A Spine-Tingling Story - TDG Fanfic

A Couple of Sick Guys

Finley Albaston was used to aches and pains. They were one out of many things that made him feel older than his teenage self. Everything from the annoying prick of the needle that began his chemo sessions to the relentless agony that woke him in the middle of the night as the cocktail of doxorubicin and vincristine and whatever else had been put into him attacked his bone marrow. These flare-ups often left a residual ache in his bones and joints that would cost him more spoons the next day and make it even harder to get out of bed.

Now, however, his dull ache and difficulty in getting up were for an entirely different reason.

Namely, the presence of Ryan's head resting against his bony chest and their hands somehow still loosely intertwined.

Finley had woken slowly, as he often did on weekends and after a rough night. Each layer of sleep had been gradually peeled off like an onion, revealing another, fresher layer underneath. Well, he seldom ever felt refreshed in the mornings, especially after a night like that when he was not only dealing with bone pain but trying to do so without disturbing his bunkmate.

Yet somehow, in spite of the weight of the other boy's head causing an ache in his chest, Finley actually welcomed waking up to this. While one of his hands was clasped with Ryan's, his other arm had somehow found its way around Ryan's back, thankfully avoiding the site of the astrocytoma. Ryan's own arm was draped around Finley's thin torso, held there by the natural human instinct to hold onto things in their sleep.

Despite the body language that was uncharacteristically intimate for someone like Ryan, Finley still welcomed it, for the very reason that it was so uncharacteristic. Ryan was not someone who easily or willingly let his guard down or wore his heart on his sleeve - which was understandable considering everything he'd been through - meaning he didn't exactly open himself up to trust either. Being in this position with him made Finley feel special, like he had cracked the code to the near-impenetrable safe that was Ryan's personal zone of openness and trust.

He wasn't exactly sure how he'd done it, but he was glad he had.

Taking advantage of the lazy morning (and the excuse to not move his sore joints), Finley let his gaze wander to the early morning sun streaming through the gap in the curtains, watching the specs of dust floating in the light. Today would be a rare pleasant day, weather-wise, in mid-September Britain - although Finley knew that no amount of sunshine could make Ryan feel better about having to go home later that day.

The thought turned his attention back to the sleeping boy on his chest. It wasn't fair that one kid had to endure all of that crap - the neglect, the gaslighting, the verbal abuse and now the lethal cancer. Even on the verge of terminal illness, Ryan was not weak by any means - a weak person wouldn't be able to come out of all of that and still have enough spirit to fight to keep himself alive - but the thought made Finley want to pull him closer to him, as if he could pull all the fractured pieces back together and shield him from the world so that nothing and no one could hurt him ever again.

In his musings, Finley hadn't realised that he had extracted his hand from Ryan's loose grip and started fingering Ryan's shiny, light brown hair. Hair was something of a fascination for Finley, having spent a large proportion of his life without his own. He'd used to do the same thing to Rosemary until she had started giving him dirty looks for it. Ryan's hair was a different experience, however - while Rosemary's was thick and strong and often got matted and tangled due to her haste in getting ready in the mornings, Ryan's was surprisingly soft and light, like downy feathers.

He was pulled out of his musings, however, when he noticed two glazed over brown eyes staring up at him.

"Oh, damn," he let out, quickly pulling his hand away. "Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you, I was just ..."