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Hello.
It's a crisp autumn day, just as it was the day they met. The sun is high in the sky, sparkling against the dried leaves, which rustle in the gentle breeze and float down to Will's feet. The sky is clear, blue and endless, and if Will looks hard enough he can see the faintest sliver of the moon rising up, chasing after the sun in its perpetual struggle. Will stops for a moment, just admiring it. It's a mere smudge against the sky, barely visible above the tops of the trees, and yet, Will can't look away.
You know, I always wanted to be an astronaut. When I was a kid, I mean.
Will sighs and another breeze rolls past him. He shrugs his coat closer to him, nuzzling his nose into the old scarf wrapped around his neck. It was a gift, one from him. Was it really four years ago? How many days has it been? How many times has Will watched the moon rise and fall since then?
I always looked up at the stars wondering what they really were. Back then, I thought they must be gods or planets. Entire new worlds.
Will continues his walk and inhales deep. If he concentrates hard enough, he can still smell the faint whiff of the cologne he used to wear. Rich, spicy, earthy. No matter how hard he tried, Will can never find the same kind again. It, too, has faded into a washed-out memory.
I spent my whole life trying to reach them. Spent my entire allowance on a telescope and everything. I even waited two hours in the park to see that comet. Remember?
Will scratches at the scruff on his cheek and frowns. He needs to shave. A paper cup rolls across the leaf-littered sidewalk. Will bends down to pick it up.
That was how we first met, actually. Standing in the freezing cold with our teeth chattering, staring wide-eyed at the sky like there was nothing else was worth our time. Except maybe each other.
Will stares down at the plastic cup in his hand. The golden M on the side reminds Will once again. He hasn't been able to so much as glance at the fast-food restaurant in years. Despite that, sometimes he gets a craving for their fries.
After we saw the comet, you invited me to McDonald's. I was seventeen and I spent the whole night wondering if this counted as my first date or not. When you asked for my number at the end, I decided that – yes. It was.
Will crumples the cup in his hand, feeling the plastic split and crush beneath his fingers, before tossing it into the nearby garbage can. He continues his walk at a brisker pace than before and doesn't look back.
Sometimes I wonder why you even talked to me at all that day. It was obvious you had no interest in any of the stars or constellations. You just whined about the cold and how you liked day better because it was warm and bright. I always was the night owl.
Maybe that's why we worked. Night, day. Ying, yang. Sun—
"Moon!"
Will stops in his tracks. His heart hitches into his throat and he turns to see a young child pointing up to the sky. The child's mother smiles and nods. "Yes, that's right. The moon."
Will watches the family for a moment. The heavy, sinking feeling he has grown so used to makes itself at home in his chest again and he has to look away.
Did I ever thank you? For being there all those years? Through high school and college and everything in between, you were there. Through Bianca's illness, you were there.
Will takes a left, turning his back on the park full of new families and laughing faces, and crosses the street quickly, not even acknowledging the irritated honk coming from the car rushing past him.
It's still hard to believe she's gone. There are days when I just forget. I'd wake up and think, "'I should call Bi." Then I remember.
The only reason why I managed to keep myself together after that was because of you. How many nights did we just hold each other as we cried, looking up at the stars for no apparent reason? Oh, all right, I was the one crying. I'll admit it. I can now…
Will steps in a puddle and the left leg of his trousers are soaked. He curses as water fills his shoe and starts awkwardly trying to shake it dry.
We promised each other a lot of things on those late nights, didn't we?
For some reason, Will can't stop thinking about that family with the young child. He pictures having one himself, but it feels wrong.
I'm so sorry, Will.
It all feels wrong.
If you're reading this letter then, well, you probably know why. It means that I can't tell it to you in person any more. What it does not mean is that you failed. Will, please, remember that.
This is not your fault. This is not anyone's fault.
The route is automatic by now. Will could navigate through the streets with his eyes closed.
Hazel or Jason usually came with him, but they, too, are moving on. They seem to think of him less and less, though there's no way they would ever fully heal. Still, it makes Will angry. He will never forget.
"He wouldn't want this," Hazel said to him.
"You need to take care of yourself, too," Jason whispered as he placed a hand on his shoulder.
Their opinions sent Will into a fit of nerves and anger so he stopped inviting them altogether. It was better when Will could just be alone with him.
It's kind of weird to write this knowing you'll be reading it when I can't see you anymore… I don't know what to say other than I'm sorry. I know that really doesn't mean much. I haven't been the same since Bianca died.
You know that.
You know that better than anyone…
The hospital smells like bleach and chlorine. It never fails to erase the stormy emotions coiling in Will's heavy head. Even as he trades his sport jacket for a bright white one, he can feel its effects already numbing him.
He takes in a deep breath.
I love you.
He straightens his tie and walks out of his office with the faux-confident stride he's mastered. Instead of doing his rounds as was custom, he makes a beeline for the front desk, where a young nurse was filing patient reports. "Morning, Piper," he says, singsong, as he snatches up a file. "Got anything for me?"
"Just another kid needing a flu shot," she replies. She rests her elbows on the counter and smiles. "You look… better this morning."
The smile on Will's face slips just a fraction. "Uh… thanks?" Piper's own expression is sympathetic, understanding, and when opens his mouth to speak again, he knows that she knows exactly what he is about to say. "Has there… been any progress?" It doesn't matter how many times Will asks that question, nor does it matter how many nights he spends dreaming of the desired answer, he still laces it with cautious, fragile hope, putting his whole heart on an offering plate for Piper to smash.
And, again, Piper shakes her head with sad eyes. "I'm sorry, Will."
And, again, Will smiles brighter even though it feels like his chest is caving in. "Well, there's always tomorrow!"
With that, Will strides off down the hall, doctor's coat billowing after him. He's only worked here for a few months, but he's known these halls like the back of his hand for much longer.
I never thanked you for coming with me to all of those doctor appointments. I know it probably wasn't the greatest way to spend your Saturdays, but I really appreciated it. Bianca appreciated it.
When she got sick, I didn't know what we were going to do. She was all I had left, and she couldn't drive any more, couldn't go to class, couldn't work. Her medical bills ate all of the inheritance our parents left us. There was no way we could've held off on our own.
Will knocks on the first patient room, waiting until he hears a soft, "Yes?" to come him.
A young mother stands beside her son as he sits on the wax-paper covered table, kicking his feet languidly. Will greets them warmly and shakes the woman's hand. "My name is Dr. Solace," he says and smiles at the boy. "What's your name?"
"Connor," he says shyly.
Then you swooped in like you always do. You brought food and made us dinner. You drove me to class and Bianca to her appointments. You always knew exactly what to do and what to say.
"Hey, Connor. Cool t-shirt." He gestures to the rocket-ship printed on the boy's tee. "You like space?"
Connor smiles deviously and leans in like he wants to tell Will a secret. So, the doctor turns his ear towards him. "I like blowing stuff up!"
Will blinks at Connor's mother, who gives him an apologetic look. "Connor," she chastises, "you are not blowing anything up."
"Right," Will responds. "You don't want to lose a thumb and scare your poor mother, do you?"
The woman gives him an amused smile.
"Anyways," he continues and looks at the chart. "Flu shot? That's why you're here, right?"
"My brother's got the flu," Connor pipes. "We're twins!"
Even when she… you were still right there. Like a rock.
Even when my own test results came back positive. You never left my side.
"Really? That's pretty cool." Will digs through the drawer on his left and hums when he finds the syringe he's looking for. "So who's the older one?"
"I am!" Connor cries immediately.
"Travis is," his mother says tiredly, "by two of the longest minutes of my life."
Connor gives her a heartbroken look.
I'm really sick of seeing this hospital room. The pastel floral print is going to kill me before this cancer does, Will, I swear it.
Will flicks the syringe and winks. "What's age matter anyways?" He rolls up Connor's sleeve and starts to sterilize his arm. "So tell me more about your brother. Does he like to blow stuff up too?"
"Yeah, but he sucks at it," Connor huffs haughtily.
"Oh?" Will chuckles. "All right. Here comes the shot. You're just gonna feel an itsy bitsy pinch. Nothing a tough stuntman like you can't handle, right?"
Connor still looked a little apprehensive as he stared at the needle in Will's hand.
"On the count of three, okay?" Will says in a gentle tone.
Sorry… that was probably poor wording. I'm just trying to say that it's okay, you know? We both gave our all. But, if you're reading this, it means that it wasn't enough. But, I'm all right with that.
"One," Will whispers.
Because I've gotten to spend all these last few years with someone that really loved me. That made life good for a change.
"Two," he counts and then immediately administers the shot.
Connor gives an affronted gasp but Will is already putting a neon green Crayola Band-Aid on his arm. "You said you'd go on three!"
Will gives him an apologetic shrug before opening the drawer again. "I knew you could handle it! Now, onto more important matters." Will holds up two objects and offers them out to Connor. "Lollipop or a sticker?"
I don't know what I did to have someone as kind and caring as you with me. But I'm so glad I do – did.
In the end, Connor picks both and Will sees them off cheerily. As soon as they're gone, the smile fades and his shoulders sink. It feels unbearably empty in the room by himself.
So he retreats, as he always does, to the room – his room. He pauses outside the door of Room Thirteen, hand hovering just above the doorknob, before he remembers the letter in his breast pocket. He reaches in and pulls it out.
I really don't know what else to say…
It's addressed to him; his first name written in familiar handwriting. It's been a full year and he still hasn't had the courage to open it.
He stares at his reflection in the door window, sees the still figure lying on the bed as if only sleeping, and wonders if its time.
I already had my will taken care of. And Jason and Hazel have their own letters, too, so don't worry about explaining things to them. You know… just in case the surgery doesn't work. If it does, you'll probably never see this letter anyways so… yeah.
Will inhales deep through his nose and enters the room.
No matter what happens – whether I make it or not – promise me one thing.
"Hey, Nico," he manages before the knot in his throat becomes too much to handle.
Nico is lying motionless. He could be napping, or perhaps dead, but the soft beeping of the heart-monitor and the slow drip of the IV bag indicate otherwise.
It's been a year; a full three-hundred and sixty-five days since Nico went into surgery for a bone marrow transplant. His condition had been less than desirable when he'd gone in, everyone knew it, but it was their last shot to save his life. Will had been in his final year of med school when he discovered he was a close enough match.
He volunteered to donate immediately despite Nico's loud protests and concerns.
What else would Will have done? He was in love. He would do it again if he had to.
Will's end of the operation had been relatively quick and painless. Nico, however, crashed on the table. Will remembers the wait. He remembers seeing them wheel Nico down the hall, reaching for his pale fingers before being steered in the opposite direction.
It's been a year since Nico slipped into a coma. So much has happened while he's stayed in this room he always hated. Hazel got married, Jason started dating Piper, Percy Jackson had a son with his wife, Will graduated med school and started working in the very hospital that housed his comatose boyfriend.
It's hard. Unbearably hard. And frustrating.
He was right there. His heart was beating and his lungs were breathing, but Will couldn't talk to him, couldn't see the glassy glint in his grey eyes, couldn't do anything beyond watching him sleep.
He doesn't know how he's lasted a year.
Please don't stop smiling.
But he hasn't given up. Not on Nico.
Believe me when I say – the world is so much brighter when you smile.
He reaches over and grazes Nico's cold hand with his warm one. The letter seems heavy in his hand now. He wonders if it's really the right time to read it.
"After all," he thinks, "there's still hope. There's always hope."
Nico doesn't wake up. Nothing changes. Will is still alone.
I guess that's it. That's all I really have to say.
The sunlight gleams through the window and casts a glow around Nico's head. Will notices some fresh tulips in the vase on the nightstand that weren't there the previous day. Hazel must have visited.
He smiles at nothing, and it's just as hollow as the shining doctor he presents himself as every day.
Goodbye, Will.
Will stares at the faded envelope in his hands. It's been a full year since Will lost him and he hadn't been able to open it.
But now…
Slowly, with shaking hands, he begins to carefully open the envelope and pulls out a neatly-folded piece of paper. He runs his thumb across the familiar squirrely handwriting and, with a last deep breath, unfolds the paper.
The sudden increased beep of the heart-monitor makes Will glance up. Nothing. It's the same sight that's greeted him day after day.
Crushing, sinking grief pangs in his heart and he grips the letter once again, trying to summon the courage to read it. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he sees it.
A twitch.
His eyes are frozen on Nico's hand, staring at the silver skull on his right ring finger like there is nothing else in the world. He counts silently in his head – one Mississippi, two Mississippi, three – until he sees his fingers twitch again.
A strangled gasp leaves Will's mouth before he can stifle it. He moves closer and immediately starts looking at Nico's vitals on the screens. Tears spring to his eyes when he realizes that they're stabilizing all on their own.
Quickly, he looks back down at Nico's still face and waits – hoping, daring, pleading – until Nico's lips part and he takes in a long, deep breath. Will finds himself matching Nico's breaths, heart pounding to the rhythm of his heart-monitor.
Then, as if by some invisible cue, Nico's eyes twitch, flutter, and open.
They're just as beautiful as Will remembers.
Will can't move, can't breathe, can't do anything except clutch Nico's letter in his hand and watch in disbelief as Nico wakes up. There is a sort of numbness running up his body. The reality of the situation is paralyzing even though this is exactly what he has dreamt of for a year.
When Nico meets Will's eyes, it's like witnessing the first beam of sunlight on a new day, like a curtain rising after a prolonged intermission, like falling in love all over again.
There's confusion first and recognition second. Will's aware of the tears in his eyes but only because his vision is blotchy. Nico's expression turns soft. He soundlessly mouths one word.
"Will."
With as much grace as a dam bursting open, Will rushes to embrace his boyfriend and makes a firm promise to never let go of him again. Will sobs and hiccups, and Nico is too lethargic to move his arm, but he's there. Will can hear him. He can see his grey eyes. He's awake. So, Will just peppers kisses anywhere his lips can reach, and absentmindedly whispers his name again and again in disbelief. Nico's stiff lips push into the most beautiful smile he's ever seen.
The letter slipped past his fingers in his rush. As it falls to the floor, the first line of squirrely handwriting peeks through.
Hello.