Chapter 115 Start new things
MICHAEL'S POV
The second round of infusions starts today. The thought sits in my chest like something dense and unmoving. A quiet weight I’ve learned to carry without shifting too much.
His parents left five days ago. His mum made me promise, at least ten times, that I’d keep them updated. Every small change. Every appointment. Every fluctuation she can’t physically witness herself. I said yes every time. Meant it every time.
The last couple of days haven’t been bad. We’ve been going out more. Short walks. The park down the street. Nothing ambitious, nothing that risks too much, but enough to feel like movement. Like we’re not just waiting. And Ryan...he’s been different. Lighter in a way I don’t trust but still find myself grateful for.
He smiles easier. Laughs without forcing it. There’s less of that quiet, bleak edge to his thoughts, the one that usually lingers just beneath everything he says. Maybe it was his parents’ visit. Maybe seeing them made something in him settle. Maybe it reminded him what he’s fighting for.
Whatever it is, I’ll take it. I’ll hoard it like a secret.
I park the car and sit there for a second. Then I reach into the backseat.
“Hey,” I say, casual, like this isn’t something I’ve been thinking about for days. “I got you something.” My voice sounds a little too thick even to my own ears.
Ryan’s gaze narrows, that wary, beautiful smile of his catching the light. "What is it?"
I pull out a plain white box. He takes it, his fingers light, and gives it a playful shake. My heart leaps into my throat.
"Careful," I blur out.
He stops immediately, his eyes widening in mock apology as he settles the box onto his lap. He lifts the lid slowly. Inside is a vintage film camera, all brushed steel and black leather, heavy with the weight of another era.
He turns it slightly in his hand, studying it, and then looks at me. I’m already watching him. “It was my mum’s,” I say.
He stills. I watch the way his expression shifts, that quick, sharp intake of breath. “Your mum’s?”
I nod, a small smile pulling at my mouth. “Yeah. I’ve never used it.” I let out a quiet breath, glancing down for a second before looking back at him. “I think I was scared I would...” I stop, shake my head lightly, a small, self-aware huff leaving me. “I don’t know. Damage it, maybe.”
I shrug.
I'd figured if I didn’t touch it, it would stay exactly the way she left it. Preserved in a way reality never actually allows. It’s the same thing I did with her perfume. Left it half full. Like using it would mean accepting that she wasn’t coming back to use it herself. Ryan’s expression softens, something careful settling into his gaze.
“I can’t–” he starts.
“Of course you can,” I cut in gently. There’s no hesitation in it. “I want you to have it.”
I reach out without thinking, my hand coming up to his face, thumb brushing along his cheek. I need the contact. Lately, I’ve needed it more than I understand. I’ve been craving the heat of his skin with a frequency that feels like a physical ache. I need to know he’s solid.
I need to know he’s here.
“Pick up a new hobby,” I murmur. “Use it. Take pictures. Fill it.” My fingers linger there. “You can still do that, Ryan,” I add, quieter now. “You can start new things. You can want things. Buy things. Plan things without measuring them against an outcome you don’t control.” I hold his gaze. “You’re still allowed to live like that.”
He looks at me, his eyes searching mine, before he looks back down at the box. He lifts the camera, turning it over in his hands, but then he pauses. He reaches back into the box and pulls out the second item, a printed rectangular photograph of a sunset over a beach, the orange light bleeding into a deep, bruised purple.
He chuckles, turning it over. "What’s with the postcard?"
Then he stops. He sees the words written on the back in my hurried handwriting...Whenever you’re ready.
He frowns slightly, lifting it just a bit as he looks at me. “What’s this?”
“It’s your ticket.”
Confusion flickers across his face. “To what?”
I tilt my head slightly. “Last I checked,” I say, “I owe you a trip to Hawaii. And I’m a man who hates an outstanding debt. So, whenever you’re feeling up for it...it doesn’t matter the time, the day, or what the charts say...you cash that in. We’ll be on the first plane we can find. He turns the card over again, his fingers running over the glossy image of the shore.
"I mean it, Ryan," I tell him, my voice dropping. "Don't hesitate to use it. Don't wait for a 'perfect' window. If you wake up tomorrow and want to see the Pacific, we’re gone."
He glances down at the card, then back to the camera, his fingers lingering on the mechanical shutter. Something in his expression softens. He looks back at me and gives a small nod.
We both lean over the center console, meeting halfway for a gentle kiss that tastes like a promise I fully intend to keep. For a second, neither of us moves. Then he pulls back just enough to look at me, something quiet in his expression. I hold it there for as long as I can, then I open the door.
The air outside is cooler than I expect. Ryan steps out carefully, slower than he used to, but not hesitant. There’s a difference. I circle the car without thinking, my body already tuned to him, to where he is, how he moves.
“Ready?” I ask.
He huffs softly. “Define ready.”
He closes the door, adjusts his sweater slightly, and then we start walking side by side toward the building. The familiar wing hits me the moment we step inside.
It’s strange, how a place can become both routine and something you resent with equal intensity. The lighting is the same, the air carries that sterile, unmistakable scent that clings to the back of your throat.
I hadn’t missed it, not even a little.
“Hey, you two.”
Kristina’s voice cuts through it. I look up, she’s already walking toward us, her usual warmth intact, that practiced ease she carries like part of the uniform. “Good to see you again,” she says, smiling.
Ryan returns it, easier than he used to. “Yeah, you too.”
She gestures lightly down the hall. “Let’s get a few tests done first, then we’ll get you settled.”
We follow her. It’s familiar now...the turns, the rooms, the quiet beeping of machines behind closed doors. We’ve been here enough times that nothing feels new anymore, just repeated. Ryan goes through the motions. Blood pressure. Vitals. Routine checks that no longer feel routine.
I stay close, not hovering, just there. Kristina moves efficiently, explaining things as she goes, even though we’ve heard most of it before. There’s something grounding in that repetition. Like if she says it the same way every time, it might stay predictable.
Then she pauses for a second, glancing at the chart. “This round’s a stronger dose,” she says, tone still gentle. “So the side effects might be a bit more intense than what you’ve experienced before.”
I feel Ryan shift slightly beside me, barely noticeable but I catch it.
“We’ll give you something for the nausea,” she continues quickly, offering that reassuring smile she’s known for. “The best we have. It should help a lot. You’ll just need to hang in there, okay?”
Ryan nods.
“Okay.”
I nod too, but I’m watching her. Because Kristina is always warm. Always the one who softens the edges of this place. And she still is...mostly. But there’s something else there, just for a second. A flicker so quick it could be missed if you weren’t looking for it.
Something like pity.
It’s gone almost immediately, replaced with that same practiced kindness. But I saw it.
And I hate that I did