He doesn't know who to not tell first, since the choices seem absolutely endless to him right now.
He could tell his parents who told themselves every night that they were ready to lose their boy, that it wouldn't tear them to pieces, even though they knew they both lied to each others faces.
i "Mom, Dad? We need to talk."
They smile at him but their unease is obvious. Their son looks distraught, like he's been up for days, tormented by this knowledge that he's finally going to reveal to them.
"I…"
They listen as he fumbled for his words, striving to put a sentence together until he takes a breath and pulls a paper from his back pocket, unfolding it and handing it to his mother.
After they find out, neither speaks to him for three whole days, that is until his mother finally calls and he can tell that she's been crying… /i
He could tell his friends, who had cried as if he were already gone the day he told them and then continued to live like he was there only in memory.
i Their smiles are all forced, tear streaks still prevalent on a few of their faces, and he wonders if everyone looks that ugly when they smile that way, or if everyone finds this sort of thing beautiful. The diner is crowded, but it's better that way, it reminds them that at least something around them is alive.
The conversation is sparse at first, the occasional "So, I've heard…" or "I saw the weirdest thing..."
When their food finally comes, he wonders how many of the people around him consider this a feast for the dead. /i
He could tell the lover that waited for him back at the apartment who'd not actually wanted to get involved at all, until he found out that they both had it, then it didn't really matter because they were both going to die anyway, right?
i This kisses are desperate and their words more than that. It isn't about love, what they've got going on, it's more of just escape, a way to forget that things have gone to shit and they may as well be in Hell, because things probably aren't going to get much worse
But they forget that things can always get worse.
They tried so hard to not be human, to be anything even if it just turned out to bet mouths, hands, skin and words that held no meaning which was most important of all because this wasn't about meaning and it never could be
They didn't have time for meaning anymore. /i
He could tell them, the group of people who had become so much of a family it was sad. The group that he'd assured so many times before, the group that had turned into more of a lifeline then anything else.
i They all look awkward and scared in their little circle and he can tell a few of them want to just get up and leave right now but they don't have anywhere else to go and it's starting to rain outside, so they try and make themselves as comfortable as they can.
A few of them are young, younger than he had really expected, and he bites his lower lip, unsure of what to do, even though he'd gone over this entire thing in his head at least six times before he got here.
A voice pulls him
from his thoughts and he blinks a few times trying to register what
the young woman before him has said.
"Perhaps," she says a bit louder, apparently thinking that he had not heard her even if she'd been sitting right there. "We should introduce ourselves?" /i
Paul Morse isn't sure why he feels so sick right now, why the bile keeps rising up in his throat and he feels like he should sit down before his legs give in. The paper is clutched in one hand and the other holds onto the wall for support, something he knows he won't be able to get anywhere else right now.
He fears that he's wasted everyone's support already.
He looks at the paper again, looks at what should be the best thing in his life and feels only sicker, even a little scared, at the sight.
But he can't stand there for much longer because it's a Tuesday and he's got obligations; his parents are coming into the city later and he needs to meet a friend to pick something up.
"I'm gonna go."
He looks up and smiles softly at Gordon who watches him with eyes that shouldn't be able to look at him like that. In fact, neither of them should be looking at the other they way they are, with something that might just be love but it could just be lust, or even fear, dressed up for church.
Gordon knows not to ask questions, Paul will tell him in time, and instead moves to press a kiss against his cheek, not mentioning the lingering taste of salt as he licks his lips "I love you."
Paul smiles weakly but doesn't say anything.
"I'll see you at the meeting."
And he is left alone with his paper once again, so he folds it and sticks it in his pocket, hands still shaking, and grabs his coat. He's got things to do today, and he can't waste the time he's got, no matter how much or how little it is.