Page 23 of Knot Your Fated M.U.S.E.

Eventually, his life.

The doctors said five years when they first diagnosed it. That was three years ago. Said there were treatments.Options.Ways to slow the progression.

They lied.

Or maybe they just didn't know how stubborn this particular disease would be. How determined it would be to take one of our own.

I study him as he sits there, pretending everything's fine. Notice the things he thinks he's hiding:

The way his fingers tremble against the towel.

The tightness around his eyes that speaks of pain.

The slight hunch of his shoulders as if carrying an invisible weight.

He's getting worse.

Faster now.

Accelerating toward an end none of us want to face.

The doctors have started talking about "quality of life" and "palliative care." Fucking dared encourage Hospice so he can “experience” a few months with a paid Omega to ease him into a comfortable state of acceptance with pleasure. Started suggesting we prepare for the inevitable…

Treating him like he's already gone to the afterlife.

But Vale's still here.

Still fighting…and still our brother

Even if his body is betraying him one cell at a time.

We can still fight this…

Sweat cools on my skin as I stand there, unable to find the right words. What do you say to a man who's racing against his own mortality?

Who's watching his strength slip away day by day, hour by hour?

How do you project any form of concluding emotions when sorry isn't enough and hope feels like a lie?

He catches me looking and his lips twist into something that's trying to be a smile but comes out more like a snarl.

"Stop with the funeral face," he says. "I'm not dead yet."

The 'yet' hangs between us like a guillotine blade.

"Not planning on it either," I say, forcing my voice to stay steady. "You know what Atlas would do to your corpse if you left him in charge."

Vale barks out a laugh that's almost genuine.

"Probably pose it in increasingly ridiculous positions just to fuck with everyone."

"Definitely would."

This is our way of easing through the hardships – jokes and deflection. Anything to avoid the reality neither of us wants to face.

The truth that's getting harder to ignore with each passing day.

I grab the towel from his lap, using it to wipe the cooling sweat from my face and neck. My tattoos ripple with the movement, years of pain and memory etched into my skin. But none of those scars, none of those memories, hurt quite like watching Vale fade away.

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