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i. the moon and other forgotten lovers
and in the end
i’d do it all again
i think you’re my best friend
The summer before Will turned 16, Chuckie got a job working as a paper boy. There weren’t a lot of jobs in Boston willing to hire a 14-year-old who had nothing to his name but a cheap bike, but Chuckie was determined to get Will the greatest present known to man. He knew that Will didn’t have a stable place to live, didn’t have anything to call his own, so it wasn’t like he could get him anything fragile or easy to get pawned off by whoever was playing dad of the week. The answer came to him in the form of a used bookstore. There were hundreds of books taking up every inch of the bookstore. Most of the books he chose were chosen at random, anything that looked vaguely intellectual. There was one book that he remembered clearly. It was an astronomy textbook, the kind with galaxies on the cover and twenty authors on the cover. He didn’t understand half the words in the book, but he remembered the chapter on the moon when the streetlights turned on and he was walking back home half-drunk and half-afraid.
If Will was the sun, brilliant and beautiful, then Chuckie was the moon. The moon could never exist without the sun, and Chuckie could never live without Will. Will was always going to leave Boston and Chuckie behind. It hurt like hell, sure, but Chuckie would do anything for Will. He had read a book for school that asked a question: would you die for love or let love die? If it was for Will, he had written, he would burn alive for love. And burn he did. His lungs burned when he put the final touches on the piece of shit car that he and the other boys built for Will. It was red, Will’s color. It was the color of the Marlboro package that Will had shoved under Chuckie’s mattress when he was 16, the color of Will’s cheeks when Chuckie embarrassed himself in front of the cute girls at the bar, the colors of the cheap Twizzlers that Chuckie kept in the glove compartment because he knew how much Will loved them. Without Will, red was the color of 60 hour work weeks and dying alone, the color of pissing off the wrong regular at the bar and bleeding out on the sidewalk, the color you see when you pull up to your (ex) best friend’s house only to realize that you’ll never see him again. Red is the color of flowers in your heart, threatening to strangle you alive.
we both know that it would never work
you’ve got your girl, you’re gonna marry her
It would be easier if he could bring himself to hate Skylar. If she was some evil bitch or harlot trying to ruin Will’s life, he could pretend that the pain in his chest came from some sort of honorable concern for his best friend, instead of the horrible feelings he really had. He had seen the news, the faggots in hospital beds, dying from some uncurable sickness caused by being gay and turning from God. Skylar was everything that Chuckie couldn’t be. She was smart, beautiful, funny, the exact kind of girl that Will Hunting deserved. He knew that if he stayed on the phone with Will long enough to explain the flowers, she would drive them back to Boston and try to figure out who he was in love with or try to suggest getting the surgery. She would sit him down and tell him that whoever he was in love with wasn’t worth dying over, and that he would find another girl. He had already made up his mind the day that Will left, the day he caught the first flower. He wouldn’t tell anyone, not until it killed him. In every lifetime, he would always choose Will, and Will would always choose Skylar.
The flowers started the day Will left. He had tried to continue work as normal that day, but he wasn’t fooling anyone. He managed to keep himself together for the most part until he got home. He had barely managed to lock the front door before he broke down sobbing. He knew that he did the right thing by making sure that Will got out of Boston in a car and not a coffin, but it didn’t feel like a victory. It felt like an ending. Chuckie was never a pretty crier. He was always the kid that cried so hard he vomited, the kid who cried in between gasps for air and apologies. He never expected to be the kid that threw up flowers, white and red and beautiful and deadly. Forget-me-nots and red roses. There was a sick sort of poetry in it, the idea that Will staying in Boston would have killed him but it was Will leaving Boston that would end up killing Chuckie.
There’s only one doctor even remotely close to Boston that treats hanahaki, and if he went, he’d have to take a day off work. He calls from a payphone with shaking hands, but he doesn’t bother making an appointment. He knew that they would recommend surgery, and he couldn’t give up his memories of Will, not when they were the only things he had left of Will. The main problem he had would be his friends. They would never - could never - understand. They’d try to fix it, try to get Will on the phone to beg him to get the surgery or worse, pretend to be in love with him. They had always overestimated his importance in their lives. It was Will that they needed, not some queer from South Boston who barely graduated grade 12.
ii. interlude: california sunset
It takes Will 60 hours to get from Boston to Skylar’s apartment. He could have shaved off a good 10 hours if he had Chuckie to take over driving during the nights, but Chuckie was back in Boston along with the other half of Will’s heart. He told Sean that he was leaving Boston to “see about a girl”, but that was only half of the story. He left Boston because it was the only choice he had. He either left or he became just like his foster dads, drunk and angry and violent. He had told Chuckie this once, after not-so-discreetly sneaking into his second floor bedroom. He was laying his head on Chuckie’s lap, letting him untangle his hair with gentle hands. Chuckie was always gentle, even when Will didn’t deserve it. He didn’t even mean to talk about his foster parents that night, but Chuckie let him cry, telling him he wouldn’t be his dad. Skylar was brilliant, but she’d never be Chuckie.
He manages to catch Skylar before she leaves for her first class. He manages to stammer his way through half of his pre-scripted apology before she stops him. For reasons he’ll never understand, she forgives him. She tells him to make himself at home and bring his luggage in, and that they’ll talk when she finishes classes. When she closes the door, it doesn’t feel like the goodbye it was back in Boston, simply a “see you later”. She has a nice apartment, clean but not sterile. It looks decently lived in, and he wonders briefly if she’s renting it. California’s expensive, and he doubted that her trust fund really extended to both Stanford University and a modern two-bedroom apartment in the city. By the time Skylar gets back from classes, he’s investigated every square inch of the apartment. She didn’t leave a spare key, so he couldn’t have left if he wanted. He wouldn’t have left her again, she didn’t deserve that. She was a lot like Chuckie in that regard, wearing her heart on her sleeve but extending her arm nonetheless. He didn’t deserve that, didn’t deserve either of them if he was being honest, but he was going to make it up to Skylar. Not just for him, but for everyone who got him out of Boston.
The conversation is tough, but he knew it was going to be. He had hurt her, badly, and he needed to prove that he could be there for, that he wouldn’t up and leave. He agreed to call Stanford to see if they were hiring, and in return, she would let him stay with her for free. It wasn’t a fair agreement, and they both knew it, but it was a start of forgiveness.
iii. solipsism and forgotten dreams
‘cause you said forever
now i drive alone past your street
It takes a week before Chuckie stops driving by Will’s house in the morning. He’s so used to the routine that he yells at Morgan the first time he gets into Will’s seat. He didn’t even know he could yell that loud, and by the time he finishes, his mouth tastes like regret and his eyes burn with unshed tears he can’t let fall. There must be something in his eyes that gives him away, because Morgan doesn’t even say anything, he just places his hands over Chuckie’s and smiles sadly. He must have said something to Billy because when he drives up to his house, he doesn’t even bother to crack any jokes or attempt any sort of roughhousing. Morgan’s always been the most emotionally intelligent of the group, so Billy noticing that something was off meant that Chuckie was really off his game. Billy gets back to normal fairly quickly, cracking jokes and stealing cigarettes and spare change off him. Morgan and Chuckie take up the space that Will left behind, albeit clumsily and in a patchwork kind of way. Morgan makes jokes and tries to lift their spirits, while Chuckie tries to play the role of the intellectual. It was clumsy, but it was home. It was Dunkin’ Donuts coffees and stuffing newspapers under bedroom doors to jack off to $10 Playboy magazines from overpriced gas stations. It was cheap beers and kissing lessons with classmates and jeans hung low enough to show the label of overpriced Calvin Klein boxers. Will may have Chuckie’s heart, but Boston was in his blood.
Despite the inconvenient nature of his disease, it was remarkably easy to hide his symptoms. He was close to his friends, but he could never confide in them. Chuckie was the dependable one. He was the shoulder to cry on, the nurse of the group, the designated driver. After a night of drinking, he was the sober one, making sure everyone got home safely and waiting until he saw the front door close. He drove the speed limit, used his turn signal, anything to keep his friends safe. He couldn’t burden them with his problems, especially not about Will. He’d heard Morgan, Billy and Will call the MIT kids “yuppie faggots” enough times to know how his coming out wouldn’t be taken kindly. He’s known the other boys for long enough that they probably wouldn’t fuck him up like the Matthew Shepard kid he saw on the news, but he doubted he’d leave that conversation completely physically unharmed. It wouldn’t be their fault when he was the sinner, but he wanted to have them in his life a little longer. From his dad to Will, it seemed almost inevitable that he would be left behind, playing a supporting role in the lives of those who’d go on to bigger and brighter things. His father had gotten a cushy desk job somewhere in the fucking cornfields and Will had left for California to get his six figure job and his blushing bride.
New England folklore spun tales around flowers representing not just the love the afflicted has for the object of their desire, but that of their love for the world. Will had explained it to him one night, wearing nothing but his boxers and Chuckie’s oversized Nirvana t-shirt. There was something delicate about that moment, watching Will smoke while sitting on the ledge of Chuckie’s bedroom. Will was nervous that day, biting his nail down to the quick. He had looked at Chuckie for what seemed like hours before he spoke.
“If - if you could choose, how would you die?”
If Chuckie was surprised by the nature of the question, Will seemed devastated. He had started the process of awkwardly backtracking and whispering apologies when Chuckie finally worked up the courage to interrupt and answer.
“I’d choose to die slowly. I mean, it’s not like I want to suffer or nothing. I’ll just be sick for a few years, long enough that it won’t hurt so much for my momma or you or the rest of the boys. It’ll be easier for you if you don’t remember who I used to be. Let the pieces of who I used to be slowly chip away until it doesn’t hurt you anymore. I mean, you have to know that I’d do anything for you. I’d take the pain, any amount of it, if it meant that you wouldn’t suffer. After all, you’re my best friend. I mean, how do you want to die? ”
Will sighed, slowly putting his knuckles to his eyes. “Shit, man, that’s dark. I’d probably want to die from a heart attack or brain aneurysm. The sort of thing where you’re drinking coffee one moment and drop dead a minute later. Something quick and inevitable, you know? Written in the stars, fated by God. I can’t - why would you - I don’t understand why you’d want to suffer.”
“I don’t want to suffer, that’s not the point of it. I want to make it easier for you to get over me. When you’re off eating shrimp cocktails with the intellectual pricks down in SoCal, I don’t want you to think about me, some idiot still working 12 hour shifts making a dollar over minimum wage. You’re going to move on from me, from Boston, from all of this. Will, I can’t be the one holding you back. I can’t-”
He wasn’t sure if Will remembered that conversation, wondered if he still believed the New England traditions when he was out making new ones in sunny California. If Will knew about the flowers, he’d be able to read Chuckie like a book. Forget-me-nots and red roses weren’t exactly the subtlest of flower combinations. When his mom was still working at the local elementary school, the school janitor had hanahaki. They never found out who she loved, but every time his ma saw daisies he pretended to not see the tears in her eyes. They buried her in April. He didn’t remember much about the occasion, other than wearing the suit he only wore for Sunday mass. It was cold and dreary, the perfect weather for a funeral. It was the sort of funeral he wanted, simple and small. Forgettable.
iv. the days go slowly, but the months fly by
i try to laugh about it
cover it all up with lies
i try to laugh about it
hiding the tears in my eyes
‘cause boys don’t cry
He made it to the end of June before realizing his tactic of lying to his friends and family was unsustainable. His friends weren’t dumb, and they were bound to realize that something was up, and that his deteriorating health couldn’t be written off as allergies or chronic food poisoning. His ma had already figured out that something was off, even though she didn’t know what was wrong. She knew that it had something to do with Will leaving, but she thought that it was just worry for Will, who hadn’t called since he’d left Boston. Chuckie knew that Will had reached California, knew that he had settled in. A week after Will had left Boston for good, Chuckie got a postcard from California. It wasn’t signed, but it was clearly Will’s handwriting. It only said “I had to see about a girl”. There wasn’t a return address, a clear sign that he had moved on from Boston, moved on from Chuckie. He had barely made it to the bathroom before his vision started to blur and he had to lean against the sink just to keep himself from collapsing to the tiled floor. He was lucky that it was parent-teacher night and his ma came home tired enough to not notice the blood staining his lips and teeth. The next time it got that bad, he knew that he wouldn’t be able to hide it from them, especially not if it happened when he was at work. He couldn’t afford to be a liability to the team, not when it was other’s lives on the line.
For over a decade, Will and Chuckie spent the fourth of July together, eating lukewarm hot dogs and watching fireworks from the roof of Chuckie’s house. Morgan and Billy would come over to watch the sunset, but the fourth was Will and Chuckie’s day, and everyone knew that. July of 1999 was lonely, the first holiday without Will. His ma noticed something was off before he headed off to work, but she didn’t say anything. She only ran her hand through his hair and fixed the collar of his work shirt. He assumed that was a sign that she’d let the day pass like any other day, but when he got home, he knew that something was different. The kitchen table was set with Will’s favorite foods, the ones that Chuckie pretended to like to make sure Will would have food to take home. It was a visual reminder that Chuckie couldn’t live without Will, and that Will wasn’t there. He barely managed to stammer out a thank you before he started sobbing. He felt pathetic, curled into a ball on the floor while sobbing and coughing up flowers. The petals were beautiful, almost delicate, and he found himself grabbing the flowers and desperately trying to shove them back into his mouth, as if it would hide his sins from his mom.
“Oh baby,” his mother whispered, with her hands held in front of her as if she was trying to calm a scared animal. “Oh baby, what happened to you? You’re going to be alright, it’s all going to be alright. I’m gonna take care of you okay? I just need to know who it is, who’s hurting you so badly? Is it that girl from the bar, the British girl you were crying over? Or - or was it someone at the bar or -”
“It’s Will… it’s always been Will. I’m so sorry ma, I’m so sorry.” Chuckie repeated the apology like a prayer, unsure if he was apologizing to his ma or to God. He’d spent his whole life in the church, he knew how she’d react to knowing how much he’d disappointed her. There was no point in telling her how many days he had spent on his knees, praying to be normal and the son that his ma needed. The only gay bar in Boston had been vandalized with the words “God hates fags”. His ma had disapproved of the vandalism, but that was more about Boston’s already poor reputation than any sympathy for the bar owners. He was so caught up in his thoughts that he barely noticed his ma moving to sit next to him. She put her hands on his back, running them up and down his back.
“Baby, it’s going to be okay. You’re going to be okay,” she whispered repeatedly, gently moving to hold his hands. She gently moved his hands away from his mouth, preventing him from picking up any more flowers. “It’s going to be okay.”
v. interlude: two boys on a twin sized mattress
was it something i said to make you feel like you’re a burden?
oh, and if i could take it all back
i swear that i would pull you from the tide
Lorraine Sullivan was never a good mother. She loved her boy, but love didn’t undo the pain that she ignored. Chuckie was always a quiet child, internalizing his problems to help others. He hid his vulnerabilities with a tough exterior, but he cared a lot. He worked to help pay the bills, cooked, cleaned, and made sure that everyone got home safely. He was the shoulder to cry on when times got rough and the hype man when times were good. Lorraine had taken it for granted that Chuckie had someone to rely on, anyone to be vulnerable around, until Chuckie was nine.
Lorraine met Jeremy when Chuckie was three years old. He was charming and brilliant, and he didn’t even mind that she had a kid from a previous, failed relationship. He was kind to Chuckie, treating him like a son. They were close, close enough that Jeremy and Chuckie would have their own private sleepovers, a “no girls allowed” event. In hindsight, she could see how stupid and trusting she was. She never should have left her boy alone, not with that monster . She found out through a call from the principal's office. Will had convinced Chuckie to go to the nurse’s office for severe fatigue and “general pain”, and the nurse had found enough to want to send Chuckie, and therefore Will, home. She felt nervous walking into the principal’s office, especially after seeing her boy’s swollen eyes and Will holding him as if he was worried the other boy would come undone if he let him go for even a second. They both flinched when the door opened, but Lorraine noticed the way that Will was using his own trembling body to shield Chuckie’s.
The principal wanted Will to leave, saying it was a “family matter”, but they knew it was a lost cause. Chuckie was clinging onto Will like he was the younger boy’s lifeline. Will was practically inseparable from Chuckie, and so whatever had happened at school, she knew that he would be able to carry the burden with her son. Lorraine had expected Chuckie to speak first, with Will chiming in occasionally with a sarcastic comment, but Will spoke first.
“I should have noticed that something was wrong. There were so many signs, so many goddamn signs that I missed. He was so quiet the last few months, so spacey. He had always been weird about touch, always had his eye on the door. That was just Chuckie though, always looking out for everyone else. I didn’t put the pieces together until today though. He was walking me to my homeroom class when I dropped my water bottle. He bent down to pick it up, making fun of me for being clumsy, and I swear to God, when his shirt rode up, there were bruises on his back, fucking handprints, the kind where you can see the indent of every individual finger. He begged me not to tell anyone, you know?” Will turned to look at Lorraine, his voice shaking with anger but never increasing in volume. “He didn’t want me to tell anyone because you put a goddamn stranger over your son. You let a stranger into your house, a stranger into your son’s bed for six fucking years, he kept that secret so that YOU could get a happy ending. I hope you’re real proud of yourself.”
Even though Will wasn’t that much taller than Chuckie, and was certainly scrawnier, by the end of his rant, he was using his entire body to protect Chuckie, although Lorainne was sure if it was from her or the rest of the world. Chuckie was sobbing, his head pressing into Will’s chest muffling the noise softly. It broke her heart. Chuckie was always the strong one, the one she could rely on. He was supposed to rely on her, not the other way around, and she had failed him. She had promised herself that day, watching as Will gently helped Chuckie get out of his jacket and shoes, that she would never let him down again.
your shoes empty in the hall
your keys on the counter
your dirty dish in the sink
please don’t make me see these things
Her boy was sick. Her boy was sick and she hadn’t noticed for a whole month. She had noticed something was different about him, but she had ignored it, pretending that it was just about him missing Will. She knew that they were closer than most friends, with them sharing a bed most nights during high school, but she didn’t know that Chuckie loved Will. In hindsight, it was pretty obvious. Chuckie looked at Will like he held the secrets of the universe, like he was lucky to even be able to be near something so precious. And now Will was gone, and Chuckie was dying. She knew that he wouldn’t agree to surgery, that his bond to Will was too important to him, but once Chuckie stopped crying, she asked anyway.
“I’m going to make an appointment for you with a doctor, okay baby? They’re going to ask some questions to determine if you can get surgery, and -”
“I won’t - I can’t lose Will. I know what I’m doing ma, and I can’t live without him. I know he’s off in California and he’s probably long forgotten my name and everything else about me but that I can’t live without him. I don’t - I don’t want to live without him, it would be like the better half of me just vanished, you know?” Chuckie paused, like he was trying to find the right words. “I’d be a shell of myself without Will. He’s all I got.”
Lorraine Sullivan had always considered herself a good Christian, but in that moment, watching her boy fall apart on the living room floor, she wished that she’d never met Will Hunting. She thought that he was a nice kid who was good for Chuckie and her naivety had ruined her son’s life once again. Her son was going to die for a kid who forgot he existed the second he got a taste of the better life and some rich blonde girl who he had just barely learned the name of. It wasn’t fair.
vi. boston red sox and betting on losing dogs
i always want to tell the truth
but it never seems like the right time
to be serious enough
i’m sorry that i’m making myself cry
His ma managed to get him an appointment with the specialist for the last week of July. It was on a Wednesday, which meant that he had to call off work that day. He was lucky that he got his appointment date in advance, because he had to scramble to figure out a ride situation for his boys. His boss didn’t care that he was missing a day of work as long as he gave proof of an appointment, which he had done when he put in his notice. Morgan and Billy didn’t have bosses who would cut them that kind of slack, and he was the only one still in Boston who could legally drive. Morgan and Billy wouldn’t let it slide if he tried to play it off, so he knew that he would have to come clean. He was nervous how they’d react, especially since he’d been hiding it for almost two months. He loved them, but they never had serious talks like that. He was supposed to be the one that they leaned on, not the one burdening them with his own problems. But hiding it was only making it worse and straining their friendship, so he had no choice but to rip the bandaid off, regardless of the consequences.
He takes them to get hot dogs after work one day, telling them that he has something to tell them, but refusing to elaborate until after they’ve all eaten. He didn’t know how to be as vulnerable as he was going to be, and he was almost regretting not writing a speech beforehand. He wanted to be honest, and it needed to come from the heart.
Billy spoke first, his mouth half full of a half-chewed hot dog. “What’s up Chuckie? You’re not heading off to California or somewhere sunny, are you?” Morgan lightly slapped the back of Billy’s head, but he didn’t crack his typical joke, he just looked at Chuckie and silently motioned for him to continue.
“Fuck - I didn’t, I should have written something down, but I wanted it to be authentic, and…” Fuck, this was not going well. “I can’t drive you to work next Wednesday. I’m going to the doctor, this specialist lady. I’ve got this disease, this flower disease thing and, and I gotta drive early with my ma -”
“What. The. Fuck.” Billy sounded furious, which was a terrible sign for the rest of the conversation. “How long have you been sick for? And don’t try to bullshit me. I mean, who even is it? We gotta tell her. Is it that chick from the bar down the block, the one with the shitty hair dye? ‘Cause fuck her man, she’s probably not even the only girl in Boston with that -”
“It’s Will, isn’t it?” Morgan interrupted Billy, effectively ending any hopes of plausible deniability that Chuckie could have. “You seemed different the day Will left, and I thought that it was just the blues, but it was something more wasn’t it? That’s when you started getting sick, right? I hope that it’s not, because it’s been a month and a half, and you haven’t said a goddamn word about this to us. We’re your best friends man, you can come to us with anything man.”
Morgan had barely managed to finish his speech before Chuckie buried his head into Morgan’s side, sobbing uncontrollably. “I was scared. I was so, so scared that you wouldn’t want me around anymore. I’m tired of being alone. I can’t - I can’t be strong anymore for you, hell I can barely be strong enough to hold myself up. I’m scared, Morgan. I don’t want to die, I don’t want any of this, but I can’t lose Will. I can’t lose him, he’s all I got.”
They must have looked ridiculous, trying to maneuver their bodies around a cheap bench so that they could all hold each other. It was clumsy and impractical, but it was family.
Both Morgan and Billy offered to come with him to his first appointment, but after promising that he’d tell them everything that happened when he picked them up from work that day, they reluctantly let him go. It was nice, knowing that they had his back. He wasn’t sure what he would have done if they hadn’t supported him, if they didn’t love him the way that he loved them.
you’re the cure, you’re the curse
you make it better, you make it worse
you’re my killer and my christ
(but i’m the one twisting the knife)
The doctor’s office had a sterilized feel to it, with gray walls and those anti-suicide chairs that were in every establishment in the south Boston area. His ma was sitting next to him while quietly whispering a prayer. They had arrived far too early, and Chuckie could do nothing but stare at the broken clock on the wall in front of him. It was a couple minutes late, and the second hand was moving slowly enough that he figured it would completely stop before he left the office.
“Mr. Sullivan - Is there a Chuckie Sullivan here?”
He stood up, his hands shaking slightly. He would have said something, but they were the only people in waiting area, so he just walked up to the nurse. For a doctor treating one of the weirdest goddamn diseases in the world, the office was surprisingly normal. It felt like a normal appointment, although it was more like an ER visit than his yearly physical. He only started to feel nervous when the doctor came in. She was a short, strict looking lady, the sort that you’d find spanking kids at a Catholic elementary school. She glanced at him and his mom before telling him to open the back of his hospital gown so she could feel his back.
“It says that you’ve been sick for two months? Are you sure that it’s only been two months since your symptoms started?”
“The flowers started a little under two months ago, when Wi - when my - when Will left. It can’t have been more than two months, I’m positive of that. Why? Is something wrong with the test? D’ya want more of my blood or something?”
The doctor seemed surprised, which is never a good sign for a doctor’s appointment. Surprise is only good when the girl at the bar accepts Billy’s terrible pick up line, not the most stressful doctor’s appointment of his life. “Normally at two months, you’d be barely showing signs of spreading. Kid, I thought you were at the 6 month mark. I don’t know who this Will is, but you need to tell ‘em how you feel. You’ll be lucky to make it to Christmas if it keeps spreading this quickly. You’ve got two choices and not a lot of time: you either tell your Will or you get the surgery. It’s up to you, kid.”
Fuck. How was he going to explain this to Morgan and Billy? “Hey, I’m not going make it to Christmas, wanna get some Dunkin’ Donuts? If they wanted him to get the surgery before, now they’d practically cut him open themselves. He was stuck between a rock and a hard place. It was either tell Will, something he couldn’t do even if he wanted, or get the surgery, which he wouldn’t do even if he could.
“Is there any other option? Like, some drugs or something that I could take to slow down the spread. I mean, I’ve got to make it to Christmas. Just Christmas, so I can give presents to my boys. That’s all I’m asking. I’m not getting the surgery, and I can’t tell him I love him, but if I can make it Christmas.”
Christmas was a special occasion for Chuckie. He planned out his gifts months in advance, and he even did the mundane shit, like wrapping presents and writing Christmas cards. There was something beautiful about Boston in the winter, from the way that the snow fell on the roofs to the cheap hot chocolate that you can only get from the Boston rec center. When Will was still there, they would exchange gifts on Christmas Eve, promising each other they would only open it after midnight, when it was really Christmas.
His ma broke the silence, her voice shaking. “If he’s not getting treatment, can I make another appointment for November? Just - just to make sure he’s okay?”
The next appointment was scheduled for Thanksgiving, but as the nurse handed him the discharge papers, she squeezed his hand and just looked at him sadly.
vii. interlude: everyone dies, but they shouldn’t die young
i didn’t know you were breaking down
i’d fall to pieces on the floor
if you weren’t around
When Chuckie swings by Morgan’s work to pick him up, he almost believes that things will go back to normal, that they would have some miracle cure waiting for Chuckie and things would get back to normal. He didn’t expect to hear that his friend wouldn’t even make it to the new year. They had talked about y2k before, how they were going to celebrate it with fancy champagne and long-term girlfriends and job offers from the good side of town. When Chuckie was driving him home that night, he had even talked about how he wanted to leave Massachusetts at some point and visit the Florida beaches. The fact that Chuckie wouldn’t make it to see the world was devastating. It wasn’t fair, none of it was.
Skylar had called him the night before, from a payphone in some vegan burger place. She had found his phone number pressed between the pages of Chuckie’s old copy of Fight Club . Will had borrowed it a few months before he had left and never gave it back. She was apologetic, explaining how she had meant to call earlier but was busy moving into her new apartment and settling into her new job. She asked how it was in Boston, how Chuckie and Billy were doing. He wanted to tell the truth about everything going on after Will left, but he knew that telling Skylar wouldn’t help the situation. He needed to talk to Will first, try to convince him to talk to Chuckie about surgery. He ended up giving a vague answer before pivoting to asking about Will. He didn’t need to do much sweet talking to get Will’s number and a vague idea of when he’d be home long enough to answer the phone. It didn’t matter how much Morgan wanted to strangle Will, Chuckie needed him, and he would do anything for Chuckie.
They spent a few moments without saying anything, with only the hum of the car engine and Chuckie’s fingers tapping the steering wheel breaking the silence. There was somehow too much to say and nothing at all. They knew about death, had even gone to a few funerals themselves. They just didn’t expect death to be so close to them, someone so young. How do you even begin to rationalize that the kid with the superhero lunchbox wouldn’t make it to 21?
“I talked to Skylar yesterday.” It was better to be honest with Chuckie if he wanted him to listen to his plan. “She gave me Will’s phone number, or well, the house phone number. I’m gonna call him tomorrow, and I think you should talk to him. You don’t need to tell him anything, it just might be good for your…condition if you at least hear him, I don’t know, talk about math or something. It might buy you a few days, you know, so you can celebrate Christmas with your ma?”
By the time he mentioned Christmas, he saw the fight start to leave Chuckie. Christmas was his favorite holiday, and he would do anything to spend it with his ma. He might have doubted Morgan’s intentions, but he would do it. All he had to do was to make sure that Will didn’t fuck things up for the both of them.
viii. interlude: death and other inevitabilities
and i’m still a believer, but i don’t know why
i’ve never been a natural, all i do is try, try, try
i’m still on that trapeze
i’m still trying everything to get you laughing at me
If you could win an award for pretending to be a better version of yourself, Chuckie Sullivan would have won a fucking Oscar before he made it to the double digits. He played the role of the comedic sidekick, and he did it well. He was there when his ma could barely hold down a job, when Will was stuck in the hospital, when Billy needed a pick-me-up after a rough day at work. He had to be the strong one, because if he wasn’t there for them, nobody would show them that they deserved more than they got. Maybe that’s why it was easy for him to drown in plain sight.
It started slowly, slow enough that even he didn’t realize what had happened. They never had enough money to both keep the lights on and the pantry stocked, and it’s not like Will had anything to eat at home. So, he started rationing. It started slow at first, pretending that he had already eaten breakfast or that his ma had made a big dinner and he couldn’t eat it all. But then Morgan and Billy joined them, and he couldn’t let them starve either. He didn’t have to ration for a long time, though, just long enough for his ma to get a better job.
He didn’t want to talk to Will, not when it would burden the blonde with Chuckie’s love problems. How do you begin to tell your best friend that you’re in love with him, especially when you’re half a world away? He didn’t know what would cut deeper, Will’s indifference or his disgust. He had promised Morgan that he would talk to Will, and so he prepared for his last conversation with the boy he loved.
ix. i am (chuckie’s) fear of rejection
fight or flight, i’d rather die
than have to cry in front of you
fight or flight, i’d rather lie
than tell you i’m in love with you
They decide to call at Morgan’s house, because even if Will wasn’t home for some reason, they figured that Skylar would have a higher likelihood of picking up for Morgan than any of the others. They had a notebook in between them, similar to what they had seen in those low budget spy movies. It was a comical sight, three grown men huddled over a telephone like teenage girls waiting for the boy they liked to call them. Morgan silently counted to three before picking up the phone, his hands shaking slightly. It was 9pm in Boston, which meant that it would have been somewhere around 6pm in the California region and an hour after Will got out of work.
“Hey… Will? Will, it’s Morgan. I got your number from Skylar a few days ago. She said that I should call, just to, you know, catch up or whatever. How - how have you been?”
Chuckie wasn’t sure the specifics of what Will said, but Morgan seemed relatively pleased with how the conversation was going. He quickly scribbled down, “he’s working + studying at standford. same nerd shit just better weather.”
“Chuckie and Billy are here if you wanna talk to them. Chuckie’s got promoted to working customer service,” Chuckie smiled bitterly at that. It was more of a demotion than anything, a way to transition him away from hard labor when he could barely stand. “And Billy’s got a job as a busboy at that Mexican place by the high school. We’ve missed seeing your ugly mug at the bar man. I hope they’ve got better beer down in sunny California than up here, ‘cause the beer here has gotten worse and I swear to God, they’re charging a dollar fifty more for a pint. It’s a goddamn crime I’m telling ya.” Morgan paused, nodding silently. “Yeah, Chuckie’s here, if you want to talk. Give me a sec, and I’ll pass you over to him.” Morgan looked at him, at silent promise that he would have his back if things went south.
“Chuckie? Chuckie? Is that you on the line?” Fuck. Of all the times for the flowers to make an appearance, this was possibly the worst moment for them to show up.
“Yeah, I’m here. You sound - you sound good. How’s the warm weather treating you? How’s -” He pulled away from the phone so that he could cough up a handful of forget-me-nots. “How’s your girl? How’s Skylar doing? It’s been a while since I’ve heard from you, I was worried that your ugly mug ended up crashing our gift to you.”
There was a minute of silence, only broken by Chuckie breaking into another coughing fit. The flowers were getting worse, spilling reds and blues and greens onto the floor beneath them.
“Chuckie - Chuckie, what’s going on,” Will sounded strange, almost as if he was scared of something. “What the fuck is going on, Chuckie. Are you sick or something? Is it the flu or pneumonia or something like that? I should have called sooner, I just needed time to settle in and -”
He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t talk to Will without blood and flowers filling his heart and lungs. He dropped the phone before collapsing, his leg catching on the chair and sending both him and the chair to the ground with a sickening crack. The last thing he heard before everything faded to black was Will yelling something, but he wasn’t sure what he had done to make the older boy so angry. He whispered an apology like a prayer, hoping that the sunshine haired boy might be able to forgive him. He only had one thought before blacking out.
The world is quiet here.
x. interlude: stargirl
what were you thinking back when you met me?
i died a little just to be let in
Will didn’t come to California for Skylar, no matter what he tried to tell her. He came to California because he couldn’t stay in Boston, and she decided to live with that. He loved her and she loved him. He signed up for classes at Stanford University, fully paid for as long as he worked in the math department. On days that she was busy with med school, he would cook for her and help clean up the apartment. They didn’t talk about Boston, didn’t talk about the friends he left behind. It was pure coincidence that she found Morgan’s number. She had knocked Will’s copy of Fight Club off the table, and when she picked it up, she saw Morgan’s phone number written in Chuckie’s handwriting. The phone call was strained. Apparently Will had never looked back when he left Boston. Morgan seemed serious about talking to Will though, so she gave him the phone number to their landline. She had liked Morgan and the rest of the boys, but she didn’t want to pry into their personal lives, so she didn’t ask any questions.
Skylar was in the kitchen when Morgan called Will. She was working on organic chemistry, something that was due the next day, but she turned her focus to the phone call instead. It was a tense phone call, both Will and Morgan making attempts at small talk until Will asked him to pass the phone to Chuckie. She liked Chuckie, even if he had seemed nervous when he was around her. He had given her phone number when she had mentioned getting catcalled by some of the boys at Harvard, offering to walk her home if she didn’t feel safe. She had only used the number one time, when a boy had stalked her for a few hours and she couldn’t get home without him trailing. He didn’t complain about the drive, just offered her a donut and talked about the recent baseball game. It was obvious the second that Will started talking to Chuckie that something had gone horribly wrong back in Boston. They had barely talked for what seemed like a few seconds before Will started shouting Chuckie’s name. She was close enough to the phone that she could hear Chuckie apologizing for something, his voice sounding like he had been running a marathon before talking to Will. If it was anyone but Will, she would have taken the subtle route, but she knew that would go nowhere with Will.
“Is everything alright with Chuckie? I heard him apologizing at the end of the call.” She didn’t want to let him know how much she had heard, but she cared about the younger boy. He was barely nineteen, too young for any of what he was dealing with back in Boston.
Will sighed, reaching into his jacket pocket for a pack of cigarettes that weren’t there. “I don’t know what’s going on. I barely said anything, and he just - I don’t know what happened, but Billy said that they should have had 911 on speed dial before they called me, so there’s clearly something going on. I should have - I should have reached out sooner. He’s my best friend, and I just ditched him. I promised him, you know, when we were just kids, that I would never leave him. That no matter how rich and famous I got off my brains, I would never forget him. And then California happened, and I left him. I can’t believe that I could do that to him.” He was rambling, his hands running through his hair. “I need to go back to Boston. I need to make sure he’s okay.”
Was this why Morgan wanted Will’s phone number? To let him know that Chuckie was sick? She wondered how long he had been sick for, if she had ever met a healthy Chuckie Sullivan. She wondered if Morgan ever wanted Will to know, if whatever happened on the phone call was meant to put Will at ease. Chuckie was loyal to a fault, and he’d do anything if it meant Will would be happy, to the point that he built a car for him. Part of her wondered if Will could ever feel that way for anyone.
The phone rings a few minutes later, Skylar pretends not to notice the way that Will flinches as he scrambles to pick up the phone. Will put the phone on speaker but he didn’t say anything. She hears Morgan take a shaky inhale before he speaks.
“Hey, Will. I’m sorry that I hung up so - so abruptly. Chuckie choked on a pizza slice, I mean you know how Chuckie is,” Morgan was lying, he was bullshitting them. But why? “He’s just upstairs now, Billy’s trying to convince him to take time off to go to the game or something.”
Skylar had to ask. She knew that something wasn’t right. “What game are you going to? I didn’t realize there were any home games coming up?”
“Uh…they’re planning on heading up to see some random car race. Some Indy500 knock off or something that Billy saw in a magazine somewhere. Anyways, like I said, Chuckie’s fine. He got a promotion though, and he told me the other day that he might be getting another one soon, one that’ll let him go to trade school on the side, so he won’t be free to call, okay? He’s working real hard, and I don’t think he - I don’t think that you -” Morgan sighed loudly, a clear sign he was pissed. “This was a mistake. I shouldn’t have made Chuckie do this. Do me a favor, Hunting. Lose this number. Forget that you ever met Chuckie Sullivan. Live your life in California and we’ll live ours without you. ‘Cause I swear to God, if I ever see you again, I think I’ll kill you for what you did to my best friend. You could have called Will, could have sent a postcard or literally fucking anything. Take care of Skylar for me, she’s more of a man than you’ll ever be.”
Morgan hadn’t mentioned that Will hadn’t called. He seemed surprised that Skylar had called, but she had assumed it was because they didn’t know each other well enough for a long distance phone call. She felt almost sick knowing that Will had completely abandoned his friends back in Boston. She had thought they were brothers, that they were inseparable. Will looked shellshocked, staring at the phone in his trembling hand. He had tears in his eyes, but he wasn’t crying yet.
“I don’t know what to do. I can’t stay here and do nothing, but I can’t go back to Boston. I mean, you heard him. He doesn’t want to see me.”
God, for all the smarts that Will had, he could be dumb as hell sometimes. Whatever Chuckie was going through, he needed Will, and Will needed more than what Skylar could give him in California.
xi. there’s a chapel in the hospital
you’re gonna run, when you find out who i am
i know i’m a pile of filthy wreckage
you will wish you never met
yeah, you’re gonna run
They put Chuckie in a hospital room with another immunocompromised kid. He was a young ginger with leukemia, a nice kid who introduced himself as “Alex, short for nothing”. They didn’t have much in common, but they talked a lot. They joked that they were the forgotten children of the ward, too sick to leave but too stubborn to live. Alex had said no to chemo, wanting to die on his own terms. They had only roomed together for a couple of days when Alex asked who was so important to Chuckie that he was willing to die. He responded vaguely and Alex wanted to respond, but he just let it slide. That’s what was nice about Alex. He knew when to push, and he knew when to let Chuckie dodge the question. Chuckie tried to return the favor, but he was a little rough around the edges. There were questions that Chuckie had that Alex couldn’t answer, and it was trial and error on which questions were appropriate.
His boss was generous, allowing him to work from the hospital and have Morgan deliver them to the office. They knew that he would be in the hospital for a while, and they were trying to make it as comfortable of a stay as possible. Morgan had talked to Will and told him to stay away from Chuckie. He knew why Morgan said that, but he missed Will so much. By the sixth day, he started to wish that Will had never left. He was tired of being the dutiful son, the loyal friend, the person who people relied on. He wanted to fall apart and have someone to hold him, and he wanted Will.
He spends two weeks in the hospital before they release him on the condition that he doesn’t go back to work immediately. He took two days off work before he realized he had to go back to work. It was the second week of September, and if he wouldn’t make it Christmas, he needed to make sure his ma would be okay after he was gone. He knew that it wasn’t healthy, but he started taking as many hours as he could get. The doctor said that Will leaving contributed to the rapid acceleration of his disease, and as long as Will wasn’t there, the illness would only spread faster and faster.
He throws up an entire flower, stem and all, on October 11th, the day the Boston Red Sox beat the Cleveland Indians. He’s scared when he puts his finger to the back of throat to pull the flower out. He starts keeping the flowers in a vase by the front door, and it seems to brighten up the room. Five days pass with Chuckie decorating the rest of the house with flowers. He’s finishing putting flowers in the kitchen when he hears the distant sound of Will’s voice and rapid knocking on his front door.
He was tired of dreaming of Will, tired of seeing the ghost of him at all of his favorite places. He was tired of hoping that Will would show up at his door, saving the day. So when he opens the door to see Will and Skylar, he rationalizes that his first instinct to close the door wasn’t out of cruelty, merely sleep deprivation. This was going to be a long night.
xii. interlude: break up, breakdown
if i’m not careful, i’ll wake up and we’ll be married
and i’ll still flinch at the sound of the door
He had been dating for a comfortable amount of time, and they’d reached all of the milestones that he read about, but he didn’t love Skylar. He had gone into the relationship with the best intentions, but he never knew whether he actually loved Skylar or if he loved the life that Skylar could give him. They almost made it to the California border in silence before Skylar spoke, her voice soft enough to blend in with the Fleetwood Mac song on the radio.
“You don’t love me, do you, Will? You love California, and you like me, but you don’t love me.”
“I’m sorry.” That’s all he could say for her. He watched her cry through the internal rear view mirror. He didn’t say anything, just continued chasing the silver state sign.
They make it to Massachusetts, alternating driving duties and sleeping uncomfortably in roadside motels, before Will realizes that they have no clear plan on what they were going to say when they were back in Boston. Skylar tries to help, but she could never understand why he locks the bedroom door before they go to bed or why he doesn’t take his shirt off when they have sex. He couldn’t be the man that she needed, not without becoming someone else. They were good as roommates, but Skylar deserved an Ivy educated boy, one who chat sailing and charm her friends.
He had talked to Skylar about what might be wrong with Chuckie, but she was quiet. He wondered if she knew something that he didn’t. It made him feel sick, the idea that Skylar could know Chuckie better than he did, even though he knew that he had lost that right when he left Boston.
Somewhere in the middle of his well-deserved freak out they had pulled up to Chuckie’s driveway. It was dark outside, but the house was well lit. Chuckie looked terrible, leaning on the table as he pulled a red rose out of his mouth. It looked incredibly painful, and judging by Skylar’s pained inhale, it was far worse than he could begin to imagine. Will wondered if Chuckie would throw out the flower, but instead he just cleaned the flower and put in a vase filled with blue and red flowers. Will walked up the door, absentmindedly muttering to himself. He would have stayed at the door the whole night if Skylar didn’t knock at the front door. He wasn’t ready to face Chuckie yet, but he had to try.
Will didn’t know what response he expected, but he didn’t expect to see the absolute devastation in Chuckie’s eyes. He made a move, almost as if to defend himself from Will, but he overestimated the step and collapsed awkwardly on the ground. They lock eye contact for half a second before something in Will breaks and he starts screaming.
xiii. i want to love you, but my body’s keeping score
i sit and watch you reading with your head low
i wake and watch you breathing with your eyes closed
i sit and watch you, i notice everything you do or don’t do
you’re so much older and wiser, and i…
There’s blood everywhere. He can feel the blood in his ears, somewhere stuck in his eye sockets, there’s even blood on his hands. The blood on his hands shocks him enough for him to notice that there were other people in the room. He realizes, after a frankly embarrassing amount of time, that the blood was a side effect of him coughing. The rose thorns must have got caught somewhere in his mouth, probably reopening an old wound. There was a ringing in his ears and he wondered briefly if he was dying. He pushed himself up enough to look at his guests, realizing that at some point during his freakout, Morgan and Billy had joined the group that was standing in Chuckie’s living room.
Morgan is the first to notice Chuckie, nearly tripping over himself as he went to carry Chuckie onto the couch. There was an incredibly awkward pause before Will spoke.
“Why didn’t you tell me that you were sick? I could have helped you, man.” Will pointed at Morgan, who was busy detangling Chuckie’s hair. “Do they know who it is? I’ll help you asked her out, I mean, she’d be an idiot to not date you and -”
“It’s Will, isn’t it?” Skylar calmly interrupted Will’s increasingly frantic speech, effectively silencing the room. “Forget-me-nots and roses, they’re for Will, right?”
Will looked devastated at the idea, but something on Chuckie’s face must have betrayed his fear, because he just kneeled down so that he could look Chuckie in the eyes. He looked nervous, clearly trying to find the words he wanted to say.
“I’m sorry I left you alone. I wanted to take you with me, show you off on the west coast, but I was scared that you wouldn’t want to see me anymore. I know that it’s far too little, far too late, but I want you to know that it’s always been you. I thought that going to California with Skylar was what I wanted, but I missed you the whole time I was there. I love you, and I’m sorry that I ever made you think that I forgot about you. I had barely met any other queers before I moved to California, and I wasn’t sure if you’d, I don’t know, still want to see my ugly mug. I love you, and I’m sorry I put you through all of this. I’m so sorry.”
Chuckie wasn’t sure if he was dreaming, but he figured if he was dreaming, he might as well enjoy it. He leaned forward and kissed Will softly, silently praying that it wasn’t a dream. As he feels the pain in his chest lessen, he thinks that he might not be dreaming after all.
xiv. epilogue: goodridge v. department of public health
i like the way you say my name with the blood on your face
i like the way you say my name when you soak it in grace
They don’t end up moving to California, but they don’t live in Boston either. Will ends up getting a job in New York City, and they end up moving into a cheap apartment together. It’s not large or glamorous, but it’s theirs. They still keep up with their friends back in Boston, which is why when Billy calls them late one night in May, he’s not surprised. What he is surprised by is the announcement of Goodridge v. Department of Public Health and the legalization of gay marriage. They celebrate with pizza and cheap beer, and Chuckie cries when Will pulls out a ring and asks him to marry him.
The wedding is a beautiful disaster. They weren’t sure if the ruling would last, so they planned to get married as soon as possible. The wedding was small, only their closest friends and family, but the courtroom was still packed. The vows were rushed, both of them too nervous to remember their pre-written speeches, but it was love. They didn’t go out that night, opting to drive back to their apartment so they don’t miss work. Billy jokes about how much they’ve grown up before handing them his wedding present.
Will falls asleep first, still half-dressed in his best suit. His hair is spread out on the pillow like a halo, and as Chuckie helps get Will out of his clothes and under the covers, he kisses Will’s forehead and smiles. He knows the next days they’ll wake up tired and to a messy room, but as Will reaches over and pulls Chuckie closer, he can’t bring himself to care. Their love was messy and it was young, but it was theirs .