Live On (Olilen)

One-Shot

This is my entry for Oliver_Kagamine's contest. Point out my mistakes please.

Third-person

Oliver lays in his hospital bed all alone, he's always alone. No one feels comfortable touching him. Not because he's contagious, because he's fragile. He's unstable. He's depressed. He's dying, and not one person can change that. Oliver lays and watches as his parents speak with the doctor for the hundredth time today. Possibly the millionth time in general. He's not surprised, he only wishes the time they spend with the doctor was exchanged with the time spent with him. Oliver can't seem to remember the last time he and his parents went out to dinner together. He can't remember the last time him and his dad went out to ice cream, or him and his mom cooked dinner together. He can, however, remember all the desperate 'I love you's' shared with him. That's all they say to him as if it was the last time they'd ever talk. Everyday he was closer to death and he knew that, but every time he asked they'd denied him with a 'You'll be fine sweetie!' What a fucking lie.

Oliver tore his gaze away from the three in the hallway and looked outside the window. He could only dare to dream to one day go outside again. Take in the fresh air, run through the fields of wild flowers and trees, roll around in the soft grass or play in the mud, maybe climb a tree. But no, his wishes were rejected. For two years, throughout his losing fight with cancer, he had only made it outside perhaps six or seven times. Pathetic right? He wanted to run, yet he could barely walk. He wanted roll around, yet he could barely move with pain. He wanted to smell fresh air, yet he could barely breathe. How pitiful, to fail in a natural human talent, a baby could breathe but Oliver could not. That made him cry.

If you want to think he deserved this in some way, he didn't. He's merely 12 yet death seems to have no problem harvesting his poor, innocent soul. He never got a chance live, never had a chance to travel, complete school, find love, get married, have kids. The only thing keeping him above water, keeping him alive, keeping him away razors or pills, keeping him from ending his own life, is Len Kagamine.

They've been together for three years now, perhaps they've deemed themselves boyfriends without the full knowledge of what it really means but they do love each other. Even if they're twelve and fourteen. Considering Oliver's condition, maturing was something he was forced to do and emotions came with that. Love, anger, sadness, happiness, depression.

Oliver shook his head as suggestive [suicidal] thoughts swirled his already medicated head. How could Oliver possibly leave the love of his life? The only person to make him feel human? The only person who doesn't treat him like he's dying. Speak of the Devil and he shall show.

Len walked in with some red roses, he set them aside on the nightstand as he made his way to Oliver's bed. He gently sat on the edge and gripped Oliver's hand. It was cold and slightly leathery, a side affect to all the medication mixed with heavy anti-depressant pills. A sight truly the opposite of beautiful. Oliver was pale and shiny, his eyes were bloodshot and dry, his lips were chapped and peeling, his skin was dry and flaky, his hair was dull and thin. He was a sight nobody could look at without flinching. What's more annoying is his heavy breathing, lung cancer really changes a person.

Len didn't care though, looks fade but personality does not, so of course he wouldn't bail because of his appearance. To prove even a fraction of that, he leaned in and pecked Oliver's forehead, then lips. He smiled against Oliver's lips, Oliver smiled too. He wiggled and squirmed to sit up without pulling or yanking on all the wires and IV's connected to him. He was already starting to look more human upon Len's arrival only. Len chuckled and scooted up to lay next to Oliver. He wrapped his arms around Oliver's small figure, squeezing softly.