Chapter Text
Sebastian’s new workstation is beautiful. Sunlight filters through sheer curtains, bathing him in warmth. Definitely an improvement over the drafty basement. The window behind his desk affords him a view of Sage as she works. She’s out harvesting strawberries, clad in overalls and a large sunhat. Criminally adorable. A client sent him a new project last night, and he’s making decent progress. It’s a glorious Friday, and life’s pretty good.
Leaning back, he cracks his knuckles and stretches, groaning as his spine twists. Some lunch might be nice. He could make Sage a salad with the spinach she just picked. She’d probably like that. He’s slicing tomatoes when his phone rings. A glance at the screen reveals Robin’s number.
“Hey Mom, what’s up?”
“Hi, Sebby.” Her voice, usually so boisterous and carefree, is downtrodden and quiet.
“Uh, hi. Are you alright? Was Dem an ass about something?”
“No. I’m okay. I should probably tell you this in person. Is now an okay time to come over?”
He stops mid-slice, an odd weight settling into his stomach. “I guess? You sure you’re okay?”
“See you soon, Sebby. I love you.”
Before he gets the chance to answer, the line clicks dead. Okay, weird. Robin isn’t the type to revel in dramatics. Sebastian taps the knife on the cutting board. If it was something seriously awful, surely she would have told him over the phone, right? He grits his teeth, moving on to the spinach, ignoring the tremble in his hands. By the time Robin knocks, he’s assembled two salads.
She drifts past as Sebastian opens the door. He swallows. “Okay, can you please tell me what’s going on? You’re freaking me out, Mom.” Just then, Sage pokes her head in with a cheery, “Hi, Robin!” Her face falls when she notices Robin’s tight lipped expression.
“I’m not sure how to tell you this, but I just got a call from Zuzu City PD. Um…they found Mark. Guess they still had my contact info on his file.” She purses her lips. “He’s hurt. Badly. They don’t think he’s going to make it longer than a day or two.”
Robin wrings her hands, fiddling with her wedding ring. “I won’t be going. I’m done with that part of my life. But Sebby, if you want to go see him one last time, please use my truck. He’s hospitalized in Zuzu.”
Sebastian’s brain buzzes. There must be words in there somewhere, but they refuse to come to the surface, bogged down by shock. He opens his mouth, but only a small noise comes out.
“Sebastian?” A hand rests on his arm. Somehow, Sage crossed the room and stands behind him now, her brown eyes wide. “We can go. If you want.”
“I, uh. Think I need some time to think about this. Thanks for telling me, Mom.” Sebastian’s arms hang limp at his sides. “Kind of a lot right now.”
Robin nods, her shoulders slumped. “Of course, Sebby. Offer stands. Wish I could stay, but I came from a client’s place to tell you. Gotta get back.” She darts forward, wrapping him in a crushing hug. “Whatever decision you make is the right one. I love you.”
She darts out, her truck rumbling to life seconds later. A few teardrops stain the light wood floor. Poor Mom. This must be hard for her.
“Seb?”
Oh. Sage is still holding his arm. Her lips pull into a frown. He’s not really sure what to do. Mark doesn’t even remember him. What good would it do to visit? Does he even want to see him one last time? The scent of the vinaigrette he poured on their salads turns his stomach until he nearly gags.
“I’m okay.” The words come automatically, like something inside his mouth pushed them out. “Made you salad, thought you’d be getting hungry. Why don’t we eat?”
Sage raises a brow. “Seb, it’s okay if-”
“Really. I’m fine. Let’s eat.”
The food has no taste and settles like mush in his stomach. Sage watches him carefully as he chews, and he clenches his jaw, biting back any requests for her to stop. She’s worried, which is understandable.
But he’s fine. Really. It’s not like Mark ever bothered to be part of his life, right? So why should he care? He’s been just fine without him for over a decade. So what if he got what was coming to him?
But he’s your father. Even if he fucking sucked, even if he didn’t want you…
Sebastian banishes the thought. Not right now. He has work to do. He collects their bowls and rinses them in the sink, eager to have something to do. After kissing Sage’s forehead, he flops into his chair, welcoming work’s distraction.
He manages to concentrate for a few minutes, but Sage’s gaze burns into his back. He turns, fists balled. “I’m okay, really. You should get to your strawberries. Maru and Dem are going to be sad if they don’t get any.”
She narrows her eyes, but stands. “If you insist…I’m here, okay? I’ll only be out for a couple more hours.”
Waving her off, he nods. “Sounds good. Maybe we could watch a movie later.”
He’s making fantastic progress with his project. It’s a great diversion. Not that he needs one, of course. He’s fine. Completely.
Outside, Sage steals glances at him when she thinks he isn’t looking, her face a mask of disbelief and concern. It makes sense. He’d be concerned if she was going through something similar, even if her dad sucked way worse than his.
Then…doesn’t that mean you should be concerned?
He shakes his head. This is different. It’ll be fine. Fuck Mark. No, Mark’s not even worth his thoughts. Huffing, he returns to his work, narrowing his focus. You’ve got to concentrate when coding, anyway. No room for outside thoughts.
The sun slides lower in the sky, sending a golden glare into his eyes. He raises a hand to his face. Outside, Sage is picking the last of the strawberries, wiping her forehead. She’ll probably make a ton of jam with them. It’ll be nice to have the house smelling of fresh fruit.
Minutes later, she trudges inside, leaving her work boots at the door. Sage greets him with caution, speaking slowly, and it sends a spark of anger flaring. He’s not a child , he doesn’t need to be condescended to. Sucking in a deep breath, he steadies himself. She’s only trying to help.
Closing his laptop, he turns to her. “You worked hard today. How about a shower and a movie? Your pick, anything you want.”
“I don’t know if that’s-”
“Really, I’d love to do a shower and a movie. Please?”
She falters at that, then nods. Their shower is silent. When Sage reaches out to wash him, one of her labors of love as she calls it, he jerks away, taking over instead. He doesn’t want to be touched right now. Why? Doesn’t matter. Sometimes these things happen. The dejected look on her face cuts through him like a knife, though, and he gathers her into a hug.
They stay under the water for a while, rocking back and forth slightly. Sebastian relaxes beneath her touch, and despite his best effort to hold it in, a tear tracks down his cheek.
“Oh.” His voice, gravelly, surprises him. “I don’t understand.”
“Seb…” Sage wipes it away. “It’s okay to be fucked up right now. I would be.”
“But…” He doesn’t finish the sentence. His throat’s constricting. Why the fuck is he crying? Why on earth would he spare even a single tear for his shitstain father? It doesn’t make any sense. When he tells Sage as much, she just pushes back his hair.
“It doesn’t have to make sense. Since when do emotions make sense?”
Yeah. She’s got a point. Sebastian inhales sharply as more tears leak out. Sage wraps her arms around him tighter. Yoba, this is so fucked. What should he do? Should he actually go? Is he really considering it? What would that even look like? It’s not like he’ll miss him.
But this is your last chance.
“Okay.” He’s croaking like a frog. “I’ll go. You think I should?”
“I can’t tell you what to do. But I think you might regret it if you don’t.” She presses a palm to his cheek. “Remember the promise we made? About taking on scary things together? I’ll be there with you every step of the way.”
“Okay. I’ll call Mom. We’ll go tomorrow. Get a hotel room. Mom or Maru can take care of the livestock for a day.” He keeps his eyes on the ground. Water swirls into the drain.
It takes two sleeping pills to give him any semblance of rest that night. His dreams, chaotic and fitful, leave him aching like he got no sleep at all when morning’s light pierces through the picture windows. He turns onto his side. Sage’s still asleep, her hair fluttering in time with her soft breaths. He wouldn’t be capable of telling her, not right now, but he’s glad she’s coming along. He’ll need her for this. The steady throb that wormed into his stomach yesterday has only gotten more intense. Something tells him it’s not going to go away until Mark is dead.
He’s also pretty sure he’s going to need copious amounts of caffeine to get through the day. Rubbing his eyes, he slides out of bed. The coffee maker burbles to life as he sets out a couple of mugs. One of them is white, covered with little green frogs. A birthday present from Sage, forever ago. As he runs a finger over the design, an overwhelming sadness crashes into his soul.
His dad could die today.
There’s so much they never go to do. And that was mostly Mark’s fault. Can’t make someone who doesn’t want to be a father…be a father. But, what if Sebastian had gotten him help when he saw him living in the streets all those months ago? What if he’d recognized him then? Deep inside, the little boy who never got the paternal guidance he so craved, cries.
Now he never will. Demetrius is trying his best, and Sebastian’s grateful for that, but it isn’t the same. He buries his head in his hands, holding back sobs. The last thing he needs is to get all teary-eyed before the drive to Zuzu. He has to be strong.
For who?
For…Sebastian stills. That’s Mark’s voice, echoing through his subconscious. He doesn’t have to be strong. Not all the time. Sage taught him that. Robin and Maru did, too.
Fine. Cry.
But when he tries, nothing happens. Ugh, fuck this. This is so, so messed up. A selfish part of him looks forward to Mark dying, to getting the whole thing over with. Maybe then he can get on with his life. Guilt tugs at him like a small child, sending heat rising to his cheeks.
“There’s no wrong way to handle this.” Sage appears from behind, touching his shoulder.
Sebastian jumps, his coffee sloshing over his mug’s top. He swears as he slaps at his hand, the burn smarting like hell. A cold, wet towel covers his hand, and he sighs in relief. “Thanks. Let’s just…let’s just get through this, okay?”
After a rushed breakfast, they take Sebastian’s bike to Robin’s, where they trade the house keys for truck keys. She hugs them both. “Be safe.”
The trip to Zuzu’s filled with unvoiced thoughts, thickening the air and crowding out oxygen. Sebastian rolls down the windows, desperate for fresh air. Robin keeps the radio on the news, and he hardly hears the droning voices crackle through the speakers. They do nothing to break the tension.
How do you prepare to watch someone die, let alone someone who hurt you so badly? Someone who might not even recognize you? Fuck. Nobody teaches you this shit in school. They should.
Sebastian was numb when he booked the hotel. He picked a fancy place, right on the shore. A tall, glassy building, the kind he would’ve liked to live in when he dreamed of a life in the city. Absurdly expensive, but money’s hardly a priority at the moment. They check in and leave as soon as they chuck their belongings into the room.
Hospitals are not nice places. Zuzu Memorial, where his father lies in wait, stinks of death. It stinks of antiseptic, despair, and exhaustion. To their left, there’s a shitty hospital cafe, all in beige, filled with hunched over people.
Ahead, the reception desk. It's littered with pamphlets. How to Deal with Diabetes. Skin Cancer Warning Signs. Tips for New Parents.
“Hi. I’m Sebastian Cohen, here to see Mark Cohen. This is my girlfriend.” He speaks in a monotone to the receptionist, whose eyes round when she pulls up Mark's file.
“Room 723.” Her voice is soft, too soft for this place. The elevator ride up is its own form of purgatory, the dull chimes at each floor driving anxiety deeper into Sebastian’s stomach. After navigating a twisting hallway littered with nurse’s stations and gurneys, they find room 723.
It’s dim inside, the only source of light a flat, buzzing fluorescent lamp above the bed. Mark’s out of it, the slight rise and fall of his chest the only indicator he’s still alive. Lurid bruises cover his face–some in shades of yellow and green, some deep purple, almost black. There’s a bandage wrapped around his head, covering his right eye. And the tubes–there are so many fucking tubes. At least two in each wrist, each connected to a different beeping machine. More leading from beneath the blankets.
A cavern opens within Sebastian, threatening to suck him in. It’s both lonely and hollow. Numb, he sinks into one of two plastic chairs set at the bed’s side. Sage takes the other. Mark is so still. So…fragile.
A soft knock startles him out of his daze. He raises his head as a nurse walks in holding a clipboard, her pale green scrubs wrinkled. Poor lady’s probably been working all day.
“Hi.” She doesn’t smile at them, and Sebastian appreciates it. There’s nothing to smile about here. “Can I assume you’re Mr. Cohen’s son?”
Sebastian nods, his eyes straying again to his dying father. “Yeah. This is my girlfriend. We can stay until he, uh…” He can’t bring himself to finish the sentence.
The nurse, who introduces herself as Sandra, nods, clutching her arms to her chest. “Yes. You can.”
“What exactly happened? I–I don’t usually talk to him.”
Pursing her lips, Sandra flips through the clipboard. “Paramedics were called, found him unconscious on the sidewalk. He hasn’t been very cooperative. All we know is he got in a nasty fight some time ago, sustained internal bleeding, and was attacked again today. There’s massive internal bleeding–I’m sorry, but there’s nothing we can do at this point.”
Chewing on her lip, she gives them a sympathetic look. “We don’t expect him to last the night. He’s being kept comfortable. For what it’s worth, I really am sorry.” She dips her head. “I’ll be in and out to check in on you. Stay as long as you’d like.”
As the door clicks shut, the noise carries an odd finality, and it hits him again. These are the last moments he’ll ever have with Mark. He wishes he came earlier. The flickering bed lamp casts skeletal shadows on Mark’s face, like it knows he’s dying. Sebatian’s fists, balled up, tremble on his knees.
A soft hand covers his. Sage’s eyes, enormous and filled with concern, seek his gaze. “Mark…was he always like you said?”
A few memories flit through his mind. Christmases, Mark’s laughter, Robin’s smile. “No. Not always. There were times where he tried to make an effort. Got me birthday presents, stuff like that. But he was never into the whole dad thing.” A clear liquid drips from a plastic bag on a pole, leading into Mark’s veins. “When Mom got pregnant, he pressured her to abort me. She couldn’t. Wouldn't. And he made it pretty clear how he never wanted me.” He lets out a harsh laugh. “Until Mom tried to get custody, of course. Then he did, just to spite her.”
As the machines keep his father comfortable, their various beeps and tones blend into an eerie, off-tempo chorus. After some time, Mark’s eye flutters open. It flits to Sebastian and Sage, then roves around the room. “Huh. Lemme guess, this is it for me, isn’t it?”
Sebastian grips Sage’s hand. “Hi, Mark. Do you know who I am?”
Grunting, Mark shakes his head, then stills. “Wait. I saw you in an alley.”
His heart cracks. Even now, his own dad doesn’t know who he is. “Yeah, you did. I’m your son, Mark. Sebastian.”
Mark lifts his head with a groan, squinting at Sebastian. His voice is barely a croak, well-used and failing. “Well, shit. You grew. Never would’ve guessed that scared little boy would turn into you.”
Instead of anger or insult, Sebastian’s filled with pity. He’s alive and well. Not the one dying in a hospital bed.
“So, what do you do?” Mark coughs, turning to the side.
“I’m a freelance programmer. I make websites. Stuff like that.”
Lying back, Mark offers neither approval nor the opposite. “So, they say I’m dying.”
“I know.”
Tension, palpable, blooms in the already suffocating space. Sebastian isn’t sure what to say. If there’s anything he can say. There’s no fucking guidebook for this situation. If only the receptionist had a So Your Estranged Dad is Dying–Here’s What to Do pamphlet.
Finally, Mark clears his throat. “Guess this is my cue to apologize, or some shit. I’m not gonna pretend I was a good father. Hell, I never wanted to be one.” He coughs again, rubbing his head. “And this–dying early, and alone–must be my karma. Frankly, I’m surprised you bothered to show up.”
A coughing fit overtakes him, and he rises, clutching his chest, eyes blown wide. Blood, deep red, splatters onto his gown. Beside Sebastian, Sage flinches, her face gone white, but maintains her grip on his hand and her gaze on Mark.
His breathing becomes ragged and slow. An alarm blares. Several nurses rush in, crowding around Mark’s bed. Through a gap in two bodies, he meets Sebastian’s eye. Between choking gasps, he speaks. “I hope you do better than I did.”
The last words he ever says. A doctor holds Mark’s wrist, his face a mask of concentration. “Time of death, 8:48 PM.”
He’s gone. His father is dead.
It’s weird. If someone were to ask him just what makes a dead person different from a sleeping one, he couldn’t say. But whatever that is, it’s gone now, absent from Mark, flown away somewhere to rejoin the everything. Numbness settles over him. “I…I need to get out of here.”
The sounds of clamoring nurses fade as he and Sage walk from the room and take the elevator down. Everything’s muted. Sebastian allows Sage to hold his hand, to guide him to the bland cafeteria. They pay absurd amounts for prepackaged sandwiches that taste of cardboard.
“I feel like I just watched a stranger die. I mean, I basically did. Can we please go back to the hotel?”
The city’s indifferent to the life that just ended. It’s the opposite–vivacious and shining in technicolor as people crowd about, milling to their destinations. Sebastian’s breath comes a little easier the closer they get to the hotel. As they enter their room, his shoulders drop.
It’s a sleek, modern room. All in black and white, with bits of abstract art on the immaculate white walls. Ironed sheets with a fluffy duvet. He wanders to the window, gazing down at the bustling streets. At his side, Sage slides her hand into his. “Are you okay?”
“A little better since we left the hospital.” The view’s stunning, every color imaginable displayed in a mosaic below them, thrumming with life. He needs that right now, a reminder that people are out living. Lifting a hand to his chest, he feels for his heartbeat. It’s steady, and there’s comfort in that. “Y’know, I used to want this. The big apartment with the city view. And it’s nice, don’t get me wrong. I wouldn’t mind coming to visit every now and then for a change of pace. But I’m glad I chose you over this.” He turns to Sage, leaning into her. “Thank you for coming. I know this isn’t your favorite place in the world.”
She wraps her fingers around his arm. “Wasn’t even a question. I’m sorry, Seb. That this happened.” She turns to hug him, and despite her shorter stature she exudes a benevolence, a love so strong it towers above them and fills the room. It leaves Sebastian a bit breathless.
“How are you really feeling?”
Sebastian lifts a shoulder. “Kinda numb. I mean, he was my father by blood only, y’know? Didn’t expect him to give me fucking advice or well-wishes, as if he had the right. Guess it doesn’t matter though. It all happened so fast. He was gone before, he’s gone now, what’s the difference?”
Abruptly, he turns to Sage. “You can say no, I know it’s not your thing, but I want to get a drink. I’m feeling like, I dunno, life is short. Impermanent. I want to live right now.”
Sage holds his gaze for a moment, then nods. “You know what? Fuck it. If you wanna celebrate life, then let’s celebrate life.”
They duck out of the hotel, joining the crowds jostling on the sidewalk. After a few minutes, a liquor store, covered in neon signs, grabs his attention. It’s a small, shady joint, the attendant sitting behind an inch of bulletproof glass watching a portable TV. He barely spares them a glance as they walk in. They grab a couple small bottles of duty-free gin, easy to keep hidden, and pay for them at the counter.
The wind’s picking up, bringing in that saltwater smell from the sea. Sebastian leads Sage toward the shore. They find a bench away from any onlookers and settle in, nestling like turtles into the warmth of their jackets. His nose smarts from the cold, and Sage’s is pink. As they watch the waves, they open their tiny bottles.
“Shit.” Sebastian takes a swig. The gin burns going down, in all its pine-tree glory. “Life’s weird. I just watched my dad die, and now I’m drinking on the beach. Is…is that weird? Why don’t I feel sad?”
“Wasn’t much of a dad, was he?” Sage’s staring at the shore, at the flecks of foam left behind by the tide. “You did a kind thing, coming out so he wouldn’t be alone. It might take some time to sink in. And that’s okay, y’know?”
“Yeah…”
They watch the waves, trading gulps from their bottles. The burn dissipates, replaced by a pleasant looseness in his muscles. Along with the booze, the ocean’s quiet roar drowns out the thoughts that plagued him earlier. Despite the city’s glow, a few stars are visible above, and moonlight skips over the waves.
“I love you, Sage.” She’s tucked into herself beside him, legs folded beneath her jacket.
She takes her hands from her pockets and holds them over his cold ears, the warmth melting into a smile spreading over his face. “I love you too, Sebastian.”
“You’re freezing. Let’s go back.”
They stagger to their feet, swaying slightly as they meander back to the hotel. The elevator ride, 15 floors up, sends the alcohol sloshing in his stomach. Back in the room, they collapse onto the bed. “It’s probably the gin talking. But I feel so lucky to be alive right now. That we found each other. That we have the life we have. I could’ve ended up here, in one of these fancy condos. But what we have…it’s real. You’re real.” The room’s pleasantly soft, the edges of everything blurred. He’s tipsy, not quite drunk, but it’s enough. “Wanna shower?”
Silent, she takes his hand and leads him into the bathroom. Even the shower’s fancy, one of those top-down deals meant to simulate rainfall. Sebastian leans against the gleaming marble wall, allowing Sage to wash him. These little gestures she does, they mean so much to him. Does he tell her that enough? “Hey, what you’re doing.” He gestures to the air. “I see it. You always do things like wash me in the shower, or grab me water, or keep my ears warm. I just…I want you to know I appreciate you.”
She smiles up at him, a sad, brave little expression. “I love you. There are so many ways to say that.”
He’d never thought of it that way. All these little nonverbal “I love yous”, peppered throughout their days. Fuck, he’s lucky. It’s weird to think that right now, after everything, but Yoba, it’s true. It’s a good life they’ve made together.
The towels are stupid soft, and they giggle together, rubbing themselves dry. Sebastian dries Sage’s hair, reveling in its softness as it forms into waves. “Why don’t we get food?”
Sage stands, patting her thighs. “There’s a sushi place right down the street. I’m getting us a huge order of sashimi.” Kissing his forehead, she wraps the heavy duvet around his shoulders and ducks from the room.
Sebastian lies back, starting at the smooth ceiling. He drifts in and out of consciousness while he waits, the gin’s buzz wearing off. His mind’s blank for the first time since last night. When Sage returns, they share thick slices of fatty tuna and spicy salmon, eating in comfortable silence.
When bedtime comes they lie facing each other, their noses touching. It’s fucked up, he thinks, that his dick’s hard, but as they’re drawn together it’s not carnality. It’s life. The act used to make life, to celebrate being alive. He tells her with every thrust, every tender kiss, how much he loves her. How lost he’d be without her. Thank you , he says with every motion. She’s quieter than usual beneath him, lost in the moment, her gasps quiet and content. Making love, not fucking.
When Sage leaves to clean up, she comes back with a wet towel and a glass of water. He falls asleep with her curled against her back, his last thoughts that he isn’t okay, per se, but that he’d be so much worse off without the woman wrapping her arms around his middle.