Chapter 46 I want you to stay
Our shoulders brush in the quiet space between us. I take the opportunity, letting my head settle against his shoulder, the warmth of him grounding me.
“Well,” he finally starts, with a playful edge in his voice, “...it’d have to be something interesting. Something people will definitely pay good money for.”
I lift a brow. “And what would that be?” I ask, half curious, half skeptical.
He scoffs, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. "Well, me, of course." He pauses for dramatic effect, clearly enjoying himself. "A large book, encyclopedia-sized, with nothing but details, facts, and pictures of me. A thousand pages of Michael Foster in all his glory. The only reason I haven’t published one yet is because I know people would go dangerously feral over it, and I care too much about the human race to let that happen."
I snort and roll my eyes, attempting to glance up and shoot him a look of mock disbelief, but his hand moves instinctively to my head, holding me there, to his shoulder, like he’s subtly preventing me from escaping his ridiculousness.
"Wow, Michael Foster. You’ve got to be the most humble person I’ve ever met. What’s next? A global tour to promote it?"
His grip on my head tightens just a little firmer. "You just don't get it," he says, his voice half-smiling and half-mocking. "I’m a masterpiece, and the world deserves to know."
He chuckles, his body vibrating slightly beneath my cheek, and for a moment, I think we both forget about everything else.....about the time, about the weight of the world outside. It’s just us.
We stay there for what feels like hours, just talking. It’s the kind of conversation where words don’t have to mean anything but mean everything at the same time. Michael talks, I listen. I talk, he listens. It’s easy and effortless. There’s no pressure to fill the silence, because we’re never quite silent. There’s always something to talk about with him. His voice is comforting, as if it could anchor me even if the world was falling apart around us.
And I almost forget what's still hanging over me. The cancer. The chemo. The fact that I’m apparently going to feel worse before I feel better. That there’s no cure for what I have, just control. Just this weird, terrible, temporary peace. I try to reach for and grab ahold of the sadness that I felt earlier.....the kind that gnawed at my chest and pulled the air out of my lungs.....but I can’t find it.
It’s like it was never really there, like it was some cruel shadow that disappeared the moment the sun hit it.
I sit up, the sun warming my face. I turn to Michael, and I say his name softly, like it’s a question, like I’m searching for something in the way he answers. He looks at me, the expression in his eyes unreadable for just a moment. Then he asks, his voice gentle, "What’s wrong? You want to head back inside?"
I shake my head, not because I don’t want to go inside, but because this feels like a moment that needs to stay here, in the sunlight, in this garden with nothing but the weight of the world hovering just beyond our reach. "No," I say, my voice quieter now, a little softer. "I was thinking about something you said yesterday."
He’s quiet for a beat, his gaze never leaving me. "What did I say?"
"That I’d be okay. That you’d make sure of it." I swallow, trying to force the words out even though they feel heavier than they should. "But I need you to remember something, Michael. I don’t want you to put that kind of weight on yourself. Because if you do, it’ll only exhaust you. It’ll drain you. And I don’t want that for you. I don’t want to be the thing that does that to you."
He shakes his head, his eyes flickering with something I can’t name, but it’s not anger. It’s not frustration either. "If you’re asking me to just sit by and do nothing, Ryan...."
I’m shaking my head before he finishes. "That’s not what I’m asking," I say softly. "I’m asking you to take care of yourself too."
I reach out and gently cup his cheek in my hand, letting my thumb trace the curve of his skin. I pause, my hand still on his cheek, and I can feel the weight of the moment settling between us, heavy and undeniable. "I want you to stay," I murmur, my voice barely above a whisper, like saying it too loudly would make it unreal. "I know I probably shouldn’t ask this of you. We haven’t known each other long enough for me to ask something this huge. I shouldn't even want to ask. But I am. Because I need it, Michael. I need you here, with me. Because the thought of doing this....of facing everything that’s coming alone, is terrifying. And because I still don’t even know what this is between us, but I want to. I really want to figure it out."
My throat tightens as I finish, the vulnerability of my words feeling almost too much to bear. But it's the truth. And for once, I want to let myself say it out loud.
His gaze softens, his expression changing in a way I can’t explain, and for a split second, I think he’s going to say something else. Instead, he just leans into my hand. His voice is quieter, like a secret between just us. "I’m not going anywhere, Ryan. I swear."
The weight of those words hits me like a wave, crashing into my chest with such force I can hardly breathe. It’s strange, a good strange, this feeling that someone is here, truly here, and they’re not going to leave.
No one’s ever stayed.
Not like this. And no one’s ever told me they wouldn’t.
I feel the tension that’s been clinging to my body for weeks unravel, piece by piece. I take a breath, letting the air fill my lungs. "I also want something else, from both us, " I add, my voice firm with a kind of resolve that surprises even me. "I want us to choose happiness. I want us to actively look for it, even when it feels impossible. I want us to seek it out, even if it means pushing past all the bad, all the fear, all the pain. I want us to choose to be happy, even when it’s hard. Especially then."
He doesn’t answer immediately, but I feel him absorbing it, turning it over in his mind, weighing it like something precious, fragile. When he finally speaks, it’s with that same quiet intensity. "Okay, I can do that. We’ll choose it, whatever it takes."
For the first time in days, I feel something I almost forgot could exist. Happiness feels like a promise now. And maybe, just maybe, it's a promise I can actually hold onto.