Namesake for this story is Casimir Pulaski Day by Sufjan Stevens.
In the morning, Jim was reading. It was too early for him to be up, and Spock told him as much, but the other boy simply smiled his soft, weary smile, and continued to read. The light streamed in from the window, and fell over Jim's shoulders like a blanket. Spock curled up next to him, and simply watch his lover read.
They'd tried everything they could, at this point, and things were as they were. Bible studies offered no effect, and all of the prayers just made Jim's head hurt. People were all trying, but Jim had accepted his fate. Cancer settled in slowly, taking over each of Jim's bones like stream meandering to a river. Each day, Spock watched his closest friend, and first love, fade away more and more. To Spock, he was still as beautiful as the first day they'd met, in eighth grade, when Jim had run a finger over his ear and smiled cheekily at him.
Spock knew that he was gone at the first touch, with the flash that crossed his eyes when Jim's hand made contact. It was a trick of the light, he told himself, but he couldn't get rid of the warmth that spread all over his body whenever Jim came near, whispered to him, held him. They were inseparable, nothing would ever come between them, Jim said, and Spock was stupid enough to believe him.
Except this.
This illness, this hurt that curled in Spock's stomach and kept him up late most nights, watching Jim sleep through the computer screen after the boy forgot to end their video call, this pain that made Jim cry after each treatment, and Spock felt the pain too, and tried to take away Jim's as much as he could.
This anger, the rage that filled them both, and sometimes Jim would drive too fast and too recklessly, and Spock would make him stop, and they would pull over and roar at each other. They roared until there was nothing left, nothing but pure emotions left over from the rage that they displayed instead of the sadness and they drove back with only the sound of Jim's wheezing.
The night before Jim was to go to the hospital, Spock stayed over. He stalked down his stairs in the dark, and slipped out into the night, moving silently. Two houses down, he climbed into Jim's window and they held each other. It was all that Spock planned on doing until Jim turned toward him and whispered in the dark, saying that he was scared and that things were happening much too fast. Spock suggested that they go slow, and Jim kissed him like it was his last day on Earth.
That night, they whispered each other's names and did everything they could think of, making sure to pleasure each other in every way. Years later, Spock was so glad that it happened, that his first love was able to make love to him, and he was able to love him back. In the morning, Jim left for the hospital. Spock held him, and kissed him against Winona's car, and Jim whispered for Spock not to follow him, no matter what happened. Spock stated that he would follow Jim to the end of the Earth, to which Jim simply smiled and said that he could wait there.
Years later, Spock remembered standing on Jim's curb, watching the car drive away, and thinking about how Jim's shoes were untied, like always, and who would tie them for him in the hospital? He always did that.
It happened on a Sunday, of all days. Spock was cleaning up some of Jim's things, preparing to take them to the hospital, when he found the letter. It was addressed to him, and in it, Jim told him the truth. When Spock's mother heard a crash and came to see him, she found the boy sobbing on the floor, and a letter that said Jim was tired of fighting it. Jim said, I love you, and I'm done.
By the time they'd arrived at the hospital, Jim was in the ICU with no visitors allowed. It wasn't until the nurse ran in and told them that Spock looked outside and saw the flowers.
The funeral was on March 1st, a week and a half later. Spock stood by his love's grave and tried to fill the hole in his heart. He'd never have another, he'd told his mother that morning as they sat on the staircase, and Spock wiped his own face. His mother held him close and stayed silent. All he does is take, and take, and take, Spock had cried. His mother pulled him in closer.
As the Vulcan lowered the daffodils onto the grave, he looked down, and saw that his shoes were untied. A slow warmth came over Spock, and just as promptly, left.
He stared at his shoes, and after a long pause, knelt down and tied them.