It all started with stupid nose bleeds. That was really the first thing that Riff noticed was wrong.
Or at least the thing he couldn't explain away with possibly and probable irrational logic.
Looking back, Riff guessed there had been other signs.
He'd have random, somewhat sporadic fevers for a little over two months. They came and went so fast though he was able to forget them, shrugging them off like they were nothing before the next one appeared.
He found he'd had to pierce another hole in his belt to try and keep his pants up. His shirts seemed a little roomier than normal too. Riff just chalked it up to having a super active summer, playing around with Jets, messing with the Sharks, running through alleyways whooping and hollering how the Jets would always be number one.
Then there were the night sweats. He'd wake up, in the middle of the night, drenched to the point where he had to not only change his clothes, but change his sheets as well.
He was somewhat relieved that he and Bernardo weren't actively doing whatever the hell it was they did whenever the mood struck them. Waking up feeling and looking like he'd just jumped into a swimming pool probably would kill the mood. Besides, it just made him feel like a fucking hot mess.
Not that Bernardo hasn't already seen Riff a mess-he had, in more ways than one-but that was besides the point….
But yeah…it was the nosebleeds that made Riff question something actually might be wrong.
Maybe because his nose gushing out his own blood like a goddamn open fire hydrant wasn't something Riff could hide from everyone else.
The first nosebleed came when he was playing basketball with some of the Jets. He had called a time out-tossing himself down on one of the benches, feeling completely exhausted. He was unable to catch his breath and was sweating something awful. Which was odd because Riff wasn't typically a sweaty guy by nature and he hardly ever got winded.
When he'd finally caught his breath, and his heartbeat was not pounding in his ears, he sat up only to discover blood pouring out of his nose, into his lap.
"Damn, Riff man." Action said walking up and slapping him on the back. "That don't look normal."
"I just got whacked with the basketball." Riff shrugged, the lie rolling off his tongue with ease, "No biggie. I'm alright."
Action, who knew this wasn't true, frowned and was about to say otherwise when he was tackled by Diesel from behind, thus distracting him from the argument that was for sure brewing at the tip of his tongue.
Riff had several more nosebleeds, some when he was alone and others he explained with simple explanations. Luckily none of them had been in front of Tony and none of the other Jets seemed to question his insane stories of why he suddenly bled like a stuck pig.
The worst nose bleed came about three weeks later. That damn nose bleed that would end up changing Riff's life as he knew it.
Riff had been hanging at Doc's, waiting for Tony to finish up his work day. He'd been spending time taking great pleasure in rearranging things that Valentina was setting out. He was pocketing some, but mainly just mixing things up. Valentina was too busy harping on his and Tony's choices to pay much attention. It was when he reached for the yoyos that the floodgates opened and blood started pouring out of his nose again.
At first Riff just tried to play it off like it was normal, that it was no big deal. But Valentina, being the pain in the ass that she's always been wasn't buying his, "I ran into a door this morning routine". She simply frowned at him as well as his bullshit excuse as he held his readily handy handkerchief up to his nose. Her eyes widened as it filled with blood.
The problem was this time, Riff couldn't get his damn nose to stop bleeding. He stood there, in the middle of Doc's store now holding the towel Valentina had handed him, watching in horror as that filled with blood too.
"Sit down." Valentina ordered him, practically yanking him to one of the bar stools. "I'm going to get Tony."
She left momentarily, only to have Tony appear next to her a few minutes later, concern written all over his face. That goddamn beautiful face that Riff fell asleep thinking about each night.
"I'm calling an ambulance." Valentina said, leaving them both, her accent stronger than normal, like it does when she's either pissed or scared. RIff couldn't even protest as Tony swapped out the towel that had been draped over his shoulder, slapping at Riff's hands as Tony himself now held the towel up to the goddamn waterfall of blood that showed no sign of stopping.
Finally, after they'd gotten to the hospital and were settled into a room, the bleeding stopped. Tony insisted they stay for a while, thus allowing the nurse-who Tony shamelessly flirted with much to Riff's dismay-to draw some blood. Afterwards, Riff managed, using his best and most reassuring grin to talk Tony outta leaving before they saw the doc again, promising on his life he'd come back if anything else happened.
It had been about three days since his last visit without any real concerns (or concerns that Riff saw as concerns-the three other nose bleeds didn't count or the fever he'd spiked outta nowhere the night before) so he just planned on moving on with his life.
Unfortunately for him, Tony had been the one to fill out the paperwork that day-it's kinda hard to write when you got your hand to your gushing bloody nose-and had ended up writing down the number for Doc's instead of Riff's own number.
An error that was probably not an actual error on Tony's part.
So, naturally, Tony had been the one to get a call this morning that it was urgent Riff come back in to be seen; something about concerns over his blood work. Hence why Tony had shown up at Riff's apartment, his face ashen with concern, and dragged him, practically kicking and screaming back into the hospital.
So that's how and why Riff found himself sitting in the waiting room of the damn emergency room one Tuesday morning.
Once Riff had been put into an exam room, the doctor from the other night came into the room, followed by a tired looking nurse. The doctor did a quick look over before he settled into a chair, rolling it directly in front of Riff, his face serious.
"I'm guessing you haven't been feeling very well, young man." He said, his voice so somber, Riff made a note to mock him later to Action.
"I'm fine." Riff shrugged, pulling his torn button up overshirt on, getting ready to make a beeline for the door..
"Have you noticed unexplained bruises?" The doctor asked, concern written all over his face.
Riff paused. He did have bruises. All over his body. Up his arms, down his legs, on his lower back.
Riff had shrugged it off as rough housing with Tony and the other guys, or maybe battle wounds from minor playground scuffles with a Shark or two. But the truth was he had no real explanations for the ugly watercolor blue, purple, and yellow marks that littered his body. He knew no amount of rough housing would make him look like he did. He looked beat to shit.
In fact, He hadn't been this banged up since before his pops went to jail. But no one was hitting Riff these days. So he had no explanation for why he looked like he went a round or two in a boxing match.
"I can tell by your face that's a yes." The Doctor cleared his throat, "How about unexplained weight loss….night sweats…extreme fatigue….fevers?"
"Maybe a little." Riff shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck. It freaked him out that this doctor, who he's only met one other time, seemed to know everything he'd been feeling lately.
"I'm sorry to have to tell you this," The doctor said his face grave, "But your bloodwork, as well as all your other symptoms confirm my suspected diagnosis. I believe you have leukemia Riff."
Riff fell silent, his mouth shut for once. He knew all about cancer. His Ma died of cancer when he was twelve.
His ma, who he loved more than anything. His ma who loved and accepted him just the way Riff was. His ma who always did her best to protect him from his pops.
"We have do a spinal tap for confirmation and to determine the type, but I feel confident that my diagnosis is correct. Your blood counts are way off. I suggest after we do the spinal tap, you're going to want to start treatment right away. It'll give you the best possible outcome."
"Do you want me to get your friend for you?" The nurse, who had remained silent spoke up, "Support is very important when you've just received this type of news."
Damn…Tony…Riff's heart dropped slightly. How the hell was he going to tell Tony?
Tony, who was the only other person in his life, besides his ma, who Riff felt he could let his guard down around. The second it was just the two of them, Riff could always feel himself loosen up, falling head over heels over himself in the amazingness that was Tony.
It was like Tony had some damn magic wand to make Riff's crappy, sharp tongued, "you can just go fuck yourself" attitude disappear. Riff would be who he was maybe meant to be if he'd been born somewhere else. He'd be who he coulda shoulda woulda been in a whole other life.
Tony was the only one who knew him through and through. The Jets only knew bits and parts of him, but it was only the bits and parts Riff was comfortable with them seeing.
Tony, who knew all those bits and pieces too of course, but Tony also knew the rest of him.
He knew intimate things.
He knew how lost Riff was without his mother.
How close he'd been with her.
How hard he'd cried, and still cries, over her.
It wasn't that Riff was ashamed at how much he loved his ma, it was more it was too painful to share that with anyone else.
And where everyone else knew Riff's pops was a real sonofabitch, only Tony had seen the damage done after a beating.
Only Tony had seen the battle wounds.
Only Tony had cleaned the scars that tore and broke open on Riff's skin, trying to make Riff whole again.
How the fuck was he going to tell Tony?
Tony, who Riff thought was the most beautiful person on the planet.
Tony, who he thought about, desired, and longed for.
Tony, his best friend who he loved.
Tony, who he was in love with ever since Riff could remember.
"Yeah…" Riff swallowed down the lump that suddenly formed in his throat, "Could ya?"
The nurse nodded, scurrying out of the room. The doctor got up putting his hand on Riff's shoulder, before exiting himself.
Riff got up from his seat, nervously glancing at the pamphlets that littered the exam rooms walls. His mind racing, blank, and numb all at the same time.
It was only when he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror above the sink did he let out the shaky breath he'd been holding in.
Riff was gonna die. And there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it.
