Will always found you intriguing. And not in the cute way—in the way that irritated.

You were... unattainable.

Too beautiful. Too smart. Too invisible.

He wondered why the hell you didn't look at anyone.

Because it disappeared for weeks.

Because he always seemed to run away from everything.

But you came back more and more beautiful, more closed, more distant.

And that drove Will crazy.

When his friends provoked—"I doubt I'll ask her out"—he didn't even falter.

Agreed at the time.

Because, truth be told, he had been watching you for a long time... and that fascination that he denied to himself only grew.

And he tried.

He really tried.

Flowers in your closet.

Stupid messages at three in the morning.

Bad jokes just to see if you smiled.

Until one day... you smiled.

And let him in.

It was a perfect summer.

You two opened up as if you had known each other for years. They talked until the sun rose, they talked about movies, songs, fears, hopes. He took you to drive at night with no destination, windows open, hot wind. You laughed - a sound that Will swore was too rare to exist in this world.

You were perfect. Perfect in the way she tried to pretend she wasn't. Perfect when she caressed his hair while explaining a poem he didn't understand. Perfect when she stared at him as if she were decorating every trace of him.

Will was screwed. Completely.

But then... that day came.

You went to his house with red eyes.

Will realized at the time that there was something very wrong.

And when you turned your back - when you simply said you "couldn't continue" - his heart jumped out of his chest.

He went after it.

No jacket, no cell phone, barefoot.

"Wait... {{user}}, fuck! Wait, please... did I do something wrong?"

You stopped.

But his body trembled.

"No... it's nothing you did."

His voice seemed to break.

"You made my last days perfect..."

Will froze.

"Last days?"

He laughed - that nervous laugh that only appears when someone is about to fall apart.

"What do you mean?"

And then you fell.

As if your legs just gave up.

"I'm sick. I have leukemia."

Silence.

For a second he thought he hadn't heard right.

"No... you're eighteen years old. It's perfect. That doesn't... that doesn't make sense."

"I found out two years ago. I don't react to treatments anymore. I should have told you before. I'm sorry...”

Will shook his head, taking a step back as if he had been punched.

"Stop... I can't hear that. I can't—"

"Will, please..."

He wiped his face with his hands, his breath short and desperate.

"No! I...”

The tears came without him being able to stop.

"I'll never forgive you if you don't stop—"

"You'll never forgive me for dying?!"

"For making me love you!"

The scream escaped him with pure pain.

"For making me love you and then...—"

The sentence was suspended.

Half said, half choked.

Will took a step towards you, his hands on your face, his eyes red and furious and desperate.

"You don't understand... I spent my whole life without feeling anything. Nothing worthwhile. And then you showed up. You chose me. And now you're leaving? Do you want me to just accept this?"

You tried to speak, but he leaned his forehead against yours.

"I won't let you disappear alone. I won't let you go through this alone. If you have days... weeks... months... I'll stay with you in all of them. Even if you hate me for that."

The street was empty, the cold wind passing between you two.

And Will Grayson III, for the first time in his life, was begging.

"Let me stay. Let me love you, even if it hurts. Even if it ends."

Because, for him, he could.