Person A in your OTP is an accomplished instrumentalist (pianist/guitarist). Meanwhile B is a poet. They have a platonic relationship at first. They decide to collaborate on making their own personal music album. B is in charge of the lyrics and A for the melody. Due to so many revisions (because of artistic differences and etc.), it took them years to complete the songs, but their relationship developed into something "more than friends".
B didn't know that A has a terminal illness. They only find out when they are working on the last song of their album. A mutual friend (can be person C) calls from the hospital to inform B that A doesn't have much time left. They arrive just in time to be able to talk to B one last time. Before A dies, they hand B a cased CD.
Because of depression/mourning of A's death, it takes B a month before they could check the CD out. One day, they play it on the car's CD player while driving. They hear A's voice singing the words beautifully with A's chosen instrument. B stops the car and breaks down.
The sounds of guitar music filled the small room as Bog played. Marianne sat in the wheeled office chair with her legs up, her writing pad leaned against her legs as she smiled listening. There was nothing she liked better than listening to Bog play and sing. His voice moved through her very soul. Their album was nearly completed. She had all the lyrics written and Bog was writing the music. She watched him play, his long fingers strumming the guitar strings and her heart soared with the music. They had been friends for a while and they had worked on this album for a couple of years together. Now she knew her feelings were stronger than friendship. It had taken what seemed like an eternity to admit their feelings to each other, but since doing so a few days past, she had been nothing but happy. She loved him.
He glanced up at her, a lock of his dark hair fell over his forehead. His blue eyes were bright as he smiled at her. He sang the words, directed at her, only for her. That smile told her he felt the same way she did. They never needed the words really, but just hearing the way he sang them, the feelings he pulled from each sentence, made her heart ache to kiss him.
Bog finished, the music hung in the air for a moment as if it danced around them both.
She noticed that Bog looked a bit pale; he had been looking pale for a few weeks. He told her it was just that he hadn't been sleeping well, a small cold, but Marianne also noticed he didn't eat very much. She walked over to where he sat on the stool, removed the guitar from his lap to slip into his arms.
"You sang and played that beautifully." She smiled as her fingers moved through his hair. Bog closed his eyes, a gentle turn of his lips on his long face at her touch.
"Well, the words you wrote were a masterpiece."
Bog opened his eyes to look at her tenderly and then whispered, "I love you, Marianne."
She leaned down and kissed him, a soft brush of lips.
"I love you too, Bog.
The following week they were sitting together in the small studio. It belonged to a friend of Marianne's who let them use it to record. They had papers spread out and Bog's guitar rested on his lap as they struggled with the last song. The poem was a love song that Marianne had written after realizing she loved Bog. She was having a difficult time turning it into a song and Bog was still working on the last bits of melody when he coughed. She sat up as Bog lost control and one cough turned into a fit of hacking and wheezing.
Marianne grabbed his guitar away to try to help him. After what seemed forever, Bog, clearly weakened by the attack, leaned against her. It was then that she noticed just a trace of blood on his lips. "Oh my god, Bog! What is going on?"
He smiled faintly. "It's nothing."
She cupped his face between her hands, forcing him to look up at her. "It is not nothing. Tell me what is going on? You have been looking so thin and pale."
He chuckled derisively. "How you could tell the difference?"
Marianne's lips thinned as she glared at him. "Bog."
He put his hands up in surrender. "Fine. The doctor says I'm sick."
She felt herself go cold as she whispered. "How sick?"
Bog looked up at her his smile small, his voice quiet. "Very."
Marianne stared at him as if she couldn't understand him. He grabbed her hands in his, she could feel how cold they were. "I don't want us to think about it. I want to live in the now and I want to finish this album with you." He pulled her closer, wrapping his arms around her waist. Marianne pulled him against her, feeling his breathing against her stomach, alive, here, with her, now.
"Alright," she murmured leaning down to kiss the top of his dark hair.
Bog's health went down hill quickly, as if her knowing sped him along. It was late on evening when she got home. She and Bog had finished the song and Bog was going to record it the next day. They had kissed and she had invited him to stay in her apartment that night, but he turned her down, telling her he had a few things to take care of in the morning, but he would be over later to take her out to dinner. The kiss was passionate, but it had left her feeling hollow.
The phone rang early the next morning, too early for good news. Groggily she grabbed the phone, almost dropping it as she hit the answer button. "Hello?"
"Oh, Marianne. You need to get down to the hospital."
It was Bog's mother, Griselda.
"What, what's happened?" Marianne sat straight up in bed, the room feeling like ice.
"Bog collapsed. Honey, you need to hurry."
Marianne didn't bother to dress. She slipped on some shoes and raced out of her apartment, fumbling with the keys to her car and putting herself in danger of a speeding ticket. She got to the hospital, almost running blindly through the halls until she finally stopped herself to ask about Bog. She was led to a room; the nurse was quiet as she opened the door and showed her inside.
The room was nearly silent except for the sounds of monitors and the soft sobbing of Bog's mother. She looked up when the door opened and hurried over to embrace Marianne. Marianne didn't really see her; her were eyes glued to the figure in the bed. Bog was hooked up to IV's and monitors. He looked so pale and thin as if he was sinking into the bed, disappearing from her life.
Bog moved just a little, his eyes fluttered open and he smiled when he saw her.
"Marianne."
Griselda moved, patting Marianne's arm before she stepped outside to let them be alone. Marianne hurried over, taking his hand in hers and held on tightly.
"Bog, don't do this, please. You can't leave me."
He gave her a thin smile.
"I don't think I have a choice, love."
He reached up with his other hand and stroked his fingers down her cheek.
"You are so beautiful."
She tried not to cry, but the tears came regardless of her wishes. She leaned down to kiss him softly as his long fingers touched her hair. When she pulled away, Bog was still smiling at her.
"I have something for you," he whispered.
She could tell it was taking a lot of strength for him to speak. He pointed over to where she saw his jacket. She didn't want to let go of his hand, but she did as he asked and looked in the pocket. There. Inside, was a CD. She came back over to the bed with it.
"What is it?"
He smiled weakly. "Our album."
Her bottom lip trembled. "But the last song?"
His eyes softened as he whispered. "I finished it tonight. That's where I was. I wanted to surprise you."
He reached for her hand again, his grip weak as he whispered, "Always remember that I love you. My love is neverending."
She kissed his fingers and in that moment he exhaled softly, his eyes slipped shut, the heart monitor flat-lined. Marianne felt the life leave him. She squeezed his hand, staring at his face unable to move.
The next weeks were a blur. Marianne did not remember much, just the constant pain in her chest, the moving stream of people saying things to her that she didn't hear. She moved through her days in a haze. Not sleeping much, not eating, it was as if she was only a shell. The CD in her purse was forgotten. She spent her days simply existing.
It was a month or so since Bog's passing. She was driving to visit with her sister. She had felt dead inside since that night at the hospital. Everything she did, she did on automatic, not really feeling anything. She reached over into her purse to pull out her phone, just in case Dawn called, but instead she pulled out the CD Bog had given her the day he died. She stared at it for a moment and then slowly opened it, slipping it into her CD player.
She smiled as she listened, remembering the day each song was recorded, the struggles working together, which song they shared their first kiss over, their first night of love-making, the gentle, almost worshipful way he had made love to her that first night, but then the last song started to play. She remembered writing the lyrics with him while he leaned over her shoulder playfully nibbling at her ear and just constantly distracting her, making her laugh.
The song was about their new love, the way they felt about each other, their future together. Bog sang, playing his guitar softly. It was raw and it was very real, filled with all the love and longing he had only for her. Even though he was gone, she could feel him singing it, right then, right now, to her, as if he sat in the seat beside her.
Marianne stared out her windshield listening to his voice as his playing fill the car, filled her soul, until she could not see the road ahead of her, her vision obscured by tears. She had to pull the car over. She yanked the steering wheel to the right with a hard twist and slammed on the brakes, cars behind her laying on their horns. She held onto the steering wheel as if it was the only thing that kept her in this moment, her knuckles had gone white as she held on. Finally, after the many weeks since Bog's death, Marianne let herself truly grieve. His voice sang to her of the love they shared, of the love that would only exist between her and Bog.
His love for her was neverending.