one shots/short stories {seaycee}

stone [2/3]

a/n: part two is here!

ps: this story is inspired by sean's hairstyle in 2016 !! (i'm just kidding. but on a more serious note, the real inspiration is in the authors note at the end of the part 3)

•••
-give me all your shame-

Sean came home the following afternoon, mentally and physically drained. Kaycee had stuck by him throughout the entire session that morning, fingers intertwined with his, just to offer him support, and helping him as he answered tons of emails to pass time. If that was supposed to be of any help. He knew she didn't mean it to, but it caused more guilt to overwhelm him. He didn't know how many hours she had spent taking care of him these past few months, dealing with his fatigue, his outrageous requests, his sudden outbursts, and him, in general. With every smile and consolation she gave him, those that were supposed to make him feel better and loved, it just made his heart sink further.

He didn't deserve her. He never did.

But selfish him wanted to lay in her arms forever, clinging on to her for dear life. Selfish him wanted to wake up to her bright smile that lit up his dull life every day, and take in the familiar and pleasant scent of her hair. Selfish him wanted to see her little victory dance every time they played any sort of game and he deliberately let her win, because the pure ecstasy that she radiated would always make him feel like a child again - innocent, carefree and happy. Nothing like what he was now.

And after the long treatment process, he basically knocked out in the car on the way back.

"Sean, we're here, wake up," Kaycee whispered, unbuckling her seatbelt after parking the car in their garage. He's in one of those deep sleeps again. She debated on whether she should wake him up, but then realised that she couldn't possibly carry him to his room, so she planted a small kiss on his nose - one of the very few ways she discovered to wake him up from his slumber.

He groggily opened his eyes.

"H-Hey.. we're home?" he turned to ask her. When she gave him a small nod, he weakly unbuckled his seatbelt and tried, to no avail, to open the car door. His energy level was on an all-time low, and he could feel a weird churning in his stomach.

Kaycee got out of the car, walked to the other side and opened the door for him.

"Let me help you," she offered, extending her hand.

"N-No, I'm okay," he insisted, pushing himself up and placing his hand on the wall for support, before his legs gave way. He would've hit the ground if not for Kaycee catching him in time.

And if he ever felt any more useless, he could feel bile rising in his throat, and nausea hits him like a truck as a mixture of goodness-knows-what lands on the ground before him.

Such a good-for-nothing, he thought in frustration.

"I-I'm sorry," he panted, still trying to catch his breath and recover from that awful feeling in his stomach and throat as she slowly rubs his back in an attempt to soothe him.

"Don't feel guilty, it's not your fault chemotherapy has all these side effects. You need some rest, I'll clean this up later," she comforted him, before helping him all the way to the guest room in the ground level, for his lack of energy didn't allow him to climb up to their room.