A Star for Baby (boyxboy)

Vulpecula

"Shit Baby," Oliver said.

"I'm sorry," Baby wept. "I'm so so so sorry Oliver, please don't leave me."

"I'm not going anywhere," Oliver whispered gutturally into Baby's neck. "You're stuck with me for a long, long time."

Baby buried his face in Oliver's chest, smelling that familiar smell that was only Oliver. He held on tight, unwilling to let go.

"I love you," he said, tears running rampant and probably soaking Oliver's shirt.

"I love you too," Oliver told him.

They stood in the doorway like that for a whole three minutes. Oliver must have eventually decided that it was too much to keep standing in their pajamas in full view of their neighbors, because he helped Baby inside. Baby refused to let go of him, just loosening his grip a little so they could move. They made their way to the couch. Baby knew Oliver was going to try and talk to him about what had just happened, but he didn't want to talk about what had just happened. Baby just wanted to go to sleep, cuddled in Oliver's arms and focusing on anything other than dying.

But the first thing that came out of Oliver's mouth wasn't accusatory, or even referencing their fight.

"Are you alright?" Oliver asked him. "How is your chest feeling?"

Baby sniffed, but didn't look up from his huddled position. He decided to tell the truth. There was no point in holding anything back anymore.

"Bad," Baby said. "My lungs suck."

"Dumb lungs, leave my boyfriend alone."

"I'm your husband, idiot."

"Dumb lungs, leave my husband alone."

"Thank you."

"Are they really bad? Do we need to go to the hospital?" Oliver asked.

Baby took stock. Every inhale had become a sharp stab in his chest, and the stars at the edges of his vision had grown considerably. He knew he wasn't sucking enough oxygen in. A cough suddenly wracked his body, and it felt different than the rest. Fuck.

"I'm probably going to pass out in like fifteen minutes," Baby admitted.

"Holy shit what?"

Oliver sat up from the couch, taking Baby with him. He took Baby's face gently into his hands, searching his face. Baby's eyes fluttered shut. How had he ever expected to be able to live without this touch?

"Baby fuck, are you alright now?"

"Yeah, I'm really really good right now," Baby murmured, smiling at Oliver.

"Your lungs, you sap," Oliver teased.

"I... could use a cannula."

"That's all I need to hear," Oliver said.

"What-- hey!"

Oliver swept Baby up in his arms, proceeding to carry him out of the apartment. Baby couldn't complain too much. If he'd tried to walk the distance he would've passed out by the time they reached the car.

"For future reference, I don't think we should fight anymore. My lungs don't like crying that much," Baby said.

"I'm not the one who started it," Oliver pointed out as he dropped Baby in the passenger seat. "But I agree."

Baby winced. "I'm sorry Oliver."

"I know sweetheart," Oliver said. "Do you... did you mean what you said?"

Baby searched Oliver's big brown eyes, and realized the fear that still swam there. His heart clenched. He'd really fucked up, hadn't he?

"Oliver, I don't want you to leave," he whispered. "I don't. I was trying to keep you from being hurt, but you were right. I can't control who you love. I'm just really fucking terrified."

"You're not going to die Baby," Oliver told him fiercely. "You're not."

Baby swallowed. The fire in his chest was growing, and the fear that had gripped him ever since his diagnosis made itself known in the back of his closed throat.

"Let's get to the hospital," he said, turning away from Oliver's worried face. "I really would like to breathe again."

"One cannula coming right up."

So Oliver got in the car, and they started down the, by now familiar, road to the hospital.

*

"So you can carry this around with you," the nurse was saying. "I've given all the instructions to Oliver, since he'll probably be helping you work it and change it at first. I'll send you home with a couple weeks supply of cylinders. You'll have to come in after they run out to get more."

"How often do we change it out?" Oliver asked.

"See the pressure gauge on the side here?" the nurse pointed to the oxygen tank. "When the needle gets in the red, it's time to change. This is an M cylinder, and Baby will be getting a half flow rate, so it'll probably last about four to five days."

Oliver asked another question, then, and Baby started to tune them out. Oliver always had questions. Sometimes Baby kind of dozed in this state of not caring, just breathing. Because with the cannula in he could breathe. Not perfectly, not like he used to be able to. But it was better than without it. He leaned back in the wheelchair, thinking about their fight.

He didn't like just sweeping it under the rug, but it was easier than trying to go into it all. Baby was just so tired. He didn't know how many hours he'd been awake now, and all the crying and the moving was really starting to take its toll. He just hated it. He hated how hopeless immobility made him.

He picked at the arm of the wheelchair absentmindedly while the nurse and Oliver talked. Looking down, he'd realized he'd chipped off some of the black plaster with his fingernail. Damn, he hoped the hospital wouldn't charge him for that. They were already in enough of a financial hole as is. Then, Baby noticed, his negligent scratching hadn't been the only thing carved into the arm of the chair. He leaned forward, trying to discern the words someone had carved there.

Am I unhappy because I'm not free, or not free because I'm unhappy?

The words stared back at Baby from their chicken scratched place in the plaster. Baby looked at them for a long time, a strange stirring in his gut.

"Baby? Are you okay?" Oliver asked him.

Baby blinked out of his stupor.

"Yeah," he said. "I just think I figured out what I'm going to do tomorrow."