I'm dying. Holy fuck, I'm going to die.

I don't want to die. Please God, please don't let me die here, I want to be in my bed, I want to die in my bed, I don't want to die here and everything hurts and I'm going to die.

"Lovino?"

That's a fucking angel. That's an angel about to welcome me to the fucking—front part of heaven. With the door. The door of heaven.

"I don't want to die," I said.

"What?" the angel asked, sounding concerned. Fucking nice of that angel, being all sympathetic and nice as he's welcoming me to heaven. I really don't want to die.

"I don't want to die," I repeated, louder. "Please, God."

It hurt to talk.

"Ah, don't cry, Lovino! You're okay."

This angel didn't seem to comprehend what I was saying to him. It's not okay. I am dying. I am even, probably, already fucking dead.

"Help me."

"Ah…" The angel's face swam in front of my eyes. He was cute, and I felt like I knew him, but he had a very nice face. At least it wasn't a fugly angel welcoming me to the doors of heaven.

"It's me, Antonio."

A rush of relief hit me like a fist. It was Antonio, thank God. I wouldn't have to die alone. But that meant Antonio had also died. He was also in pain.

"No," I tried to say, but it didn't really sound like that. My tongue wasn't cooperating, flopping around in my mouth. "Save yourself, Antonio!" I tried, louder, because fuck, if it was louder, then maybe he could understand me and we wouldn't have to die together.

But I also don't want to be in heaven alone.

Antonio stopped holding my hand, and I felt like an idiot. Why had I told him to go away? Now I was—

"He seems like he's in distress," Antonio's voice floated nearer. "He keeps yelling and crying randomly. Is he okay?"

Another, annoying, chipper voice that cut right into my head replied: "Oh, yes, that's just the medication we use. He'll be a little out of it—"

"Shut up," I tried, because now I had a headache.

"He'll be a little out of it for a while, but this behavior is completely normal. Give him an ice cream and he'll be right as rain!" The voice laughed, annoyingly.

"Shut up," I repeated.

Antonio laughed loudly and squeezed my hand. "Haha, I guess the medication makes him grumpy! You didn't really mean to say that, did you, Lovino?"

I tried to say, "Fuck yeah I meant to," but it came out more like "Fucksjdffhr."

I looked at Antonio, and I became aware that I was crying. My mouth hurt, and I couldn't feel my tongue. This was the worst day ever, and it was all fucking Antonio's fault. Probably. I was probably in the ER. Fucking—Antonio and I don't even have insurance, we only have dental.

My tongue flopped uselessly in my mouth.

Wisdom teeth.

Antonio wiggled my hand. "Do you remember where we are?"

We were at the mother fucking dentist.

"Weh aht thah dehist."

Antonio smiled and nodded slowly, like he did when he had no fucking clue what was going on. "We're at the dentist's office!"

Annoying nurse returned. "Alright, well, he seems conscious enough to send home." She seemed a lot less chipper, and my headache thanked her. "Are you able to make it out to the car okay?"

"Hm? Oh, yes, I should be fine. He's pretty light."

Fucking Antonio, making me look bad.

He neared, trying to loop my arm around his neck. Fuck him. I struggled away, swinging my legs to the other side of the bed. Antonio made a funny noise at the back of his throat, and we were stuck that way. I kicked my legs, and Antonio's grasp loosened.

I fell on the ground on my ass. It hurt, and I bit my tongue, and that hurt and didn't hurt. I was on the dirty ground and my tongue was bleeding. Tears welled up in my eyes. I started to cry.

Antonio crouched down in front of me. "Hey, sorry!"

"Fah!" I waved my hand at him, which wasn't really responding, so my whole arm went along for the ride.

"I won't drop you this time."

Somehow, even though I was trying to punch him in the face, Antonio gripped my arm around his shoulder and lifted me up.

My legs wouldn't work right. They'd go forward alright, but then they couldn't take my weight, and they would buckle. My head hung forward, and every time my legs failed, a long string of blood-drool dripped out of my face and onto the floor.

I hated.

We walked across that fucking floor for ages, and then suddenly I was falling.

"Fuh," I shouted. I ended up in my car.

I blinked at the scene out the window. It seemed blurry and squiggly.

Antonio sat in the seat next to me. I looked over at him, and he was humming, and he reached over to do my seatbelt. He was so good to me, driving me back and putting on my seatbelt to make sure I didn't fly out the window in a fiery death.

"Why are you crying again?" Antonio asked, voice high and alarmed.

"I ouve you."

"Please stop crying, people are going to think I'm stealing you." Antonio held my hand, smiling. "I love you—no, stop sobbing! Um, uh, why don't I distract you?"

He was such an idiot—if I knew he was distracting me, I was just going to keep crying. This made me cry harder.

"Um, ah, okay, what's your favorite color?"

"Blgeh."

"I like red. What's your favorite animal?"

"Wooooooof."

"I like bulls. Um… Okay, if you could give one piece of advice to the world, what would it be?"

I stared at him. What a dumb fucking question. "Whah dub keshh."

"Mine would be to find someone who loves all your flaws, and never do something that makes you unhappy."

No, no, Antonio, that was a dumb fucking question. "Dub."

Antonio smiled and squeezed my hand. "I like doing you."

I laughed. Air blew through my lips, and blood-spit splattered onto the cup holders.