Wow two one shots posted within less than 24 hours of each other. Hopefully this one is better.
-Noah
Word Count: 468
Warnings: mentions of death, angst
Summary: read first sentence
Everyone's so nice when you're dying.
They rush to get you whatever you want and make sure you're as comfortable as possible, like they have nothing better to do than wait on someone who's running out of oxygen no matter how much the machine next to your hospital bed says it's pumping into you. They speak softly and quietly, like any sudden loud noises will kill you ahead of schedule. They don't argue with you or each other, like it could send you into cardiac arrest because of the unnecessary stress. They act like they would around a child, speaking kindly and not cursing, like they don't want the last words you hear to be swearing.
Everyone acts this way. Family members, nurses, doctors, other patients, heck, even the strangers sitting outside in the waiting room act like this.
Except for Elliot.
No, Elliot acted just like he always did. Flipping me off and sticking out his tongue whenever I asked him for a favor, raising his voice when he's excited or happy or poking fun at me, arguing with me over what channel to set the TV to and whether or not pineapple on pizza is good (it is), and using swear words in every other sentence and sarcasm lacing most of what he says.
My family hated it, always glaring at him when he laughed too loud or shoved my shoulder. They were nearly ready to throw him out when he made a small joke like, "When you die can I have that dark green hoodie you always wear?" I just laughed and shook my head. I didn't mind it. In fact, I loved it. I was getting tired of every one ignoring the elephant in the room.
I was dying. Plain and simple. There was no way to fix it or slow it down. We just had to wait. Elliot knew this, so he didn't change the way his acted around me. I had noticed that he's more clingy and affectionate. I can't blame him.
I knew he was acting strong for me. Every so often he would look away when I tried to sit up in bed and my frail body couldn't support my own weight. He looked away when the doctor came in to give updates and ask questions. He looked away when the nurses came in to change my saline bag and give me more meds. I knew he was hiding his tears. But I didn't care. Because I had an idea of what would happen when I finally died.
When the day finally came that I didn't wake up from my afternoon nap, and the heart monitor went silent other than one long, solid beep, every single emotion he felt came pouring out of him in screams and curses and tears.
