes, he had cancer. But he was there. Jonathan was there. The room smelled of coffee.
Lin was okay.
[Act 3]
Time passed. Time would always pass. Lin had good days, and he had bad days. The bad slowly started to outnumber the good. Summer came and went, beanies were replaced with bandanas, were replaced with beanies again. The weather got colder. It became sweater weather again.
It was late November. Frosty outside. They were sat on the couch, wrapped in a blanket. There was nothing good on TV, so they put on music and sat there just being together. Lin had fallen asleep earlier, and only just woken up. He pressed a small kiss to Jonathan's shoulder as an indication that he was awake. Jonathan kissed the top of his head in response.
"Sleep okay?"
Lin shuffled up a bit, kissing the place where Jonathan's neck met his shoulder. "Alright."
"Not so tired?"
"Not really," Another kiss, further up.
"What're you up to?"
Lin just shrugged. "Kissing you."
"Yeah, I see that, but why?"
Another kiss, at the spot where Jonathan's jaw met his neck. Lin shrugged again. "D'you like it?"
"Yes."
"Then I'll keep going."
Keep going he did. Any inch of skin he could reach without moving too much was kissed. Jonathan kissed him back a few times, but Lin had his face pressed so close to skin most of the time, it was difficult.
When he couldn't reach any further, he moved back round. Kisses got more forceful. Today was a good day. Kisses got a little rougher, turned into little nips at skin and shallow breaths.
"Are you-?"
Lin smiled. "I'm trying to. Should I stop?"
Jonathan was conflicted at that. Because it felt nice, but that was selfish.
"Not if you don't want to. If it gets tiring, don't."
Lin nodded then, and got back to it.
It wasn't sexual. It was never for a moment a sexual thing. It was just kisses, that turned into more. There were no fingers dancing under hems of shirts, no words meant to excite. 'I love you' uttered back and forth. Lin made four decently sized marks before he got tired. He snuggled back into Jonathan's side and sighed contentedly.
"Why'd you do that?"
"Just wanted to leave a mark."
"Do you know why?"
"No."
"If this is a death thing-"
"It's not a death thing! I'm not gonna die."
Jonathan smiled at that.
"You're immortal."
"Yeah!" Lin laughed, "Once I finish chemo, I'll be invincible."
Jonathan pressed a kiss to his temple. "You already are."
[Act 4]
After that, things only got worse.
Lin's headache got worse. He could barely keep food down. As a result, he became sickly skinny. Jonathan felt scared just holding him, like he might break a bone if he hugged him too tight.
Days turned into weeks. They put him on a new course of drugs. They gave him worse headaches and made him sleepy, difficult to rouse. They looked like they were helping, and then all of a sudden they weren't helping. They said that Lin would live past Christmas.
December rolled around.
For most, the countdown to Christmas is an exciting one. Most can't wait for the days to pass. December 25th was a happy day, for most.
Most.
As the days counted down to Christmas, the days seemed to count down for Lin.
He was scared of dying. Utterly terrified.
Lin didn't want to die. He did not want to die. There was so much he hadn't done, and so much he hadn't seen. He tried to keep hope that he wasn't going to die; that he was going to get better and that this was just a bad time for him. He convinced himself of that every time he staggered back to bed after 20 minutes spent retching in the bathroom. It was winter. He was just getting sick.
Winter.
Sweater weather.
That was all it could be. He wasn't dying. He refused. The reaper would come for him and he'd shake his head and protest, then the reaper would leave. Lin wasn't going to die. He was not going to die.
A week before Christmas, he fell sick.
His temperature rose steadily, but they could always get it to decline again with ice and water and a fan. It got difficult, sometimes, but he could always be cooled down again. Christmas crept ever closer, and Jonathan started to believe that he'd live past it. Lin still fell asleep against his chest, like always.
Two days before Christmas Eve, his temperature skyrocketed. Jonathan was instantly concerned. He tried everything; ice, water, opened every window in the room. Lin just wouldn't cool down.
He didn't speak, just lay there and tried not to cry, focused on how his head hurt and his stomach turned and how he was swimming in a pool of his own fear.
He lay there, himself, but also not. Himself, but another version of himself also. Himself, and his shock. His sadness. His fear.
All he could feel was fear. He was going to die. This was it. He was dying. He could feel it. It didn't feel like he'd imagined it feeling; everything slowly turning off at the same time like lights in a blackout. It felt gradual. Little bit by little bit slowly deciding to give up.
When he did speak, it was in a small voice. "I think-" He was cut off by a coughing fit, which made his throat hurt and his head spin. "I think I'm dying."
That shot Jonathan straight into a panic.
"No, no, you're not dying."
Lin nodded, coughing again. Jonathan dripped cold water into his mouth.
"No, okay, you're not dying. Y-you can't be." There were tears in both of their eyes. Jonathan sat closer to him, slowly pulling Lin over so his head rested on Jonathan's chest. "You can't die. You just c-can't. Alright? You're gonna be okay, you're gonna beat this, you're gonna live until you're ninety and then someday someone's going to read your story and be so inspired-"
Lin cut him off with a weak finger to his lips. Jonathan nodded, swallowing tears.
"I think I'm dying."
The tears spilled over then. Jonathan brought a hand to his mouth to stifle a sob. He shook his head, biting the inside of his cheek.
"No, no, no. Lin-"
"Don't talk. It's okay."
Jonathan stared up at the ceiling and bit his trembling lip. If he couldn't talk, he wasn't sure what he could do. He turned off the lamp beside the bed, offering more water. Lin took it gratefully, swallowing thickly.
"I love you. More than anything in this life. I am so, so in love with you. I'm -sorry-" Lin's own tears had started to spill now, a soothing cool on his hot face. "I'm sorry that of all the ways to go, it had to be this way."
"No, no. You're not dying. You aren't dying."
"I am," Lin rasped, trying to smile.
Jonathan drew in a shaky breath. He nodded, wiping tears from his face. Lin inhaled with a hiss, reaching suddenly to grab at Jonathan's shirt.
"What's wrong, love?"
Lin shook his head, placing his other hand weakly on his stomach. Jonathan nodded, offering water. Lin shook his head.
He was struck with a new wave of fear, a new wave of sheer terror.
"Don't go," Lin pleaded softly. Jonathan nodded fast.
"I won't ever leave you, okay? I promise. I swear to you that I will never ever leave you."
"I'm dying," he said in a broken sob. "I'm going to die."
"You can't."
"I am."
He was. Jonathan knew he was. But he refused.
Lin was such a smart, intelligent man. He was one of the greatest people Jonathan had ever met, so intellectual and charming, always knowing the exact way to make you smile or laugh or feel better. To think that he was ripped so suddenly from the earth by a brain tumour was almost ironic. Devastating. One of the most brilliant minds Jonathan knew, wiped away like a speck of dust, by a brain tumour.
That only served to make him cry; huge, racking sobs that shook his whole body. Lin tried not to, but a combination of the stress and the heat, and the sobs of the man he loved, it was all too much for him.
"I wish there was s-something I c-c-could d-do."
Lin shook his head. "Hey," He murmured, voice thick with tears, "Remember, yeah? Remember what I said. You have no control." Just like him to try and make humour of a situation.
Jonathan smiled, but it was broken by another choked sob.
"Who-Shit, I'm dying. I know it. I'm dying. I love you. Please don't ever forget that I love you. If you live to be a hundred, remember me, every December 22nd. Please?"
Jonathan nodded quickly, tears streaming down his face like the swell of the ocean, or a river after a storm. "Love leaves fingerprints."
Lin sobbed, choked, trying his best to stop the tears. They came on fast and did not stop, no matter how hard he tried to make them.
"Please don't forget me."
"I never could. Are you okay? Can I do anything?"
Lin just shook his head.
"I wish there was something I could do."
"Hey," Lin wiped away tears. "You have no control, yeah? Who lives, who dies, who tells your story."
Jonathan only cried harder at that. "I will. I'll tell your story. You will not go out quietly. The world will know your story. They'll know how hard you fought to beat this. They will know your story."
Lin smiled, wiping his eyes gain. A stabbing pain shot through his stomach and he hissed. This was it. His head was swimming, his vision blurred. He couldn't breathe, couldn't think. He was dying.
"I'm dying," He rasped. Jonathan just nodded, cupping his cheek with a hand and stroking along his cheekbone. "I'm scared."
"I'm here. I'm here."
"I'm... I'm tired."
Jonathan drew in a deep breath, nodding. "Go to sleep, baby. Close your eyes. It's alright."
Lin looked scared. "I won't wake up."
"I'm here. It's okay. You fought so well."
Lin nodded. It was time to let go. Time to say goodbye.
"I love you, more than anything."
"I know. I love you too. So, so much. I'll never forget you. Not as long as I live. Fingerprints."
Lin nodded, eyes starting to fall closed. He smiled softly, hand on Jonathan' shirt tightening one last bit.
"Sept, huit..." He breathed, smile slowly fading. "Sept, huit."
"Sept, huit, neuf." Jonathan encouraged. But Lin didn't finish.
Memories came in floods, with his tears, and Jonathan sat there staring at the wall as they came.
He just laid there.
"Sept, huit, neuf. Come on."
No response.
Jonathan covered his mouth with a hand, the other still on Lin's cheek.
He remembered a day in New York, back in 2015 when Hamilton was debuting. Lin was joking around with him, half in costume. That was a happy day.
He remembered hundreds of phone calls. Jonathan had confessed his feelings over the phone. They'd spent what felt like forever talking that night.
He remembered the days they'd spend together, doing nothing, laying beside each other and sharing small kisses and quiet words.
He remembered the day Lin was diagnosed. The way his body had felt, pressed gainst Jonathan's, as he'd slept.
He remembered the day he started chemo. That was a teary day.
He remembered the day they said he'd live past Christmas.
He didn't remember how long he laid there, sobbing over Lin's body and trying not to dig his fingernails into his arms. That would hurt less. His hand brushed one of the purple bruises on his collarbone, still there, which only served to make him cry harder. Lin was still here, on his skin.
It was hours later that he actually called someone. Just spat two words down the phone and listened to hushed conversations on the other side. Doctors came, took him away. The next few hours were spent crying in a hospital, answering question after question. He went home at three AM that morning, slept on the couch because he couldn't bear sleeping in the bed where the man he was - is - in love with died.
He was dead.
He was dead. He wasn't supposed to be dead. He was supposed to be invincible. That was what took the most getting used to. Not the silence, not the emptiness, not the cold. Just the fact that he was dead.
Lin was dead. Jonathan let his hair grow out again. Lin was dead.
His funeral was long. So many people. Too much talking. Too many people talking to him. Too much to handle all at once. Jonathan was so numb the whole time, he didn't take much of it in. He watched as Lin's casket was lowered into the ground slowly. It was buried, until all that remained of him was his name on a headstone and scars on hundreds of hearts.
Jonathan went home and changed the bedsheets, crawled into bed and hugged one of Lin's hoodies. He didn't really leave for the next few days.
He didn't want to face the world.
Not anymore.
Not now Lin wasn't there to face it with him.
[Act 5]
The next few months were hard.
January brought Lin's birthday, February brought Valentine's day. Both of the days he spent alone, bitter and pushing away everyone else. He felt selfish, he knew he wasn't the only person who was affected by this. But it was different for him. Nobody else knew Lin like he did. There was nobody else who loved him like that, nobody else who knew the little things he did all the time.
Nobody else still had him on their skin.
For two whole weeks, the marks glared at him from under his collar, a constant reminder. When they started to fade, Jonathan started to worry, wished they'd come back.
They didn't come back. Once the smell faded from Lin's sweaters it didn't come back. No matter how many tears he shed, no matter how many nights he slept on the couch or how many times he washed the bedsheets, Lin didn't come back.
-
It was the beginning of November.
He was walking, just walking, with one place to go. He was wearing the sweater that day, the grey one. Lin's sweater.
There was a coffee shop with the door open. It smelled of caramel and cake.
There was a flower shop with big displays of ornate roses outside. He went inside and bought a bouquet of tulips. He kept walking.
He walked right up to the iron gates, then paused. It was almost two years ago. Almost two years ago, this whole thing had started. Needless to say, he collapsed on the ground and cried for longer than he usually would that day.
Lin's headstone was in no way enough. Nothing would ever be enough. What can you use to remember a genius? What souvenir do you have after a human hurricane passes through except a wreckage to deal with?
Almost a year later, he was still clearing up the mess.
At the end of November, he woke with a headache and instantly started to worry.
But it was just winter. He was just getting sick.