The Boy Upstairs /tronnor/

sixteen

Troye

It's cold outside as I roll out, Connor rolling silently behind me. I don't think he even notices his beanie snugly fitting my head. He always noticed when I wore his beanie. His lips are a pale blue, just barely but enough for me to notice, enough for the worry to rise up in me. 

He only has about two weeks left. Jackie told me he's declared bedridden. They've told Connor they can't reach his family out in Minnesota or that they're snowed in, when in reality, they just declined the hospital's invitation to the west coast. Something about they don't want to fly out to LA to watch their son die. Understandable, I suppose. I hate watching him die myself.

Connor's looking around at the snow in wonder, smiling like a kid in a candy shop. We sit there as the doctors enable the brakes on our wheelchairs, stopping us in place as they step back to the doors to give us privacy and get out of earshot. I'm extremely grateful for that. We sit in silence for a few minutes before Connor speaks, his voice raspy and dry, not the happy and lively Connor I met just months ago.

"You know," He croaks. "I should be used to this. Snow, I mean. I come from Minnesota, we see snow all the time. But honestly, I get more and more entranced by it every time I see it. It's like it's magic or something."

"It's beautiful." Is all I can mutter. I'm trying to make sure I walk the path I'm on very carefully, because I have no idea what's about to come out of Connor's mouth. He looks morbid and almost sad.

"This is my last time." He chokes up. "My last time seeing snow. My last time outside. My last time out of bed. I'm dying, Troye." He turns to me. "I'm dying, and I knew the day would come eventually, but I'm scared. I'm so scared. I don't want to leave my mom and my dad. I don't want to leave Dustin, or Brandon, or Nicola. I don't want to leave my cats, my friends back in Minnesota. But most of all? I'm really fucking scared to leave you." I look in his eyes, taking in every inch of his face, as tears leak down it. He truly is the most beautiful man I've ever seen. And I know this is the last time I'm ever going to be able to realize this. 

"You're going to be okay." I lean over and grab his hands in mine. "I promise. I know you're leaving soon, and I'm scared you're leaving too, but we're going to be together again. Soon, actually. You're..."

"What?" Connor asks, sniffling.

"You're the love of my life." I whisper the words, but the entire dynamic of his face seems to change. His eyes go from dull and lifeless to sparkly, happy and shining. A smile takes over his pursed lips, and his cheeks grow light pink. "I love you, Connor."

"I've been waiting for you to say that for so damn long, Sivan." Connor grabs my cheeks and presses his mouth against mine, our lips finding their perfect sync once again. In the back of my mind, I know the doctors aren't approving of this, but right now I don't even care. 

"We, um, we need to get you inside." A doctor steps forward as we pull away from our deep and passionate kiss, both of our shitty sets of lungs struggling to pull in cold, heavy air. 

"Right." I wheeze. One doctor grabs my chair and another one grabs Connor's, and we wheel back to our rooms together, holding hands tightly and muttering those three little words to each other nonstop until we share another kiss before being separated to go back to our rooms.