It Couldn't Get Much Worse

farewell

Sometimes, things go wrong. Like when Tom Petty's voice comes through the speakers at the grocery store, singing about boats and flowers and love, and Otto sets his half-filled basket down in the middle of the floor and books it to his car. Like when Awsten fills three glasses of water at 9pm one night when they've finally managed to scrape dinner together and carries them to the table and is left standing there, unsure of what to do with the third. Like a few days later when Otto's actually feeling okay, but Awsten desperately wants company while he cries his eyes out and Otto just wants to forget everything.

Things go wrong a lot. But never as wrong as about a week After, when the Waterparks Instagram updates without Awsten's knowledge. He wouldn't have noticed, honestly, except for the notifications on his phone - 'Your post has received 1,000 likes' followed by the 5,000 notification barely two minutes later. And four minutes after that, the one announcing 10,000.

"Did you post something?" Awsten calls to Otto from the other room.

"No," Otto says back, but Awsten can hear from his voice that he knows something.

"It's blowing up," Awsten mutters. He opens Instagram and clicks the Waterparks profile. There, unmissable, is a black and white close-up of two hands loosely intertwined atop white blanket. One is spider-thin with skin stretched taut over bones, an IV disappearing into the back of it, and the other Awsten recognizes as his own.

'To the fans,' the caption begins, and Awsten shakily brings his fingers up to cover his mouth. "Otto!" he calls sharply.

"I don't wanna talk about it," comes Otto's firm reply.

Awsten starts reading.

To the fans,
First of all, I love you and am so thankful for you. I think of you all every day.
This post will probably come as a shock to you, and for that I'm sorry. I'm sorry that we didn't tell you earlier. We didn't know what to say. But if you're reading this, my life has come to an end.
Over the summer, I was diagnosed with a very aggressive form of Leukemia called AML. I wasn't showing symptoms for a long time, so by the time I finally got my diagnosis, it was late in the game and there wasn't much anyone could do to help me. Awsten and Otto moved in with me without my even asking and took care of me even when I wasn't at all easy to love. This is why we've all mostly disappeared. Trust me, we miss you just as much as you miss us.
I have done everything the doctors told me to do. I have taken all the chemo they ordered and swallowed weird supplements and cut my favorite foods out of my diet. But I know that they're trying to prolong my life, not cure me. The five year survival rate for AML is only 26% and I'm already at stage III. Still, I've made my peace with the situation. Please know that I - at least as I'm writing this - am feeling alright mentally. Hopefully that will continue. I don't see it changing.
I know what you're wondering, and quite honestly, I don't know what will happen with the band. That's out of my hands, and it's not something that the guys and I had the heart to discuss. They've had a difficult time with this, and I know that it's only going to get worse. (I'm writing this in the fall. I don't know when you're reading this.) Please bear with them and understand that the three of us really are brothers-

Awsten feels arms encircle him, and he drops the phone into his lap and turns into Otto's chest.

"You knew about this," Awsten chokes. It's not accusing, just sorrowful.

"I knew he wrote something. He asked Jawn to upload it a week after - said he wanted to give us time to ourselves before the world knew. I figured it was coming today. I haven't read it."

"It sounds just like him," Awsten whispers. "Genuine. And sweet."

Otto nods and sits back down on the arm of the couch. He rubs Awsten's shoulders as Awsten resumes the note.

Please bear with them and understand that the three of us really are brothers, so they're going to need space and time. Be kind to them. Be patient. For me.
I love each and every one of you, and I want to thank you for letting me live a life that most people only dream about. I am grateful every day and wouldn't change a thing. I just wish I could have met all of you.
If I can leave you with one thing, it's this: Take care of each other. Be kind to strangers. Love one another, and tell the people you love how much you love them. Your world can change in one instant, and I hope that if this ever happens to you (which I pray it doesn't), you too can be as full of peace and free of regrets as I am.
Love,
Geoff
P.S. - Awsten reads me your messages on my bad days. They always make me feel so much better. Thank you.

Underneath that is written his full name and his birth and death dates. Awsten stares at it.

Geoff's whole life has been reduced to a fucking Instagram post. A very sweet, well-thought out, honest Instagram post, but still a fucking Instagram post.

Awsten doesn't bother to read the comments.

He turns the screen off and slides sideways, lifting his legs onto the couch and lying down. Otto runs a hand over his hair and says softly, "I'll give you some time."

Awsten closes his eyes. He misses Geoff so much that it physically hurts.