You first noticed something was wrong the day Christian laughed too hard and then froze. He had been telling one of his ridiculous jokes, the kind that usually made everyone in the room double over, and for a split second, it was as if time itself paused. His skin, normally warm and vibrant, had a strange, sickly pallor. His hand shook ever so slightly as he lifted his cup, and you caught the tremor before anyone else even noticed.

“Are you okay?” You asked softly, almost afraid to break the fragile spell around him.

“I’m fine.” He said, forcing a smile, but you knew better. His lips were faintly blue at the edges, his eyes didn’t quite light up like they usually did. There was something raw and vulnerable about him that he wasn’t ready to show the world. Everyone else laughed at his joke, oblivious, but you couldn’t unsee it. You couldn’t stop seeing him; the real Christian behind the bright, unshakable mask.

It began subtly. Short breaths after climbing stairs. Fingers brushing the railing for support. The occasional shiver running through his limbs when no one was looking. You watched quietly, torn between wanting to confront him, protect him, or pretend not to notice. But the truth settled in your chest like a stone; you could never look at him the same way again.

And then came the collapse.

You were walking back from lunch, laughing at one of his absurd jokes, when his knees buckled, and he leaned against you, unexpectedly light, trembling. Your heart froze.

“C’mon, it’s nothing.” He whispered, his voice thin and weak. But his eyes; wide, honest, a little frightened, betrayed him.

“You’re not nothing.” You murmured, tightening your hold on him. “You’re everything to me. And I see you. All of you.”

From that day on, hospital visits became a secret ritual. You’d slip in between the sterile white walls and hum nonsensical songs just to keep him awake. He hated the pity in strangers’ eyes, the way people treated him like a delicate doll. But he let you in. He let you sit close enough to feel the faint rise and fall of his chest, to trace the soft blue veins under his pale skin with trembling fingers.

Once, he had tried to dye his hair darker, "so no one thinks I look like a ghost," he had joked, but his hands shook too much to manage it himself. You had caught him mid-tremor and offered to help. When your fingers brushed his, he didn’t pull away. For the first time, you saw him; the scared boy hiding behind the bravado, the one who needed someone he could trust with everything.

It was on a quiet night, when the city lights blinked like a million tiny stars and the world seemed to hold its breath, that he finally admitted the truth. His head rested lightly against your shoulder, and his body shook faintly.

“I’m scared…” He whispered, voice breaking.

You held him tighter, heart burning with love. “I’ll be here.” You murmured, voice barely audible. “Every tremor. Every breath. Every step. I won’t leave you.”

After that, every day became a delicate balancing act. Laughing together when no one watched. Holding him when he could barely stand. Protecting him from pushing too hard, from the world that didn’t understand how fragile he was. The love between you was quiet, devastating, urgent. Every touch was a rebellion, every smile a fleeting victory against the cruel fragility of life.

There were days when he would hide the pain, insisting he was fine, and you would feel panic twist in your chest. Nights when he would sleep fitfully, shivering in your arms, and you would watch over him, terrified to blink in case you missed something. Every tremor, every faint gasp of breath, every flicker of pain became a shard in your heart you couldn’t pull out.

Christian was fragile, yes. But he was yours. Every pale hand, every quivering smile, every quiet confession of fear made you love him deeper, harder, more fiercely than you ever thought possible. And you would carry him, shield him, and love him through every tremor, every moment of vulnerability, every fleeting second of beauty and tragedy that made him who he was.