Gustholomule Oneshots

13(Everything

This story is very sad and may be triggering to some readers. 

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When Augustus  was twelve years old, he met a boy named Mattholomule. At first, they were enemies; A childish feud that seemed bigger than the world at that time, though so little in prospect today. After a while, they became friends. 

Augustus disappeared, and Mattholomule was distraught. He longed for his friend to come back and was afraid for the things he knew he hadn't said.

When Augustus -along with their friends- reappeared, subsequently saving the world as they knew it, he had many stories to tell from his time away. Both of them had thought a lot during that time, though neither knew exactly what to say. A kiss solved that problem.

Gus was fourteen years old when he knew he was in love, and that made him afraid. He feared that their romance was fickled, rather than true. And when Mattholomule was fifteen, he realized he'd never known what love felt like. So he comforted Gus with the words they both wished to hear.

They said "I love you". It doesn't matter when or who did first, just that it was true. When you're their age, it's certainly easy to convince yourself that you're invincible. And in a way, you are.

When Gus was fifteen years old he ate as little as he could. He lied to himself, and believed all the terrible things which he told himself.
Matt held him as he cried. He must have been struggling too, but he kept soothing Augustus. He was always gentle.
When Gus was fifteen years old he first fought with Matt. Again it was little, though it meant so much at the time. They forgave each other shortly.
When Matt was sixteen years old he saw Gus fight to get better. And he did.

A year later, they both experienced a wonderful first which need not be stigmatized.

They graduated, took gap years, made university plans, and moved into a sun-lit home surrounded by a beautiful rose garden all by the ages of twenty and twenty-one.

When Gus was twenty-four he painted. He painted the rose garden, he painted the ocean, and he painted the person he loved most. 
Mattholomule scored his career as an architect when he was twenty-five. He designed a library and an art gallery.

Mattholomule proposed to Augustus during homemade dinner on a Thursday night. Gus stimmed his hands up and down before excitedly pulling out his own box and ring. They laughed together.

They sealed their vows in front of a small gathering of friends and family a few months later.

They bickered as all married couples do, but nothing so small as arguments could change them.

Matt made daily coffee in the mornings. He always woke up before Gus did, and coffee was always ready by the time Gus came downstairs, wrapped in his favourite blanket and smiling slumberously. Two cream four sugars for Augustus, and Battery-Acid Black for Mattholomule. Gus greatly enjoyed reading. He read while cozy in bed and on the sofa in front of the fire with his husband. He loved the stories, because they weren't only made of words, they were made of life. He'd once read in a book somewhere that when it really mattered, there wasn't enough of it, time. He disagreed.

At the ages of thirty-two and thirty-three, Gus and Matt danced hand in hand to the lowly tunes of a record-player. They swooped and swayed, and as the song came to a one-note close, Mattholomule Porter dipped Augustus Porter into a kiss.

Augustus was thirty-seven years old when he began experiencing pain in his lower thigh. He wrote it off at first, until Mattholomule noticed. It impaired his walking, even though he would laugh and joke about growing old.

Gus was thirty-seven years old when he was diagnosed with Aggressive Onset dedifferentiated liposarcoma. Simply put, he had a tumor, which was growing.

Mattholomule learned that his husband was going to die before they turned forty.

They could buy more time by poisoning Gus' body. He became weak and his hair fell out in patches. He wore a beanie and a mustard yellow scarf. His eyes sunk into his skull and his skin turned grey. Some days he didn't have the energy to sit up in bed, so Matt spoke and read to him. He read poems and romance novels; he even made up his own stories.

Gus turned thirty-eight years old the week he learned the treatment wasn't working. All they could do now was address his pain.
After a month, he felt better.
After another month, he got worse.
He wrote and painted when he could. Matt took him outside to see the roses sometimes, though he couldn't go much further than that. Matt made him sweet hibiscus tea and hugged him close to the fire.

Gus Porter spent his last day in his bed at the window. He was sweating through his shirt, his uneven breathing eventually turned slow. Matt Porter sat holding his husband's frail hands in his own. He spoke softly about nothing in particular, and Gus listened.
Gus laid his head back on his pillows.
With tears in his eyes, Matt asked Gus if he feared death. Gus told him no, he did not.

Matt told him it was okay to go now, that he loved him and he'd done everything he was meant to do. He would be okay. It would be so difficult, and it would hurt like hell; but he would be okay.

In that moment, Augustus closed his eyes, and slept.

[Loppu]

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[925 Words]

Because a true romance isn't always happiness in the end. It is tragedy, and renewal. Because a good story makes the ending look like a new beginning.

Inspirations for this oneshot: Spoiler Alert, Under the Whispering Door, House in the Cerulean Sea, Beautiful Boy, BucketBrainrot's TSP illustrations, my British History teacher, Good Omens, A Teenager's Romance -Ricky Nelson, a Johnlock fanfic I read long ago, my Mom, Let it Unfold You -Charles Bukowski, The First to Die at the End, N.C.I.S, Heartstopper.

-Marcel