Chapter 61 We are all fragile creatures
MICHAEL'S POV
Everyone you meet is carrying something you can’t see.
I know that now, but I didn’t always. For most of my life, I moved through the world in a state of quiet selfishness. Not cruel. Not deliberately unkind, just... preoccupied. Focused on deadlines, ambition, reputation, the sharp architecture of my own future. Other people were background noise unless they intersected with my goals.
I didn’t think about what they were holding. I didn’t care to.
But after Ryan, after learning him in fragments and pauses and unspoken habits, I find myself looking at strangers differently.
Yesterday, walking out of the hospital, I slowed down without meaning to. I noticed a woman on the corner in a navy coat, speaking too brightly into her phone. Maybe she was reassuring someone she doesn’t believe will stay. Maybe she was practicing strength she doesn’t feel yet.
And the man with the scuffed briefcase and the perfectly knotted tie....jaw set, pace rigid. Maybe he just came from an appointment where someone used words like ‘benign’ or ‘we’ll monitor it.’
The girl dressed in loud colors, headphones on, eyeliner sharp enough to wound. Maybe she’s learning how to be seen on her own terms. Maybe she’s terrified someone will look too closely.
I don’t know their stories, but I know they have them. And it unsettles me how easily we move past one another, all of us carrying invisible weight like it’s normal. Like it doesn’t ache.
Ryan made that shift in me.
Because he looked composed the first day I met him. Almost reserved, and underneath that, there were fault lines. And softness. And a kind of courage that doesn’t announce itself. Now when I walk through crowded streets, I don’t just see people, I see fragility disguised as routine.
We are all fragile creatures pretending to be permanent.
We build schedules. Careers. Identities. We speak in long-term plans and five-year projections as if time signed a contract with us. But it didn’t. Nothing about us is permanent.
Not our bodies, not our certainty....not even our grief. And maybe that’s why noticing matters. Maybe that’s why loving someone, really seeing them, is the closest thing we have to defying the illusion. And lately, when I look at Ryan, asleep or thinking or rearranging something that didn’t need rearranging, I don’t just see a man. I see a whole unseen history. And I find myself wanting to hold it carefully.
I step back into the bedroom with my hair still damp, steam clinging faintly to my skin.
Ryan is asleep on top of the covers. Like he meant to sit down for a second and lost the battle halfway through. One arm tucked under his head, the other resting loosely at his side. The light from the window spills across his face, and even in sleep I can see it, the exhaustion that’s been living behind his eyes since last night.
A small, quiet ache settles in my chest. He tried to hide it, but I saw it. The way his focus drifted. The way his body leaned heavier into me. For a fleeting second, I consider canceling everything. The office can survive without me for one more day, it’s survived worse.
But after today, I won’t owe it anything.
After today, I’ll have time. Real time. My gaze shifts to the chair near the bed. He’s already laid out clean clothes for me.
Folded neatly. Even like this, even exhausted, he’s thinking of me. I can’t help the smile that curves across my mouth as I pull on the shirt, the fabric still smelling like his detergent. Like this place. Like something that already feels steadier than the life I’m about to walk away from.
I button the cuffs slowly. Today, I’m going in to finish writing that resignation letter. Then I’ll hand it in and I’ll walk out. And I’ll start again.
When I’m dressed, I move around the bed to sit at the edge, bending to tie my shoes.
The mattress shifts.
Ryan turns toward me, eyes barely open, lashes heavy. “Are you leaving?” he murmurs, voice thick with sleep.
I hum in response, soft and noncommittal.
Then I reach out, leaning over him, brushing my fingers along his cheek like it’s nothing more than affection. My palm lingers just long enough to gauge the warmth beneath his skin. Still slightly feverish. The doctor said it was expected.
I smooth my thumb lightly across his cheekbone, pretending that’s all I meant to do.
Two days.
His first round of chemo is in two days. The thought sits in my stomach like a stone. Earlier, he mentioned going back to teaching. Said it casually, like it was obvious. Like it wasn’t a body about to be pushed to its limits. I told him it wasn’t a good idea. He didn’t argue loudly, just firmly. Determined in that quiet way of his.
We’re going to have to talk about that.
His hand finds mine before I can pull away. It's slightly too warm.
He sighs and starts pushing himself up slowly. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep,” he says, almost apologetic.
I tighten my grip gently before he can fully sit. “You don’t have to apologize for being tired.”
As I look at him...hair tousled, sweater creased, skin flushed faintly with fever, I know with a clarity that surprises even me...There is nothing in that office more important than the man in this bed.
He holds my gaze.
There’s something in his eyes, something searching. Not doubt exactly, not fear. Just calculation. Like he’s trying to memorize me before I step out of reach.
“I’ll miss you,” he says quietly.
The words land softer than I expect. He doesn’t dress them up. Just offers them, plain and honest. I chuckle under my breath, brushing my thumb lightly across his knuckles. “What, you think I’m going to make a run for it and never come back?”
His lips twitch. “The possibilities of what could happen are endless. You could change your mind on the way down. Decide freedom tastes better than.... domestic responsibility.”
“Domestic responsibility?” I echo, amused.
“You could get distracted,” he continues, warming to the bit. “Have a sudden epiphany in the lobby. Or get hit by a bus.”
I raise an eyebrow. “A bus?”
He nods solemnly. “Very tragic, but anything's possible.”
I lean closer, lowering my voice. “If I get hit by a bus, I promise you, my final thought will be deeply inconvenient. Something like, ‘This is going to ruin Ryan's day’ or ’I didn't say goodbye to him properly’.’”
He huffs a quiet laugh.
“And,” I add, “I look both ways. I’m not reckless.”
“That’s debatable,” he murmurs.
I shake my head, smiling, then reach over to the bedside table and grab his glasses...again.
He watches me carefully as I hold them up between us, tilting them slightly. “Well,” I say thoughtfully, “now I have to come back.”
He narrows his eyes.
“I can’t just leave you without your favorite pair of glasses.”
“It’s my only pair.”
“All the more reason to make sure I return them.”
I set them down just out of his reach and lean forward, pressing a brief, soft kiss to his lips. When I pull back, I rest my forehead lightly against his for a second.
“And if,” I say quietly, “at any moment between now and when I’m back, you find yourself desperately missing them....”
He smiles faintly.
“...you should absolutely call me. Urgently. Insist that I deliver them immediately.”
“Immediately?” he asks.
“I’ll rush over,” I assure him. “Heroically. Against all odds. Possibly even jaywalk.”
His fingers tighten around mine.
“And I will come back,” I add, softer now, the teasing giving way to something steadier, “You'll hardly realize I'm gone.”
He watches me for a second longer than necessary, like he’s testing the promise for structural integrity. “Yes,” he says finally, voice quiet but certain. “I will.”
And then, there's a blur.
Ember tears across the room like something supernatural has briefly inhabited her small body. Paws scrambling against hardwood, tail puffed to twice its size, she skids slightly near the dresser before launching herself toward the far corner.
She stops abruptly.
Freezes, and then turns her head very slowly to glare at us. A full, narrowed-eyed, pre-charge assessment. We both stare at her. She stares back.
“Well,” I say slowly, “I’m clearly leaving you in much more energetic company.”
Ryan snorts. “She’s protecting the house.”
“From what?”
He gestures vaguely. “Energy. Spirits. Dust particles with malicious intent.”
We both watch as she suddenly pounces violently at absolutely nothing. I glance back at Ryan. “See? You won’t even have time to miss me. You’ll be mediating territorial disputes with invisible forces.”
He smiles faintly and I stand.
“I’ll still notice,” he says quietly.
I don’t answer that, I just squeeze his hand once more, because I know he will, and so will I.