[No author's note at the end of this 'cause I have nothing to say.]

Thump, thump, thump, thump...

Ryan, Ryan, Ryan, Ryan...

My lungs were burning and my legs were aching and my mouth was dry but I couldn't stop running. I needed to get to the hospital. I would get there, even if it killed me. Great choice of words, Frank.

I stumbled against a wall a few blocks away and scraped my hands, but grazed palms were the least of my worries. People were fucking everywhere - did they really have nothing better to do than wander aimlessly around Belleville? Clearly they didn't, clearly they didn't want me to get to the hospital, clearly somehow they knew that my best friend was dying and didn't want me to go anywhere near him. Fate was a bitch.

Please let him be okay, dear God let him be okay...

My heart jumped into my mouth as I saw the building looming above me, taker of lives and bringer of bad news. There were ambulances and people everywhere, but I pressed on, regardless. Brendon had told me that they were on the second floor, so I pushed past random drunk people (at mid-afternoon?) and took the stairs two at a time.

C'mon, c'mon Ryan you'd better fucking be okay...

The muscles in my legs screamed at me to stop running for just one fucking second, but I couldn't. I just couldn't. Brendon needed me, Ryan needed me. A second stopped was a second wasted. I found the room and burst in, bending over as the door swung shut behind me. There was the low whirr of machines, and someone's gentle sobbing. When I straightened up, holding a stitch in my side, I saw Brendon on the bed's right, and Ryan's parents to the left. And in the bed was Ryan, who looked so pale and sickly and out of it that I felt my thundering heart sink.

One look at his barely-breathing form told me that he wasn't going to make it out of here alive.

And maybe Brendon knew that, because he was gripping his husband's hand in a borderline vice-like grip, tears rolling down his face. He was watching Ryan with nothing but agony in his eyes.

"Ry? Baby?" He said softly, and Ryan stirred, turning his head to face Brendon.

"Yeah?" He choked out, the fingers of his left hand clenching into a fist.

The hospital gown almost swamped him, and the sheets were pulled up to his waist. I felt so sorry for him; I'd much rather me be there than him, that was for sure. I couldn't even begin to imagine the pain he was in, or what was happening to his body, or anything.

"Frank's here, just like you wanted." Brendon's voice cracked, and I lowered myself into the seat beside him.

Ryan's eyes opened, bloodshot and barely there, and he smiled. "Hey." He choked out, clearing his throat. "Never looked better, huh?"

"Forget to put your make-up on?" I arched an eyebrow, and he grinned, shrugging.

"Something like that."

"Well when you're coughing up blood, make-up tends to be the last thing on your mind." Brendon snapped, his eyes hard and glassy. Ryan simply waved a dismissive hand, and Brendon's jaw clenched. "I can't believe you're being so...so blasé about this! You're dying, and you're acting like it simply doesn't matter!"

"But Bren, it doesn't matter." Brendon shook his head frantically. "It doesn't. We're born, we eat, we shit, we die. Sometimes...people don't get past eating. Sometimes people don't get past being born." He coughed, his face screwing up in pain. "Sometimes people get past shitting, and they fuck, and they fall in love, and they marry...and then they die."

"You're eighteen, for fuck sake! You barely made it out of high school, you -"

"Oh please, what was I going to do with my life? I'm a loser, just like you."

They looked into each others' eyes for a long time, having some sort of unspoken conversation. Tears rolled slowly down Brendon's face, and I could see Ryan getting teary-eyed too. Finally, Ryan sighed, his hand dropping to the bed.

"Can I talk to Frank alone for a moment?" He addressed the room as a whole, including his parents.

Brendon looked like he'd been stabbed. He spluttered, holding Ryan's hand as if he was the one dying. "But Ry -"

"Please. It's important. It won't take long, I promise." When Brendon didn't look convinced, he closed his eyes. "Five minutes. I'll still be here when you get back."

Clearly reluctant, his parents and his husband left the room, and I took Brendon's vacant seat. I wanted to cry but tears wouldn't come. Seeing him so defeated and done with everything made me think of my father, and how he would probably be buried in the same cemetery as him. I felt my lower lip tremble, and I covered my mouth with my hand.

"Don't you cry too." He rolled his eyes, wheezing a little.

"I won't cry." I whispered. "What did you want to talk to me about?"

He licked his lips, which were chapped and faded, and he sighed. "You will look after Brendon, won't you?" I nodded. "You won't let him do anything stupid after I'm gone?" I shook my head. "I can't...there's stuff I need to tell him, but I can't tell him..." A tear fell from his eye, and he wiped it away fiercely - or as fiercely as he could when he was so weak. He reached beneath his pillow and pulled out an envelope, Brendon's name inscribed on it in his familiar neat cursive. "When...after I've...y'know..." He gulped. "Give this to him. There's a lot in there he won't like, but...I can't help that."

As he set the letter back under his pillow, I swallowed heavily, my jaw hurting from the effort of holding the tears back. "I thought you were okay, though. I thought you were getting better. You said that's what the doctor said."

He smiled sadly. "That's what I told everyone else, but..." He shook his head.

"What -"

"I was never getting better. Chemo wasn't working. Nothing was. Remember what I said the morning after the wedding?"

"I'm going to die, Frank. And if you want me to be honest, well...I'm terrified. I've been trying to convince Brendon that I'm going to be okay, because he's just as scared as I am, and if both of us lose hope...there's not much point in waiting around for it to happen. But I know it will happen. I know that soon, in a week, in two weeks, in two months, the next ceremony we'll be having is my funeral."

"I was never meant to live, Frank. I was never meant to beat this illness. I was never meant to be one of those survivors -"

He was cut off by the door opening, and his parents and Brendon walked in. "You've had five minutes." Brendon said quietly, and I moved so that he could sit beside his husband.

"Mom..." Ryan said, reaching out for his mother's hand. "Mom I'm sorry, I - I've never been the best son, Dad, I -" all his previous confidence seemed to crumble as he scrunched his face up, whether in pain or to hide the tears flowing down his face, I didn't know. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I -"

"Don't cry, sweetheart." His mom soothed, her voice wavering as she ran a hand over her son's forehead, as if she was brushing away nonexistent hair. "It's gonna be okay. It's all gonna be okay. Momma's here, you're gonna be fine."

He shook his head, taking deep, shaky breaths, and when he opened his eyes, he focused on Brendon. "Brenny, I'm scared." He whimpered, and Brendon rested his forehead against his husband's, grasping his hand.

It felt like I shouldn't be there, like it was too intimate for an outsider like me to be watching. It was as if this moment had to be reserved for the two of them, and there were so many unspoken words exchanged between them that I had to look away. It was tearing them apart to see the other like this, so desperate and sad, and it hurt. They were my best friends, and I was going to lose one of them soon.

"I love you." Brendon murmured, the backs of his fingers stroking Ryan's cheek. "So much. You're so beautiful. You'll always be beautiful, okay?"

"Bren..." With surprising strength, he threw his arms around Brendon, and they held each other close. Brendon was weeping softly into Ryan's shoulder, his own shoulders shaking, and I closed my eyes. "Bren, don't...please don't...Brenny please..."

When I opened my eyes, Brendon had pulled back, and he cupped Ryan's face in both hands, sniffling. "I love you."

"I love you too." Ryan replied, letting Brendon kiss him delicately and carefully. "You'll stay safe, won't you?"

"Ry -"

"And you'll look after yourself?"

"Ryan, please -"

"Promise me, fucking promise me." He lay back, holding his pinky finger out for Brendon. "Promise me you won't do anything stupid."

Wiping tears from his face, Brendon linked his pinky with Ryan's in a promise gesture. "I promise."

"Thank you." He reached up and caressed Brendon's cheek, his eyes fluttering closed. "Frank?"

I jumped, startled. "Yeah?" I replied.

I could see the panic in Brendon's eyes, the blind and painful realisation that any breath could be his last. He clutched Ryan's hand like it was a lifeline, unable to stop crying even if he tried. I couldn't even imagine what it felt like to be him.

"Remember what I said."

"Got ya."

He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. "Will the others be here soon?"

"Of course, honey." His mom said, holding her husband's hand.

There was silence for a minute or so, just Ryan's slow, heavy breathing and Brendon's quiet sobs. Ryan's father was holding his wife, her head on his shoulder as they both watched their son. I still felt like an outsider, I wasn't part of Ryan's family, but he wanted me there.

"You can let go, Brenny." He whispered after a short while, and as my heartbeat sped up I could imagine his slowing down.

Whether he meant it literally or not, I didn't know, but Brendon panicked all the same.

"No!" He cried. "No, I'm not letting go, I can't, I -"

But Ryan simply smiled, exhaling deeply as his husband sobbed his name. "I've let go...it's your turn now..."

And with that, he slowly slipped into unconsciousness, unable to respond to Brendon's choked whimpers, unable to tell his parents that everything was going to be okay, unable to make me promise him something else.

The minutes that passed were slow, and agonising, feeling like two hours when in reality it was two minutes. A hundred and twenty seconds later, Ryan Ross-Urie took his last breath, and he died, unable to kiss Brendon one last time.

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