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It's enough for me to be sure that you and I exist at this moment
- Gabriel Garcia Marquez
It feels like a dream. A really bad one, actually. A nightmare, to be more specific. A very realistic, very vivid vision that clings to TK like a second skin.
In the hours since his father told him about Uncle Robert, his grandfather and the diagnosis, TK has been on a deranged merry-go-round of feelings. Disbelief, shock, fear, both for his father and – perhaps selfishly – for himself. Anxiety about telling Carlos, worrying about what his fiancé’s future – their future – might look like if this all turns out to be their reality. At some point, anger slipped in between the despair, a burning rage caught up in the bone-crushing sadness lingering in his chest.
In some ways, he feels as if he already has a positive diagnosis. He feels shackled by it, trapped in a prison of his own body. His mind feels like it’s been penetrated – permeated with a sickness that he never even realised was there – seeping through his brain and gathering speed without his knowledge or consent. In a few life-changing moments he was confronted with the idea that his body harboured an adversary. An enemy from within.
Above all, it feels patently unfair. So much has happened to TK in the last few years and he’s grown into himself so much. He’s found stable ground in Austin, at the 126, with Carlos, and now suddenly he feels as if he didn’t do any of it quickly enough, like he wasted so much time not realising that time was working against him a lot faster than expected. If this is karma for all the bad things he’s done in his life, then karma really is a bitch, TK thinks.
“Come back to me,” Carlos says, drawing back from TK’s desperate hug. He’s clinging onto Carlos like a lifeline, shedding his tears into the collar of Carlos’ shirt and the sleeves of his own hoodie, not really noticing or caring how long he’s been there. He’s cried so much today it feels as if there shouldn’t be anything left in his tear ducts.
TK sniffles, allowing Carlos to cup his face in his hands, looking steadfastly downwards in a pointless attempt to hide how utterly unravelled he feels. It’s also because he knows his eyes are all puffy and messed up, probably accentuating the slowly healing black eye. That problem feels so trivial now, like it happened a lifetime ago.
“TK,” Carlos calls softly. “Look at me.”
There’s always been a certain power to Carlos’ voice. Something primal, like it calls to TK through the darkness of his own mind. Difficult to resist, impossible to ignore.
Carlos rubs a gentle thumb over the apples of his cheeks, the touch filling TK with a feeling of security as he finds Carlos' gaze. His eyes sting, and even then, the depths of Carlos’ dark brown irises soothe him in a way he can never articulate. As if he needed more proof that they’re complementary in every way; shapes cut out for each other by the universe. Soulmates, Carlos had called them. He wasn’t wrong.
“Let’s go to bed,” he prompts, dropping his hands from TK’s face and standing up from the couch. “Sleep deprivation is not going to help anyone.”
TK swallows, then wills his voice to come out evenly. “I don’t think I’m going to be able to sleep much,” he admits, a stray tear tracking down his cheek.
“Yes, you will,” Carlos replies. Sometimes TK finds Carlos’ unwavering confidence in him irritating, as if he’s being told how to feel. Right now, he finds it grounding. “I’m here, I’ll help you.”
TK nods mutely, allowing himself to be herded into the bedroom. There’s a stiffness to his movements, a numbness to his mind that makes everything feel blank, like a statue in the night. Time doesn’t feel like it’s passing, rather, turning in an unending circle, replaying the events of the day over and over.
Carlos manoeuvres TK next to the bed and unbuttons his jeans, pulling them down gently and then nudging TK’s ankles, prompting him to step out of them. There’s a gentle touch at TK’s hip before his hoodie and then his t-shirt are lifted over his head, carefully folded up and stacked on the lid of the laundry hamper.
He sits down on the edge of the bed, before being coaxed under the comforter, Carlos peppering his face with a few gentle kisses, on the tip of his nose and then his cheeks. There’s a whispered command not to go anywhere while Carlos runs around and turns off the lights, places a glass of water on his nightstand and plugs TK’s phone into the charger by the bed, and god TK needs a shower and Carlos probably does too, but there’s an unsaid understanding that neither of them have the inclination, nor the energy.
When Carlos slides into bed next to him, TK instinctively curls into his side, reaching for the firm muscle and smooth skin that feels so natural under his palms. The heat of Carlos’ body is intoxicating, chasing away some of the fear, replacing it with the familiar, calming rhythm of Carlos’ heartbeat.
They’re here, TK thinks. Life is full of uncertainties, but right now, they’re alive.
“What are you thinking?” Carlos asks, pushing TK’s shoulder gently and rolling him onto his back. When TK looks up, his vision is flooded with a picture of perfection – Carlos’ beautiful face looking down at him, the fingertips on his right hand tracing a tentative line up TK’s sternum.
It’s poetic, really. The fact that Carlos knows TK won’t be lulled to sleep without saying everything he needs to say. The understanding that TK needs to be able to ventilate all the thoughts kept locked up in his chest, to speak them into the night as a way of making them real, letting himself sink into the emotions by acknowledging their existence.
Carlos knows that without release, the thoughts will suffocate TK until he burns up. It’s something they’ve never really spoken about, either. He just knows.
“Promise me something,” he whispers, a hard lump forming in his throat as he wills himself not to look away.
“Anything,” Carlos replies, voice steady, his palm pressing into TK’s pectoral muscle. “What do you need?”
“Don’t—” TK swallows, beating back the cracks in his voice. “Don’t let me forget you,” he chokes out. “For as long as you can, okay? If this is real, if this is our future, I want you to remind me every day of who you are. Of who I am.”
Carlos nods, his eyes shiny, glowing through the half-light. “Every day,” he repeats. “I’m going to be there, TK. You’re going to get so sick of me.”
“Not possible,” TK replies, recognising Carlos’ feeble attempt at making him smile and reaching up to cup the back of his neck with a hand. “I’ll never get tired of this.”
A little satisfied sigh escapes TK’s lips as he pulls Carlos in for a kiss, allowing himself to drown in the moment for as long as he can. There’s a storm coming for them in the morning, without a doubt. A tornado of anxiety and restlessness until the results come in, washing over TK with every tiny reminder of how fleeting life is. He doesn’t know how he’s going to go to work like this, when the mere thought of trying to go about his ordinary life is terrifying; when it could all be upended in twenty-four hours’ time.
The feeling of Carlos’ lips lingers on his own as his fiancé pulls back, brushing away a stray tear with the pad of his thumb. “You should have called me,” he says, although his tone is gentle, pleading. “You shouldn’t have had to deal with this alone.”
TK bites his lip, searching for the words. There’s no way to explain how conflicted he felt in the moment his father told him about Uncle Robert. Even if Carlos was with him, he’s not sure he could have properly explained what he needed.
He might not have been able to stomach the sight of Carlos – his future – when everything was plunged into darkness. The possibility of sickness looming over him, like he’s a marked man, destined for some kind of horrible ending, plucked from a smorgasbord of possibilities. TK has always been lucky, after all. He’s come close to meeting his maker a few times, but somehow always evaded the clutches of death.
“I don’t know how to feel,” he admits in a small voice, his fingertips still embedded in the hair at the nape of Carlos’ neck. “Everything just feels so overwhelming.”
“I understand that,” Carlos replies. “It’s a lot to take in.”
TK nods, sniffing again. “It feels like my body is failing me, you know? Like my brain is letting me down.”
Carlos pauses, his lips pulling to the side before he speaks. “I can see how it would feel like that.”
“But?” TK asks, momentarily distracted. “I feel like there’s a ‘but’ in there.”
“I’m not trying to tell you how to feel,” Carlos explains slowly. “I just think it’s worth remembering that your dad hasn’t gotten his test results back yet.”
TK’s immediate reaction is to snap, to remind Carlos that he’s the one in crisis, and that having the threat hanging over his head is almost worse than having the noose around his neck. Then again, the rational part of his brain recognises that Carlos is right. TK is acting instinctively, allowing his fear to take over.
“I know,” he says weakly. “I know, it’s just hard not to feel like it’s inevitable.”
“It’s not,” Carlos says firmly. “Your body hasn’t failed you yet, TK,” he adds, moving his hand so it rests over TK’s chest, as if Carlos is feeling his heartbeat. “It’s incredible. It’s doing everything it should be doing.”
TK falls silent, surrendering to Carlos’ touch. Little sparks fly over his skin as Carlos moves his hand further and then shuffles down TK’s body, ducking his head into the crook of TK’s neck and shoulder, leaving a trail of kisses down TK’s jaw in his wake.
He says nothing as Carlos continues a gentle exploration, tracing his fingertips over the skin of TK’s chest and abdominals, curling around his hip. Carlos ends up half on top of him, brushing the sheets and comforter aside to pay homage to the soft spot of skin near TK’s hip bone, kissing the little crescent-shaped scar there.
“I love this little spot,” Carlos murmurs, almost to himself, as if TK is a passive observer in the scene. “Feels perfect.”
“Actually, scars are imperfections,” TK muses, shuffling up onto his elbows to catch Carlos tracing the thick line with his finger. “That one I got while bike riding.”
“On your hip?” Carlos asks, one eyebrow arched. “How?”
“Fell on top of another bike,” TK explains softly. “The cog went into me.”
Carlos wrinkles his nose. “Ouch,” he says. “Did it hurt?”
“Can’t really remember,” TK admits, wondering which one of his parents let him ride around Prospect Park without proper supervision. In hindsight, it was definitely his father. “I was really young.”
“Sounds adventurous,” Carlos whispers, dropping his lips to the tip of it again.
He moves on, trailing his hands up and down TK’s legs, his teeth scraping over the sensitive skin on TK’s inner thighs, covering every sting of pleasurable pain with the soothing sensation of his lips. As he’s making his way up the other side, lingering again on TK’s stomach, he settles himself in between TK’s legs, propping his chin up on TK’s abdominals.
“Do you believe me yet?” he asks, soft lines appearing on his forehead as he raises his eyebrows.
“Believe what?” TK asks, the words drifting up towards the ceiling as he flops back down against the pillows.
It feels more sensitive like this, his blood singing in his veins at every press of Carlos’ lips, the sensation of being explored so thoroughly. Every reaction feels nonlinear, every emotion that flickers across his mind twisting back on itself, caught between the current brush of Carlos’ hand and the one he felt two seconds ago. It feels like poetry in a way, although all jumbled up, real and messy and raw in its beauty, his senses being completely guided by his imagination.
It’s like Carlos is writing his emotions all over TK’s skin, making it new, adorning it with something precious, gossamer thin and yet fiercely protective. He feels cared for, wrapped up in Carlos’ fearlessness, shielded by his strength.
“About how perfect your body is,” Carlos murmurs, crawling up TK to blanket him completely, pressing a lingering kiss into his hairline. “How perfect your mind is. Neither of those things have failed you yet, baby. Don’t start a war with yourself.”
“I’m not starting a war,” TK protests weakly. “I’m— I guess I’m scared of my body right now.”
“You don’t need to be,” Carlos insists, cupping TK’s face. “We need to care for it, okay? Cherish it for everything it’s given us so far.”
“It might let me down though,” TK whispers. “It might start a war with me.”
“Even if your dad’s test results come back positive,” Carlos insists, “your body has not failed you. It has done everything it’s supposed to have done so far. It’s kept you alive through a relapse, through three comas, through a lot of really difficult times, TK.”
“You say that like it’s infallible,” TK mumbles.
Carlos shakes his head. “I’m not saying that,” he says. “I’m saying we need to respect it, and I’m going to spend every second I get from now on learning more about it.”
A little smile tugs at the corner of TK’s cheeks, and he lets it envelop his expression. “I don’t feel particularly horny right now, Carlos.”
Carlos snorts, rolling his eyes. “We can start by getting your mind out of the gutter,” he says drily. “I mean things like…this freckle on the inside of your wrist.” He encircles TK’s arm with his fingertips and turns it upwards on the sheet next to TK’s head, brushing his fingers over the base of TK’s palm. “Right here. I never knew you had it.”
“I’ve had that for ages,” TK counters, a feeble attempt at humour. “One of my defining characteristics.”
“Must have been preoccupied with other things,” Carlos jokes, dropping his head to kiss TK’s earlobe.
TK closes his eyes, humming softly as he turns his head to capture Carlos in a brief, but all-consuming kiss. “Like my di—”
“There you are,” Carlos interjects, grinning as he brushes the tips of their noses together. “I knew I didn’t lose you forever.”
The mention of forever snaps TK back to the present, the familiar pang of anxiety rising in his stomach, settling over him like a shroud. “You might lose me forever,” he says sadly.
Carlos’ smile falters, slipping on his lips as the lightheartedness fades. “There are a million ways in which we might lose each other, baby,” he whispers. “It’s enough for me to know that you and I exist in this moment.”
TK has no reply to that, all the words drying up in this throat. Instead, he watches as Carlos leans over carefully and presses a kiss to the inside of his upturned wrist. The feeling burns his skin, as if he’s been branded with a mark of love, borne out of the reverent curiosity with which Carlos treats every inch of his body.
“It doesn’t feel like a burden?” TK asks, the lingering doubt putting the words in his mouth. “Knowing what might be coming for me? I might change, Carlos. Become someone you don’t recognise.”
“TK,” Carlos reassures, lifting his head and cupping TK’s face again. “You could never feel like a burden.”
TK worries his lip through his teeth. “I’m scared,” he admits softly, as if it’s a secret. “I’m scared of what might happen to me.”
Carlos’ eyebrows furrow in concern as he nods solemnly. “I’m scared too, baby,” he admits. “But I don’t want you to push me away because of that.”
“Wouldn’t it make it easier?” TK asks. “If I do have it, I mean. It would hurt, but at least you could heal. Move on with your life, without the complication of—”
“TK, stop,” Carlos says firmly. “That’s not going to happen. You’re it for me. I’m not running, I’m not leaving you.”
TK can’t help but understand the feeling, because it’s how he’s felt all along. Carlos took his heart and wrote his name across it so brilliantly that TK couldn’t erase it, even though he tried. An attempt to rub it out now would only leave a permanent, painful scar in its wake.
“I don’t want you to resent me,” he says, feeling his eyes prickle traitorously. After hours of crying they sting badly, and yet he can’t stop the hot spill of tears down his cheeks as Carlos kisses them off one by one.
“I’m never going to resent you,” Carlos replies. “I promise.”
“You can’t promise that,” TK argues, his voice cracking slightly. “I’m going to become an obligation that you’re tied to.”
“Being in love with you could never feel like an obligation, TK,” Carlos says patiently, his fingers tracing over the shell of TK’s ear and threading into his hair. “That’s not how it feels. It’s never felt like that.”
“How does it feel then?” TK asks, his voice barely a whisper, lost in the tiny expanse of space between them, swallowed up by the dark. “It can’t be that great right now.”
Carlos smiles softly, lingering sadness written into the corners of his lips. “Being in love with you isn’t just a feeling, baby,” he murmurs. “Being in love is an action, and it’s a choice. I choose to love you, in sickness and in health, no matter what.”
“That makes it sound hard,” TK breathes, sinking into the feeling of Carlos’ fingertips on his scalp, as if they’re touching his heart.
Carlos shakes his head, just slightly. “I think that’s what makes love beautiful,” he says. “Without choice, love doesn’t bind us. It’s an illusion; it’s not real.”
TK swipes at his cheeks with the back of his hand. “You’re really pulling out all the stops tonight, huh?”
Carlos hums in reply, just stroking TK’s hair in the same soothing way his mother used to. “It’s the truth,” he insists. “You are perfect for me, Tyler Kennedy Strand. I’ll always choose you.”
“Being upset doesn’t give you the right to full-name me,” TK sighs, tilting his chin up as Carlos touches their lips together again, capturing him in a sweet, lingering kiss. “That choice should be taken away from you.”
“You like it when I call you by your name,” Carlos murmurs against his lips, nudging TK’s cheek gently with his nose. “I like being the only one who is allowed to.”
TK hums. “Sometimes,” he admits, tipping his head back, begging for another kiss. “You have to use it sparingly or you’re going to wear it out.”
“Noted,” Carlos replies, smiling against his lips as they move gently, swallowing each other's fears, the reminder of Carlos’ lifelong commitment seared into TK’s skin as their tongues brush together briefly.
TK pulls back reluctantly as Carlos rests their foreheads together, the warmth of every exhale blanketing TK’s chin. “Tomorrow is going to suck, isn’t it?” he asks.
“Maybe,” Carlos replies. “But no matter what, I don’t want to think too much about the future, babe. I want to think about right now; appreciate you for everything you are.”
“That sounds bleak,” TK sighs. “Like we’re making the most of the time we have left.”
“We are,” Carlos insists. “But not because you might have Huntington’s disease, TK. We are because we both have finite time on this earth, and I want to spend less time thinking about all the things I have limited control over, and more time valuing what I have right in front of me.”
TK pauses, swallowing down the fear. “Just promise me one thing,” he says. “No skydiving. We’re not doing anything that crazy.”
Carlos snorts. “I thought you’d like skydiving,” he says. “You seem like a real adrenaline junkie.”
“I am,” TK insists. “But I know you’re not, and I can see you getting carried away with this ‘living in the present’ mentality, and then bitching out when we’re about to jump out of the plane.”
Carlos laughs, rolling off TK and onto his back. TK chases after him, grappling with the sheets as he hauls himself into Carlos’ lap. “You’re a menace,” Carlos grins, his hands coming to rest on the top of TK’s thighs, rubbing them gently before cupping his ass, then curling around his hips.
“Your menace,” TK reminds him, drinking in the amused expression on his fiancé’s face. “You chose me, remember?”
“And I’ll keep choosing you,” Carlos insists. “We’re going to do nice things,” he adds. “Live life like we mean it. Intentionally.”
“I’ve been unintentionally living this entire time,” TK says wryly. “Those comas were supposed to get me years ago.”
“That’s not funny,” Carlos replies, but he’s smiling anyway. “You know what I mean. We’re going to go to the market tomorrow to buy things we love, even that expensive honey that is really overpriced.”
“It tastes better!” TK insists. “Come on, you know it does.”
“Then,” Carlos continues, pressing a finger to TK’s lips and ignoring his protests, “we’re going to make pancakes and make a complete mess in the kitchen.”
“Are we?” TK asks. “I have work at midday, and where are you going to fit your nine a.m. shift into this?”
“I’m obviously going to tell them I can’t come in until later—”
“Carlos, you can’t—”
“Yes,” he insists, his eyes ablaze with something fierce, “I can. This is important, TK. You need me.”
TK can’t argue with that, so he doesn’t. Instead, he flops down onto the bed beside Carlos and allows himself to be drawn into his warm embrace. “I need you,” he admits in a small voice.
“Not just because of this test result, sweetheart,” Carlos murmurs, kissing his forehead. “Because I love you and if you’re worried, I’m going to take care of you.”
“When do I get to take care of you?” TK asks, his voice muffled against the skin on Carlos’ shoulder. “When will you need me?”
“You’ll take care of me when the time comes,” Carlos says softly. “When I need it most.”
“I will,” TK promises. “In sickness and in health.”
Carlos hums softly and hugs him tighter. “Exactly,” he says. “For as long as we both shall live.”