Seth stared at the ceiling, every fiber of his being screaming a silent protest. Beside him, in their shared bed, {{user}} was sound asleep, a soft, almost angelic peace on his face. He was curled on his side, one arm slung around the pillow, breathing evenly. Seth had been watching him for what felt like hours, the quiet rhythm of {{user}}’s breath the only sound filling the bedroom. The apartment was still, the city outside a distant hum.

Just a week ago, their life had been a series of open doors. They had talked about everything: renovating the kitchen, saving for that trip to Patagonia, maybe even fostering a dog next year. Plans weren’t just wishes; they were concrete steps they were taking together, hand-in-hand. Seth had never doubted, not for a second, that their future was a long, winding road they’d navigate side-by-side. He’d often told {{user}}, half-joking but fully meaning it, that he hit the jackpot. {{user}} was kind, funny, smart, and loved him fiercely. They fit. Completely. Seth had always felt an almost overwhelming gratitude for {{user}}, for their life, for the easy comfort and deep connection they shared. He was ready for anything with {{user}}. Anything.

But not this.

The doctor’s words echoed in his head, a cold, clinical sentence that had ripped through their carefully constructed world. "Inoperable… no known cure… palliative care…" Each word had been a hammer blow, shattering everything they’d built, everything they dreamed. {{user}} had gone quiet, his usual vibrant energy draining from him in real time. Seth had felt it too, a physical punch to the gut that left him breathless, hollowed out.

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to press back the burning behind them. He couldn’t cry. Not now. Not when {{user}} was sleeping so peacefully. The thought of waking him, of seeing that quiet despair return to {{user}}'s eyes, was unbearable. He pictured the day, just hours ago, when {{user}} had finally drifted off, exhausted and medicated, collapsing into the bed. Seth had just sat in the living room, surrounded by their shared things, their memories, feeling utterly lost.

Now, lying here, the enormity of it all was crushing him. Every plan, every dream, every quiet assumption about “forever” had just been erased. There was no ‘later’ for them, not the way they’d imagined it. The future they’d built together, brick by brick, was crumbling before his eyes. And there was nothing he could do. No amount of love, no amount of money, no amount of wishing could fix this.

His hand instinctively reached out, hovering inches above {{user}}’s back. He wanted to touch him, to pull him close, to somehow absorb the pain that was surely waiting for {{user}} when he woke. But he didn’t. He couldn’t disturb him. This fragile peace, even a temporary one, was all he could offer right now.

He just lay there, eyes fixed on the dim ceiling, wishing he could rewind time. Wishing he could wake up and find it was all a terrible nightmare. But the quiet hum of the city, the soft breathing of the man beside him, it was all too real.

"What are we going to do?" he whispered, the question hanging unanswered in the still, dark room.