The Drained Life of Them.

Short story featuring two characters, one is tired teen Jace and the other is dying Cynic.

The beeping of the heart monitor was the only sound in the room- steady, rhythmic, like a ticking clock counting down to something inevitable. Cynic’s fingers twitched against the stiff hospital sheets, his black headphones still looped around his neck despite the wires tethering him to machines, as if he could press them over his ears and mute the world one last time. Jace sat beside him, elbows on his knees, staring at the frayed hem of his sleeveless uniform like it held answers. They hadn’t fought today. That was the worst part. No hissed words, no frustrated slamming of doors but just silence, thick and suffocating, heavier than the five years Cynic hadn’t spoken.

Jace’s nails dug crescent moons into his palms. He wanted to scream, to shake Cynic until words spilled out like they used to when they were kids, when Cynic would chatter nonstop about bugs or constellations or the way rain smelled like metal. But now, the only thing left was the quiet, and the way Cynic’s breath hitched every few minutes, uneven. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, casting shadows under his hollowed cheeks, the dark circles beneath his eyes more pronounced than ever. Jace wondered, bitterly, if Cynic had known this was coming, as if that was why he’d stopped talking in the first place.

A nurse slipped in, adjusting IVs with practiced efficiency, her smile tight-lipped and pitying. Jace hated her for it. Hated the way her shoes squeaked against the linoleum, hated the way she glanced between them like they were a tragedy already written. Cynic didn’t look at her. His gaze was fixed on the ceiling, lips slightly parted, as if he were trying to remember how to form a syllable, a word, anything. Jace clenched his jaw. “You’re such an asshole.." he muttered, voice cracking. “You don’t get to leave without saying goodbye.”

Cynic’s chest rose, fell. Rose again, slower this time. Somewhere outside, a car honked, laughter echoing from the parking lot. Life, moving on without them. Jace reached out, hesitated, then grabbed Cynic’s limp hand, lacing their fingers together. The calluses on Cynic’s palms were familiar, rough from the four jobs he’d worked to keep the lights on at home, the same hands that had shoved Jace into a puddle in third grade and then hauled him out, grinning. Jace squeezed, hard enough to bruise. “Come on.." he whispered. “Just one word. Please.”

The heart monitor stuttered.

Jace let go, fingers numb. He stood abruptly, chair scraping against tile, the sound jagged in the stillness. "I..I can't do this." he stuttered turning toward the door. His chest burned with the weight of all the things he'd never say how unfair it was, how angry he was that Cynic had let the silence swallow him whole. But just as his hand touched the cold metal of the doorknob, a sound cut through the quiet, soft as a breath but sharp as shattered glass- "Stay".

Jace froze. The word hung in the air like a ghost, fragile and impossible. He turned slowly, half-convinced he'd imagined it. But Cynic's eyes were open now, brown and bloodshot and achingly present, locked onto Jace with the same stubborn intensity he used to aim at math problems or stubborn vending machines. His lips trembled around another word, the effort visible in the way his throat worked, like he was dredging it up from someplace deep and ruined inside himself.

The heart monitor stuttered again, then steadied- still weak, but insistent. Jace stumbled back to the chair, knees buckling, his hands hovering over Cynic like he was afraid to touch him now. "You.." His voice broke. He swallowed. "You spoke." Cynic exhaled sharply through his nose, almost a laugh, though the sound was swallowed by the rasp of his breath. His fingers twitched against the sheets again, not pulling away when Jace grabbed his hand and held on like he could tether him to the world through sheer force.

Outside, the laughter from the parking lot faded, replaced by the distant wail of an ambulance. Cynic's grip tightened- weak, but unmistakable. Then his mouth moved silently around the shape of another word before his eyelids fluttered. Jace leaned in, close enough to smell the antiseptic clinging to Cynic's skin, close enough to count every freckle across his nose. "Say it again.." he demanded, desperate. "Say my name."

Cynic's lips parted. A whisper, barely audible. "Jace." Then, quieter still, like a confession.. "Scared." The admission puncher through Jace's ribs like a the time when Cynic punched him in the stomach for goofing off. He'd spent years deciphering Cynic's silences. His shrugs, the taps of his headphones, the way he'd kick Jace's shin under the table when he was annoyed. But this? This was raw. This was Cynic, unraveled. Jace pressed their foreheads together, breathing him in, and didn't let go.

"I'm dying, Jace." Cynic's voice was a rusted hinge, unused and breaking. "I know I am... just a few seconds ago, I saw Pierce." Jace recoiled. Pierce had been their classmate, dead since seventh grade. He was hit by a car while biking home in the rain. The memory of his funeral surfaced, unbidden: Cynic standing rigid by the casket, headphones clamped over his ears like armor. Jace's stomach lurched. "Stop!" he snapped, harsher than he meant to. "You're not dying so stop." He claims, clearly in denial about the state of Cynic.

Cynic's fingers twitched stimmingly in his grip. His pupils were blown wide, unfocused, as if tracking something beyond the ceiling tiles. "He looked... Happy.." he murmured. There was something in his tone- not fear, not relief. Envy. Jace wanted to shake him. Wanted to scream that ghosts weren't real, that Pierce was just a memory, that dying kids didn't get fucking visitations. Instead, he dug his thumb into Cynic's pulse point, hard enough to hurt. "Look at me. Here. Not there."

Cynic blinked slowly. For a heartbeat, his gaze sharpened, the old Cynic, the one who'd steal Jace's fries and mouth off to teachers. Then his breath hitched, wet and ragged. Blood speckled his lips. Jace wiped it away with his sleeve, smearing crimson across the fabric like a half-formed promise. "You don't get to go.." he lied, voice cracking. "Not until you owe me five years of words." The monitor screamed. Cynic smiled. And Jace held on.