in which there's only one way it can end. sequel to poetry.

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jack's dying.

still.

he's fading.

growing weaker. withered hands tremble now, with every slow movement, and fragile bones crack and pop with every sudden movement.

there is no peace in sleep, only fear and nightmares. and no longer does the feel of marks arms around his body - as they rock back and forth in such a tight embrace - soothe the boy, it is simply a reminder that he's losing so much weight.

and the constant thud, thud
of his lovers grieving heart won't rock him to sleep because it will continue so long after jack's own has diminished to nothing, and flatlined.

jack's dying.

still.

and mark forever wishes for them to trade places.

---

ten minutes ago, mark was fine.

ten minutes ago, mark was waking up to missed calls from his boyfriend, and sweet 'i miss you' texts.

ten minutes ago, mark was being told how much he was appreciated, and he had jack's name on his lips as they exchanged an 8 minute phonecall at seven in the morning.

ten minutes ago, jack was breathing, and laughing, and smiling, and telling mark that he was so in love.

but, ten minutes ago, the line went dead, and was being interrupted by another incoming call.

from the hospital.

"mark fischbach, we'd like you to come down here as soon as possible."

ten minutes ago, mark wasn't in his car, swerving to avoid cyclists and driving wrecklesslt.

ten minutes ago, he wasn't pushing past grieving families, and disregarding anything that was in his path.

and ten minutes ago, he wasn't faced with the worst news of his life.

---

as he approaches the desk, marks wheezing. because he sprinted from the car park to reception, and up three flights of stairs to the chemotherapy ward, and his boyfriends place of residence.

and he's running hands through sweat-slicked hair and listening to the receptionist mumble over the phone to someone mark didn't care about.

but she hangs up, and marks instantly opening his mouth to speak.

"what happened? why did you call? is jack alright?"

"calm down, sir. yes, sean is alright, however there is some things the nurses - and mr mcloughlin - would like to discuss with you."

and it's like mark knows what's coming, because his eyes are glazing over with a film of tears and realisation, and his heart is slowing, and there's that feeling in his stomach that says something's wrong.

and marks nodding, and turning to walk towards jacks room door.

the walk is slow, down a green and yellow corridor, towards a cell door that locks away his boyfriend who should be healing.

but mark has a feeling that he's not.

marks crying now.
because he sees jack through the door window.

and he's frowning, eyebrows knotted together as he nods.

and there's a nurse; all slender waists and tied back blonde. all sympathy and smiles and she's talking, and moving her hand to marks boyfriends knee.

there's a drip of jealousy on marks tongue as he greets them.

"you wanted to talk?"

it's a shock to jack that marks here, because he didn't ask for him to be here.

he didn't want him here.

he didn't have to hear this. jacks his own man, he made this choice by himself. it's his responsibility.

not marks.

and he knows how mark will take it.

and it won't be lightly.

---

the room is deafened by silence, the occupants swamped like mud by it as it hangs low in a thick blanket over their heads.

the nurse doesn't want to be the one to break the news, but jack can't do it.

and there's no point, because mark knows what's happening.

but someone has to say it, because the elder is convincing himself that it's not happening, and that he's wrong and it can't possibly be real. and he's telling himself that jacks alright, and he's not in pain anymore and that famous line;

'it'll get better'.

it's the worst lie marks ever told himself.

because it can't happen.

marks case wasn't terminal. he never felt what it was like to know your life could end at any point because of some horrible disease that wouldn't go away.

but, jacks case is.

he won't get better.
there's no way.

it's jack that breaks the silence.

"could you...give us some time?"

"of course jack."

"thank you."

the nurse stands, and walks swiftly towards the door, not knowing how it feels to have to go through the pain that jack is going through right now.

there's silence, and marks perched on the edge of jacks bed, running fingers over his lovers arm that has an iv drip seeping life into him in small doses.

"i'm stopping chemo."

it's blatant, abrupt.
and not what mark wants to hear.

"y-you're what?"

"you heard me, mark. please, just...don't cause a scene."

"don't cause a scene? are you crazy, sean?!"

jacks wincing, because marks raising from his seat on the bed, and he's running a hand harshly through his hair and he's calling jack by his real name.

that's how jack knows it's bad.

"i'm not getting better, mark. what am i supposed to do?"

"you're killing yourself, sean!"

"i'm wasting time!"

"you could get better!"

"listen to yourself, mark! you don't believe a word that you're saying!"

mark is silenced, and standing, and there's frustrated tears rolling down beat red cheeks and he's sobbing.

because jack has said exactly what marks been thinking.

and he doesn't like it.

"i'm sorry."
he runs a hand beneath hot chocolate eyes, collecting tears on trembling fingers. but, in contrast to his eyes, they're cold and bitter and they won't comfort you on cold winter nights when all you're thinking is i wish i wasn't here.

"it's alright. you reacted exactly how i expected you to."

"i just care about you. and i love you. and i'm in love with you. and i don't want you to go."

they're both crying now, and it's desperate; full of wretched sobs and breaths catching in throats, and mumbles of 'please don't go' as mark walks closer and collapses in on himself, and beside his lover in his old hospital bed.

they're a mess of limbs and tubes and wires and hair and 'i love you's, and this is how it will end.

a coordinated mess; held together by infatuation and lust and regret and so much love for one another that they will never separate.

until death do them part.

"mark?"

"yes, jack."

"you might not have been my first love
but you were the love that made
all the other loves
irrelevant."

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a post, after how many days? i don't know. i hope you enjoyed this, sorry if it's confusing or badly written, in a bit spacey.
-a