"Mikey, hey."

I gaze across at the glass of water on my bedside table, my lip trapped between my teeth and my fingers shakily tracing the patterns in my bed.

"Hi."

I hear Patrick take a breath and after a moment, he just sighs, slumping against what I assume to be is the wall.

"Mikey, uh... so there's this guy that... he's really nice. His name's Pete, he's really talented, he's a photographer and uh... he knows guitar. Anyways, I thought that you might want to meet him. Maybe cross one of those things off of your bucket list, y'know?"

There's silence for a moment, painful and ugly. Soon enough, though, I turn in bed and I let out a shaky breath.

"Yeah, sure. I mean why not?" I ask. After a moment, I lower my eyes as more silence initiates between us.

This is how our conversations seem to go now. Silence, silence, more silence. Small tidbits of conversation.

"Cool, Whidby Park? Later today? At like 4? Him and I were planning on meeting up anyways." I can hear him bite his lip, "Gerard, too..."

"Yeah, that sounds... fine..." I blink, gazing blankly at the wall.

After at least thirty more seconds of silence, Patrick speaks again.

"How's the uh... procedure going? I heard they're gonna cut it off soon. Is there a date to that? Or..."

"July 7th." I reply, then I bite my lip, "I mean I'm sure it's fine. It's just a growth. It can't have spread that fast, could it?" I swallow. We both know the truth.

"Yeah..." he replies in a quiet tone. I can hear the hesitation, "well I'm gonna go now. I'll see you in a bit..."

"Yeah... sure." I purse my lips, "see you."

"Bye. If you need anything—"

I've already hung up.

I don't need anything.