Chapter Text
98 Days
“It’s okay…We can get through this.”
Words. They are just words.
He shakes his head violently. This can’t be happening. This isn’t happening.
They aren’t in a suffocating white room. It’s not stuffy. It’s not hard to breathe. They didn’t just hear the word: Terminal.
Everything’s fine. It must be. But it’s not.
Simon cries all the way home.
The summer sky is clear and sunny, a hint of optimism whirls in the air despite the bleak hopelessness Simon feels in his core.
When the tires roll to a gradual stop, Wille wordlessly turns off the engine and unbuckles himself.
Simon is curled up in a ball in the passenger seat. His head rests against the window with arms wrapped securely around himself. He clutches his yellow jacket in his fists like it’s his only lifeline. Like it’s a raft in an ocean of nothingness. And Simon’s drowning.
Wille exits the car and makes the trek to the other side to unbuckle his boyfriend. He leans down and sprinkles kisses on Simon’s wet cheeks before picking him up. He carries him into their lovely new home that they bought together just two months ago.
The crunch of gravel under Wille’s sneakers and soft sniffles escaping Simon are the only sounds that disrupt the silence.
Wille kicks off his shoes in the foyer. He cringes as it thuds, the boom echoing harshly against the wood floor. He quietly pads upstairs and into their bedroom with Simon clinging to his shoulders and nose buried in his neck.
Simon burrows into Wille on their bed. He wants as much skin touching him as possible. Thick blankets cocoon them as beads of tears skate down their reddened cheeks. They cry softly together.
It’s a strange feeling. Knowing the love of your life is going to die. It almost feels as if life isn’t real. That time isn’t real. Everything just kind of stops; it freezes like you’re trapped in mid-air with nothing grounding you.
Wille pets his boyfriend’s back while pressing soft kisses to his curls, his eyelids, his forehead. “We have time,” he murmurs into his ear.
That breaks Simon. His soul realizes its mate will abandon him. Half of his heart will be broken into shards too small to piece back together. Simon shakes his head violently from where it’s resting on Wille’s chest. He lets out a choked sob and grips Wille’s cotton t-shirt hard, almost like he wants to punish him for making him live in a world without him.
“No,” Simon wails, unable to control his outburst, “I-I can’t…I can’t lose you, Wille. You can’t go anywhere. Okay? You promised. You promised you’d be with me forever. You can’t leave me with all this shit! Fuck!” He throws one of their pillows across the room. It collides with their aloe vera plant that’s tucked away in the corner of the room. A loud bang reverberates as the clay pot shatters. The plant lies dying on its side, leaking dirt.
Simon’s throwing a tantrum but why shouldn’t he? He just found out the love of his life is dying. Wille’s wasting away. Soon, he won’t be on earth anymore. He won’t hold Simon, he won’t kiss him goodnight, he won’t tell him he loves him, he won’t be his husband or father of his children. He’s going to leave him.
Wille grabs Simon and wraps him in a tight embrace. He nuzzles his face on the crown of his head and holds back a fresh set of tears. He has to be strong.
Droplets of tears continue to stream down Simon’s cheeks, nurturing a small puddle on Wille’s t-shirt.
“Shh, darling,” Wille whispers, trying to subdue him, “I know, I’m sorry, it’s fine. It’s fine. It’s fine. It’s gonna be fine.” Is it though?
They lay like that for hours. The sunshine blurs into moonlight cascading into the open window and spotlights the shapes of their intertwined bodies. Their eyes sting from the constant flow of tears. And the tears only cease once their minds fade to darkness, unconsciousness.
97 Days
Waking up the next day is weird.
Simon had a nice dream. It’s an odd feeling; the disturbing dichotomy of real life dread and a fictitious euphoric fantasy.
Simon lies in bed while Wille snores softly next to him. He replays scenes from the dream in his head over and over.
It was another dream about Wille proposing. Which, they’ve talked about for a while now. They’ve been dating for six years and living together for five. And even though they’re still young, they both know they’re the ones for each other. Wille told Simon he’s waiting for the right moment; he wants it to be perfect.
In the dream, Wille sweeps them away to some random cottage in some random forest. There’s a large pond that’s nestled between a thick scattering of pines and maple trees. Blush pink and periwinkle wildflowers bloom on the ground, cultivating an idyllic oasis.
Inside the cottage it’s peaceful and relaxing and cozy. Dream-Simon and Dream-Wille lounge around by the wood-burning fireplace the whole day, cuddling each other, giving each other mind-blowing blowjobs, playing Scrabble (“Wille, ‘funner’ isn’t a word.” “Yes, it is! For example, I had a funner time with you—” “Babe, no…just no.”).
The dream day metamorphosed into night seamlessly. Dream-Wille took Dream-Simon by the hand and led him down a dirt trail to the pond. There were twinkly lights strung from the trees. The soft glow illuminated Dream-Wille’s delicate features. Dream-Simon was in complete awe of his beauty. He fell even more in love.
They stood by the pond hand-in-hand for what felt like hours, gazing at the gentle waves crashing against the shore. Then, without a word, Dream-Wille knelt on one knee and uncovered a small velvet box.
“Baby?”
Wille’s scratchy morning voice pulls Simon out of his thoughts.
Real-life Simon wants to go back. He wants to reverse time and relive that dream over and over again. But alas, reality is knocking.
The twinge of happiness Simon feels from thinking of the dream, the moment Dream-Wille pulled out a ring, is quickly killed. The doctor’s words creep into his thoughts like venom. The illness has spread too quickly. At this point, it’s incurable. It has advanced too far; there’s no treatment that could prolong his life due to the severity.
They lay in bed the entire day again. The emotions from the day before have drained their energy, their motivation, their hope. So they just cuddle together and sleep.
Simon only gets out of bed to go to the restroom and grab food for Wille. But neither of them have an appetite for two very different reasons.
96 Days
Today, they tell their family and friends that Wille has only a few months to live. It was a gut-wrenching, horrible day. Simon feels ill. He throws up four times.
95 Days
Wille musters up enough energy to pull Simon out of bed by mid-morning. Instead of laying in bed all day, they climb onto their sofa and watch their favorite movies together.
It’s another nice escape from reality and it’s enough to stop the tears from falling for a few hours. They sink into the plot of the films and let the movies transport them into an imaginary world. A world that doesn’t include Wille dying.
Halfway through the second movie, Simon forces himself to make tea for Wille. He’s already looking a shade, or maybe two, paler. The invisible demons eating Wille alive are winning. But Simon won’t admit that. He’ll tell himself that Wille hasn’t changed a bit.
94 Days
The morning sun breaks through the window, casting a golden beam on Wille’s cheek. There’s an optimistic energy swirling in the room that makes Simon feel at peace. He basks in the warm sunlight, shimmering and reinvigorating.
Simon whispers, “you’re beautiful” even though Wille is still deep in sleep. Simon likes mornings when he wakes up before Wille. And that says a lot considering he is most definitely not a morning person.
Most days, it’s Wille who wakes Simon up with a customary blowjob and a steaming cup of coffee (with cream and extra, extra sugar). Wille is thoughtful like that. He’s always thinking one step ahead and always trying to please Simon any way he can.
Simon turns on his side and admires his boyfriend. A pang of happiness sores through Simon listening to Wille’s soft snores and watching his eyes twitch sporadically. He loves his boy so much it hurts.
Eventually, Wille lulls awake, eyelashes fluttering open. Simon leans over and kisses his cheek, “Morning, love.” He rubs a gentle hand down Wille’s naked chest, appreciating the hard lines that define his abs.
“Dreamt you were my husband,” Wille says casually and brushes a stray curl behind Simon’s ear.
“Oh, did you now?” Simon smiles. Memories from yesterday’s dream about Wille proposing flourish in his mind.
“Mhmm, you look good with a ring around your finger.” Wille caresses the back of Simon’s hand where it’s resting on his abs.
In this moment they forget Wille is dying.
Wille places a finger under Simon’s chin and beckons him closer. Simon smirks and leans down to catch Wille’s lips in his. They melt into each other. They haven’t kissed like this since before that doctor’s appointment. It’s familiar and warm yet exhilarating and new all at the same time.
Simon moans into Wille’s mouth, pouring out his love and admiration for his boy. He lifts his thigh over Wille’s waist to straddle him and roll his hips against his, “Can we, please, Wille?”
“Yeah, you want to?” Wille mumbles between kisses.
“Yes, I need this, need to feel you,” Simon whines, breathless.
Wille doesn’t need to be told twice. He crashes their lips together in a deep, soul-crushing kiss. It’s fiery and hot and full of passion.
Wille blindly reaches over and grabs their half-empty bottle of lube from inside his bedside table drawer. He tosses it on the bed next to Simon’s thigh and turns his attention back to the gorgeous boy on top of him. His hands clutch Simon’s hips, nails digging into the skin leaving crescent-shaped indents. He moves Simon back and forth on top of him like the push and pull of a tide.
They both moan at the delicious sensation of their groins rubbing together through their thin boxers.
“Feels so good,” Simon murmurs. And it does. Being intimate with Wille always feels natural, their bodies are made for each other.
After giving Simon’s cheeks a soft squeeze, Wille tugs Simon’s underwear down his legs and tosses it across the room.
Simon repays the favor and shimmies Wille out of his boxers. His mouth waters when Wille’s hard cock springs free. Simon can’t help but duck down and lick the bead of precome forming at the head.
Wille succumbs to Simon. He’s frozen, can’t move, just feel and relish and wish that it never ends.
“Ah, fuck!” Much to Wille’s surprise and delight, Simon takes all of his cock in his mouth, sucking earnestly. Simon looks up at him through his eyelashes, his pupils huge and gaze intense. Wille shivers at the sight. The love of his life moving his expert tongue, working him close to the edge while staring at him with big brown eyes and puffy lips stretched around him.
“Sweetheart, gonna come if you keep—” Wille cards his fingers through Simon's curls, grabbing a fistful to pull him off with a wet pop. “C’mere, love.” He guides Simon back to him so they’re face-to-face. His fingers rub soothing circles on his back as he leans up to connect their lips.
Simon sighs contentedly when Wille’s tongue slips between his lips and licks in his mouth. They kiss for a long while, taking time to enjoy the taste and feel of each other.
Eventually, Wille’s fingers make the journey from Simon’s back to his hips to his perky cheeks. He brushes a dry finger against his hole, loving the way it flutters at his touch.
Wille snatches the lube and drizzles a generous amount on his fingers. He doesn’t waste any time and immediately starts inching his forefinger in gently.
“Ngh, so good,” Simon moans.
“Fucking hot, baby,” Wille growls and plunges his finger in deeper, hitting the spot that makes Simon feral.
Pleasure shoots down Simon’s spine as Wille adds his middle finger, scissoring and stretching him out. He rides Wille’s slick fingers until there are three fucking in and out of him.
“That’s enough,” Simon swats Wille’s hand away and reaches behind to spread his cheeks. He braces one hand on Wille’s chest and uses the other to guide his cock to his entrance. He lifts up and slowly sinks down. “Ahh,” Simon grunts, feeling the deep stretch. It’s tight—they haven’t had sex in over a week—but so good.
“So tight around me, baby. I love you so much,” Wille hisses, watching Simon fuck himself on his cock, using him to get himself off. His strong hands are warm on Simon’s hips, gripping and pulling him down, down, down with each thrust.
Simon bounces on top of him in all his glory. A constant flow of moans and sharp gasps spill from his lips. It feels so good…but there’s this dark nagging feeling in the pit of his stomach. He ignores it and surges forward to attack his boyfriend’s neck, sucking and biting.
“Shit, Simme,” Wille moans, “what’s gotten into you this morning?”
Simon licks hungrily in his mouth to shut him up. “Ahh,” he groans softly at the little bite Wille delivers to his lip. He bites back.
“Nghh, gonna come…” Simon whines desperately.
“Yeah, come for me baby, look so hot on top of me, using my cock to get off,” Wille moves his left hand from Simon’s hip to stroke his cock, coaxing Simon to the edge. He thumbs over the head and squeezes tight, just how Simon likes, and that’s it. He’s done for.
With a sharp gasp, Simon shudders and comes. He falls on his boyfriend’s chest, completely exhausted. His cock twitches pitifully as it shoots white steaks on his tummy.
“Good, boy,” Wille murmurs. He abruptly flips them over so Simon’s on his back. He looks down at the beautiful sight in front of him. Simon is flushed and covered in hickies. His curls are messy and stick to his sweaty forehead. His nipples are taut and covered in come.
“Fuck me harder,” Simon whispers and scratches his nails down Wille’s back, “Wanna feel you forever.”
And who is Wille to deny such a request? He takes action and pounds into him, sprinting towards release.
“Shit, Simme, gonna come for you.” He starts thrusting erratically, unable to draw it out any longer. After one, two, three more thrusts he comes, spurting into his boy.
A rush of emotions swell Simon’s heart. “I love you,” he pants and scratches behind Wille’s head like he’s a puppy.
“I love you too,” Wille presses a sweet kiss to Simon’s sweaty forehead. He noses at the nape of Simon’s neck, drinking in the smell and tickle of his curls.
They’re too tired to move, perfectly content, savoring the feeling of being so close.
And suddenly they remember again. A sick, twisted tension rises as the silence turns stale and uncomfortable.
“I’m gonna miss you.”
“I know.”