Wither Away

Prologue

"Hey," I heard a small voice whisper. I turned, looking over my shoulder at the girl laying next to me.

        "Hey." I switched positions, fully facing her. "Can't sleep?" She nodded, holding her arms closer to her chest. I looked over my shoulder again, searching for my alarm clock. Once I saw the dim red numbers, I sighed, turning back to the (h/c) haired girl next to me, where I then scooted closer to her, wrapping my hands around her waist and pushing my head against her chest, listening for the steady beat of her heart. (Name) wrapped her hands around my head, lightly pulling on strands of my hair.

        My hands lightly rubbed at her back, soothing her as she started to breathe a bit quicker.

        Nights like this have been common lately. Neither of us sleeping, she too scared to sleep and me to worried to sleep. She was scared of not waking up, of just, passing away and no one would know. At first when she told me about her fear, I thought it was a bit ridiculous, but now I see she really is scared. Scared enough to not want to sleep for days on end. It was a shitty situation for both of us.

        "I'm sorry," she murmured against my black hair, "for keeping you up again."

        "It's okay (Name)," I reassured her, "I'd rather you feel safer."

~

        It was raining the next morning, sprinkling a light fog on the quiet neighborhood outside. (Name) hopped down the stairs, wearing a (f/c) scarf and jacket. She smiled, walking to the door to slip on her shoes.

        I followed, grabbing my keys and walking out the door.

        Monday morning. On Mondays, I bring her to the hospital to see her doctor, and then we usually go out to a café or restaurant afterwards. (Name) had a heart problem, but the doctors couldn't decide on what they thought it was, which is why every Monday, we'd go and they'd give her a test, just to see how she's holding up.

        We got to the hospital, where her doctor had already prepared for our arrival, which was a bit odd since he never really was ready for us to visit.

        "(Name), Karkat," he motioned to the door to his office. We walked inside, and I pulled out the chair for (Name), but the doctor had stopped me. "I need to talk to you, Karkat."

        I raised a brow, and a nurse with a bundle of papers stacked in her hands called (Name) out of the room.

        I remember sitting in that chair, and I felt like I was being choked, because I had a feeling that whatever I was called in the room for wasn't good.

        "Mr. Vantas, we ran our tests yesterday and it turns out," he paused and rubbed his forehead, while I waited for what he was going to say.

        "(Name) has cancer."