Rue Ryuzaki1313 here. I've taken notice that...Kames has been the only couple I've written for so far. I feel terrible at noticing the fact; I love Kames sure but Cargan as well so it's sad that I've been ignoring the couple and not oftering the same amount of love to it. So, here's a little oneshot for Cargan (dominant Logan for those interested; I see him as the dominant type like Kendall) for those interested...Disclaimer: I OWN NOTHING BUT THE PLOT OF THE ONESHOT AND ANY OCS USED AND/ OR MENTIONED... Sorry if this sucked, was lame, too short, or all of the above...! Sorry if there were any grammar mistakes made during the writing, creation, and polishing of this oneshot...! Warning: a little bit of a sad oneshot, fluff still, but sad in a while I guess...I cried while writing this, because this topic is dear to me and it hurts but also makes me love life so much...
Logan stared longingly outside the window, sights of free birds and an endless clear blue sky making his mocha eyes water in sadness.
How lucky the birds were, how lucky the sky was.
They flew without worries, the sky reached from sea to shining sea; they were free and allowed to travel the world as they wished.
How he wished he could spread his wings and fly too, fly far far away; how he wished he could kiss the clouds and only dream of what's ahead, the good things of what's ahead.
Instead of being here; instead of being condemned to this bed, having these rivers of tubes breathe into him whatever pinch of air he no longer had. Instead of being here, awaiting Death without being able to put much of a fight; instead of being here, watching life go on without him.
Logan Mitchell was slowly dying.
A kind, often shy, young scholar battling for his life at the scarce peak of nineteen years old.
Battling for his life, because of his heart.
His heart, it was failing him.
This has been going on for years; only now, however, have the doctors done an EKG to discover he had endocardial fibroelastosis: an overgrowth of fibrous tissue within and around the heart, which could cause heart failure, frequent attacks, or even early death. Logan and his parents had no idea he had this condition, for as a child he was relatively healthy and active; he walked and did light jogs almost every day, that carrying on as a young adult while trying to balance his waiter part-time job and college studies in the medical fields, for he aspired to become a doctor himself. It was until his car had broken down and he ran about thirty blocks to get to his job did he realize something was off within his body, for he had a odd (something strange for him, despite his length of track) shortness of breath, and his heart raced about four times faster than normal before he collapsed to the ground unable to breathe and blacking out almost as soon as he felt the ground touch his face.
How this condition went unnoticed for so long was beyond him, but the fact was that he was dying.
He was dying slowly but surely, bound to this bed until a heart that could be used to save him could be savaged. He's been on the donor list for a long time though, the young ravenette long since given up on salvation.
First off, how could this have gone unaccounted for? Not for weeks or months, but years? Was he doomed to die already, without getting a chance to fully live his life?
He here was, attached to cords and purring machines in order to remain alive, a week-old heart attack that left him brittle physically and mentally.
All he wished for now, is death. At least, it was less painful for him than to wait and wait for a miracle because...miracles don't exist. They're just lies people put up so that when worse came, they would have something pathetic to cling on to. Death was Death, Life was Life. No one and nothing could change that fact, so why even try? His family and friends believed in God that he would be spared, but not Logan; he was going to die, he might as well accept it.
"Whoa, sorry!" A voice made his train of thought shatter before his eyes, he turning his head to his room's ajar door.
A boy three years apart in age from him stood there, rather short with tousled black hair and wide brown eyes puppy, face innocent like a puppy. It made Logan sick to his stomach; why the hell was this kid coming in to rub it in his face, rub his face in the fact that he wasn't running on hourglass sand? Just how cruel can people be, damn it!
"What do you want?" Logan hissed, the boy's pale creme skin turning strawberry pink in sheepishness.
Cute, kind of cute...
'Where the hell did that thought come from? He's normal, I'm not! A reason enough to hate him!' Logan thought, scolding himself.
The boy must have noticed the change in his passive expression, for a thin eyebrow rose in a silent question, he daring enough to step over the door's frame and fully enter the older boy's room.
"Get the hell out."
"What's wrong? Are you okay, you looked like you were having fight with yourself just now." The boy pointed out; damn, he was observant, Logan will give him that.
"Nothing's wrong, now get out before I have someone remove you." Logan warned again, though his harsh shell started to crumble as the other paid no attention to his threat and continued forward.
He stopped at the ravenette's right-hand side, looking down at him in a mixture of concern and curiosity; what the hell was that look for? Did he enjoy looking at a sick-ridden person in bed, was he a sadist or something?
"I-I said, get ou-" Logan's growl was cut off when the other reached out with a thin, yet warm hand and caressed his hallow cheek. A shiver, a shock of unexplainable warmth washed over his icy skin at the other's touch, the boy taking the top right corner of the bed as a seat as his hand moved from Logan's face to his spiky, dark brown hair.
The warmth was spreading, it was reaching the crown of his skull to the very tips of his toes, filling up with an unknown feeling, a sensation he couldn't place a term to. It made him sluggishly close his eyes, allowing himself to feel...a scent? A scent he could breath not physically but spiritually (as strange as it seemed to him, it made sense) though every pore, every nerve.
"You're here, for your heart. Am I right?" The boy whispered, voice as light and soft as fallen feathers; he leaned closer to Logan, puppy eyes scanning over the vanilla pale boy's face; creased near the eyes due to stress and pure exhaustion, lips in a feeble yet stern line, eyebrows tight arrows over his now opening eyes.
Logan soon gaped at the boy, unable to muse his next question before a smile crossed the boy's lips.
"I was the same way too, my heart was too big for my chest cavity. I was to die last year, on my birthday from what the doctors suspected. But someone, with the help of God, saved me and now I'm able to live my life because someone was willing enough to give me a fighting chance. That person I thank every day, even if I won't get the chance to thank that person face-to-face. His family has become my family as well, because their son wanted to help people. He died in a car accident, most of his organs were still functioning to perfection and his last wish was for what God blessed him with when alive to be given to others. He wanted what God blessed him with to help others, to save people like me. Thanks to him and God, I'm here." He whispered to the slightly taller boy, tears of appreciation and admiration lacing his dark eyes.
Logan wanted nothing more than to glare and throw him out of the room, to spit in his face and tell him that those things (miracles) are just figments of people's faith! That they weren't real and that whatever he was saying, was just foolish and weak!
Yet, those eyes spoke no lies.
"I-I won't die...?" Logan couldn't help but ask, tears suddenly pouring (since when did he start crying?) down his cheeks; the boy cupped his face with both hands, leaning closer yet again so that their noses almost brushed.
"It's never too late for things to change, you have to hold on even if you feel like letting go. I wanted to let go so many times, so much during my months in a hospital like this but I couldn't. I still wanted to live, to be like everyone else. Not normal, because there's no such thing, but healthy. Healthy, safe, and sound. That transplant, it scared me at first to know that there was a 50-50 chance of me surviving but in the end it was worth it. I'm not saying that everything always falls into place the way way we would want them to, but in the end there's always something there for us. So don't give up, don't let this make you bitter inside, and let your soul keep fighting. Keep fighting, please." The boy pleaded, wiping at his and Logan's tears while offering another watery smile.
Logan stared at awe at the boy; he just came in here and started comforting him, giving him love and attention without even asking him of his name. Who was this...angel?
"W-Who are you?" He mustered to say, lips and tongue dry. The boy's smile grew a bit, cheeks splashed red from his sobs.
"Carlos, Carlos Garcia."
"I'm Logan, L-Logan Mitchell." Logan said, a dull pain in his torso not bothering him as much as the other dark-haired boy carefully worked his arms around him, the older boy choking a little on light laughs at hearing Carlos' heart beating; that heart, it saved this boy. Will another's heart save him too, like Carlos?
"I-I want to live."
"Then hold on, hold on to me if you have to." Carlos responded, smiling when the other cried quietly into his hard chest, hands gripping the front of his blue shirt.
"Don't leave me." Logan begged, surprised how his attitude and amount of hope had shifted so; no dark shadows in the back of his mind, praying for Death to come nor visions of nothingness pentrating his mind's eye.
"Te juro que no, I promise you I won't. I won't leave you, Logan." Carlos said, stroking the spiky locks as he hummed under his breath to lure the other to a peaceful rest.
Logan's eyes were closed before he finished the song, but he didn't let go even after a light snoring could be heard from his chest.
...
It felt, like he's only been asleep this whole time.
His nostrils flared (at least he thought they did) as air tickled his skin, mouth slacking open as he felt his brain catch up with his whole body; he felt light, a bit stiff but...no pain.
A sound, a sound coming from below; soft, relaxed and flowing like a stream.
What was it?
"Logan? Logie, can you hear me?" Carlos? His voice, where was it coming from?
"Logie?" His voice said again.
'Open, open my eyes.' Logan commanded mentally, he able to now feel his face and lips quivering.
Light, bright white light greeted him as he met the ceiling of a room; balloons, flowers and cards, his...family and friends there with teary eyes and hundred-watt smiles on?
"Ugh...C-Car..." His voice was raspy like a toad's croak but it was there, he was speaking. He winced and wriggled a bit; his hands, his legs, they were responding. They were wiggling and flexing, they were...moving. His head tilted about, mocha eyes searching and searching until he saw puppy brown eyes wet.
Carlos.
"C-Car...los." He worked out again, a confused smile on his lips when he saw the other looking close to bursting, in joy perhaps? Why, though?
"L-Logie, you survived." He said simply, leaning so that their faces were inches apart.
Survived, what? Logan's brain soon processed the hidden meaning of those words: the operation, his heart, he...he lived.
With a wobbly, weak arm the brilliant boy reached down his body until his fingertips leaped at that soothing beating coming from his chest, that flowing thumping sound.
It was coming from his chest; a heart...nay, his heart now was beating.
A building laugh soon left Logan, everyone joining in at seeing the happiness enlighting his mocha eyes.
"I-I'm alive. I lived, God saved me..." He admited, meeting gazes with Carlos who was tearing up as well, smiling as bright as a sun's ray through a lonely dawn.
"I knew you would make it, una vez mas Dios me ayudo. Again, God helped me. You're okay now, the transplant was a success and you're okay now, Logie. You're not gonna die, not for a long time." Carlos chided, Logan beckoning him closer so that their lips met softly.
Those lips, soft and warm and moist and not cold; they were tangible, had a light peppermint taste, and they were gentle to the smallest degree. They were warm with heat, with life and vigor, they were touchable by his own. The kiss wasn't a dream of his passing, the other's scent not of the faintest memories, his skin not the texture of old recalls nor his love a time with a limit.
It was real, here, no absence of anything sweet and pleasant.
"I love you." Logan whispered when they broke apart and stared into each other's eyes, a hand raising to the best of its ability to touch the younger boy's face. Carlos took the hand and made love to it with kisses and whispers of sweet nothings, slowly resting his head on the other's torso.
"Yo te amo tambien, con todo el alma." Carlos cooed, Logan stroking his hair lovingly. He ignored the others around them, ignoring the whole world but God above and Carlos.
"God, thank you. Thank you, for this second chance." Logan said, breathing deeply and smiling.
Another chance to live, to love.
Another chance to believe in miracles.
Another chance to be free.
To be free.
And, to be with Carlos.
Una vez mas, con su angel de la guardia.