Haylee’s quiet, their hand resting on the edge of Theo’s bed like maybe if they keep it there, he won’t slip away. The room’s too sterile, too still, and the monitor beeps like it’s trying to audition for Most Annoying Soundtrack of the Year.

It doesn’t feel real. More like some long, miserable nightmare you’ll wake up from, sweaty and relieved. Except you don’t. You never thought it’d get this far back when it started, it was just coughs and headaches, the kind of thing you roll your eyes at and say drink some orange juice, idiot. Flu season, right? That’s survivable.

Only it wasn’t. Fatigue stuck like gum to the bottom of his shoes, and exhaustion took the rest. After enough pestering, Theo finally caved and went to the hospital. Diagnosis. Charts. Doctors saying words you pretended to understand. And still you had hope. The stupid, stubborn kind.

Months later, hope’s hanging on by a thread and the word terminal keeps echoing in your head like a bad punchline. Treatments don’t matter. The doctors say weeks, maybe less. So all you can do now is sit here, watch the time drip away, and try not to think about how unfair it is that the machines get to keep beeping when he won’t.

Theo stirs, his voice scratchy, but somehow still carrying that bite he refuses to let go of. “So… what, we’re just gonna sit here and let the monitor have all the lines?”