Tfios (Larry Stylinson)

Chapter 22

April 16th - Day 89

I slowly got better. At this point, better was a fairly relative term, but I could walk again, could breathe, could feel something other than pain. I was moved out of intensive care on Saturday, but it was a weekend of waking up periodically to find my loved ones by my bedside before I was actually released

It was like that song, the one where it says that love is watching someone die. I thought maybe that was true, perhaps even truer than the song intended. I was watching my mother die just as much as she was watching me die. Loving someone is sticking by their side, whether they have 3 months left or 300, watching them die and dying with them, giving them permission to hurt you when they leave.

In a strange way, love is opening yourself up to pain. Handing someone your precious heart and trusting them not to hurt you, to cradle your beating flesh just like you’d cradle theirs. It’s accepting that when they leave, they sometimes forget to give your heart back first.

At least with Harry, I’d be able to keep his heart, even after he disappeared with mine.

April 17th - Day 90

Harry and I had managed to synch up our chemo schedules, which was how we ended up spending our rainy Tuesday watching the same bad television on our respective televisions. Since I was still feeling like crap, even with the fancy new oxygen tank I’d acquired from my near brush with death, there was no way I could make it to the hospital. Harry remained as immobile as always, so we settled for holding each other through the phonelines. 

It was no romantic dinner date, but there was something lovely about just sitting on my old ratty couch and listening to him make idle comments on whether or not the bride in question should in fact say yes to the dress. There was very little joy in inhabiting a body that resembled an achy sack of potatoes, but there was a little bit of comfort in doing it with something else.

“So how’s that oxygen tank doing?” He asked me during a commercial break. “Have you named it yet?”

I smiled down at the light green tank, sitting on the floor on its little rolley cart. I hadn’t thought to name it, but I supposed there was no harm in doing so. “I haven’t.”

He clicked his tongue in disapproval. “I don’t even know why I date you, you uncreative heathen.”

“You’re the one who once told me he wanted a star tattoo. That is easily top ten on the list of things people get when they don’t have imaginations but still want a tattoo.” I teased, wrapping Liam’s flannel shirt tighter around me and fending off a wave of nausea. It was such a killer, I was completely starving, but any time I looked at food my stomach tried to fight its way out of my body. 

He made a soft affronted sound that made me fight a giggle. “Or maybe they get them because they look really cool.”

I smiled into the receiver. “You would look pretty cool with a star on your forehead.”

“That is certainly not where I wanted it.” He replied, sounding just the little bit petulant. “And now you’re changing the subject! I still want to know what you’re going to name your oxygen tank.”

I snorted. “You’re so pushy, why don’t you name it?”

“Maybe I will. How’s King Louis XVI of France?” 

“King Louis XVI got beheaded. I don’t want my oxygen tank to get beheaded, Haz. That would be very unfortunate for all involved.” I replied, rolling my eyes at him though the gesture was lost over the phone.

“But we could make it a cute little crown!” He enthused as I adjusted the tiny little nubbins in my nose. I still wasn’t used to the plastic, though the doctor had said it would feel like a part of my body soon enough.