𝐏𝐃𝐀 ; 𝐰𝐝𝐰 𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐬 (𝐛𝐱𝐛)

fixed

ship - jorbyn (kinda)
warnings - none
wc - 1335
°

Corbyn lay on his bed, shaking his head in disbelief. He just couldn't believe it. He couldn't wrap his head around the fact that this was really happening. "Why?" he thought to himself. "Why me out of all people? What did I do to deserve this?"

He thought back to earlier that day. He had gone to the doctor because he'd been feeling sharp, painful aches in his head. They had started about a month ago and had been slowly getting worse, and worse. He had gone thinking that the doctor would just give him some medication for the pains and everything would be fine and back to normal within a few days.

Instead, a few tests later, Corbyn sat in the examination room as Dr. Avery said the four words that changed everything: "You have a tumor."

The world seemed to have stopped around them. Dr. Avery's words were ringing in his head, repeating themselves over and over again. They had found a tumor the size of a golf ball in the frontal lobe of his brain; without treatment, there was a less than 35% chance of him living five years; his only treatment option was to have it surgically removed; they had an open time slot for the surgery in two months.

Corbyn had stopped listening to what Dr. Avery was saying after that. His mind was clouded. He glanced over at his mom, who had started to sob uncontrollably, which made everything seem so much more real. It was as if everything had suddenly hit him. He wasn't okay. He wasn't just going to be walking out of the building with some medication. He would be walking out with a crying mother whose seventeen year old son had a tumor. He would be going home to tell his family that he wasn't okay, that he needed to be cut open in order to be fixed.

"I don't want to have to be fixed," Corbyn thought to himself as he lay on his bed. He sat there, pondering over whether or not he wanted to take the risk of doing the surgery.

A knock on the bedroom door interrupted his thoughts, and he looked up to see his best friend, Jonah, leaning on the doorframe. Corbyn and Jonah had been friends ever since kindergarten. They did everything together.. They told each other everything. They didn't keep things from each other, which meant that Corbyn would have to tell him. Jonah walked into the room and sat on the bed.

"What's wrong?" Jonah could sense that something wasn't right. When he'd walked into the house, Corbyn's mom hadn't greeted him with a smile. Instead, she looked like she was trying not to cry. She had told him that Corbyn was in his room, so he rushed up the stairs to find out what was up.

"Everything," stated Corbyn, his voice breaking, "Everything is wrong." He went on to explain what had happened earlier that day. Jonah just sat there and listened, taking in all of the information that was being thrown at him.

When Corbyn was done talking, Jonah scooted closer to him on the bed and hugged him. The moment Jonah's arms wrapped around him, he started crying. He hadn't let himself come undone all day, so everything that had been building up came rushing out of his body. He was exhausted, confused, and felt unstable. He just wanted to crawl under a rock and forget everything that was happening around them.

They stayed that way for a long time; Jonah hugging Corbyn close to him and whispering sweet nothings in his ear, assuring him that it would all be ok, and Corbyn just letting out all of the tears that had been threatening to fall all day.

Corbyn must have fallen asleep because he woke up to the sound of Jonah's voice telling him to get up.

"Come with me," Jonah told him, holding a notebook and a pen. Corbyn glanced at the clock, which read 8:34 PM. He had been sleeping for more than three hours. He let Jonah drag him outside, where he had laid out a blanket. They sat down facing each other. Corbyn looked up at his face and spotted his grin.