the month of december (bxb)

just to see you (or maybe it was me) stumble

i wouldn't ask you, clairo
12TH DECEMBER, 2019
TWENTY TWO YEARS

I was an asshole for not seeing Seth sooner than I did. I refrained for days, scared to see the state he was in, scared to face the inevitable truth that he was dying, and that he would only have days, weeks at best, to go. The idea didn't seem plausible to me. Seth, who was of life and light, was fading away. Seth Marken, a boy who did nothing to deserve the fate he had, was being taken to early. The idea didn't make sense. The reality didn't make sense—but somehow it would have to, because it was truly happening. Seth was dying.

Five years ago the notion would have meant next to nothing, dare I admit. Four, three, two, one year ago, it would have been the same as saying Your distant relative, Sarah? Oh yeah, the one you haven't seen since you were two and never knew? Yeah, she's dead. I don't think I would've cared as much back then. But now? Seeing him, looking at him, falling back in, dare I say, love with him? It was selfish, but I couldn't meet his face. I couldn't stand to see him fade away.

But the thought of never seeing him again was worse.

Mathilda only spared me a glance before buzzing me in. "Hand-sanitiser." Was all she said before letting me walk through the two white doors, the clopping of her heels filling the silence that engulfed the room. I could see why she wouldn't want to talk to me. Not only had I hung up on her, but I'd ignored the one person that actually wanted to see me—a dying man, attempting to fulfil his last wish. I was an asshole, definitely. The fact was indisputable.

The steps I took were slow, each one more daunting than the last. I'm sure Seth heard me from a mile away, though. The silence allowed for a pin dropping to be heard, and my shaky exhales only gave away my presence. Seth was always good at things like that: knowing, guessing, observing. He'd observe someone so well that he'd know a person just by the shadows they made on the wall, or by the flexing of their hand from the corner of his eye. An artists trait, I had dubbed it many years ago. Now, I think it was just a talent that only Seth possessed. I didn't wish for it to go.

"Hey, Ainsley." His usual greeting sounded the room before I'd even reached him. I could smell him from round the corner, though: sickening like perfume, but with an odour of cleanliness, as though he'd been scrubbed head-to-toe in bleach. Perhaps he had. I didn't know what happened in the last six days.

"Hi, Seth." I exhaled shakily once more, swallowing my anxiousness. Dread exhumed from me, much to my annoyance. I didn't want him to see me like this. I was calm, I was always level-headed, I was always stoic—and yet here I was, trembling, fearing for my life. I felt like I was going to shit my pants.

"Are you going to come round the corner or am I going to have to get my ass off my seat and come see you myself?"

I bit my lip to stifle my laughter. Even as he faded away, Seth shone bright. "I'm coming, I'm coming." I poked my head round the corner, then my torso and my legs. Beside my trouser pockets, my hands twitched sporadically. The nerves, it seemed, were taking over me. "And I'm here."