Hospital Kisses

Frank was dying.

The doctors didn't say it, his parents didn't say it, no one actually said it, but he knew nonetheless. He'd known when they stopped giving him chemotherapy that he was dying and now, he was just going along with the farce they were turning his case into.

Frank had acute lymphoblastic leukemia, the most common type of the disease in children. His parents had told him that his body was making too many white cells and that was what was making him sick. That was their complete explanation. He was thirteen fucking years old and they treated him like a child.

"The survival rate is 85% Frank, you have a very good chance of pulling through." They'd told him that with smiles on their faces, painted on grins that didn't reach their eyes. All of them were liars. Except for Mikey.

When they repeated that saying, turning into a macabre mantra, Mikey was the only one who didn't take up the chant. When he sat at Frank's bedside, holding his best friend's parchment hand, they were in their own little world, where Frank's veins weren't blue rivers just below his skin, where his beautiful chestnut colored hair was still a mop on his head. They talked about what was happening at school, about how scary growing up was. Even when they were silent, they were still talking. They didn't need words when they had their eyes.

Mikey knew Frank was dying. He knew from looking into his sunken eyes that Death was slowly, yet surely, stealing him away. Holding his hand, he could feel the twig thin bones, ready to be snapped with one strong movement. He was always gentle, not wanting to even bruise the fragile flower, wilting away in a hospital bed that had already known countless deaths.

Often, when Frank's parents weren't in the room, Mikey would climb up into the bed and feel Frank growing weaker beside him, his entire body convulsing if he so much as sneezed. Most of the time, they'd fall asleep and be woken up by a nurse when visiting hours were over, insisting that Mikey go home to his family.

Laying on his soft mattress, surrounded by the familiar sounds of his brother snoring and the occasional creaking of someone going down the hall to the washroom, sometimes he'd shut his eyes and release all the breath in his body, trying to disappear into his bed. He wanted to become translucent like Frank, wanted to become small and shrunken so they could be twins.

They'd shared everything together. Why couldn't they share this?

The weeks went by and Frank barely held on. He was nothing more than a skeleton now, smiling and still cracking jokes whenever he felt strong enough. Every day, just opening his eyes was the equivalent of swimming through quicksand. Sitting up was the very limit of his movements; he had to finally suck up his pride and have a catheter inserted when he could no longer make the short walk to the bathroom.

And through it all, there was Mikey, constantly holding his hand. He helped spoon feed Frank so that he wouldn't need a tube shoved down his throat. He didn't want the last thing his best friend remembered eating to be some random nutrient rich mash. They ate chocolate pudding, ice cream, sour candy that made their lips pucker up and their eyes water. They read comic books until they fell asleep, arms wrapped around each other. They listened to music on a tape player Mikey had sneaked into Frank's room, playing The Misfits for hours and hours.

One day came and although nothing outwardly seemed that different, both of them knew that it was time. Frank's parents were in and out but Mikey stayed at Frank's side the entire time, clutching his hand tightly and crying quietly, letting the tears fall onto the thin hospital gown that was soon soaked through. Frank stroked Mikey's hair, running the thin strands through his fingers. He thought it was the nicest feeling in the world.

"Mikey," he whispered. The sun was down and his parents were gone to get his grandmother who had just arrived at the airport. He'd been waiting for the right time to ask his final wish, for the one last thing he needed before he could let Death have him.

"Yeah?" Mikey sat up a little and wiped his nose, careful not to get himself tangled in the many wires surrounding Frank's bed. His eyes were puffy and sore from being rubbed but to Frank, he still had the face of an angel.

"One last thing," he murmured, licking his dry lips. "I...I don't want to die without having my first real teenage experience. I'm gonna miss out on so much... I don't want to miss out on this." He didn't even have to say it and Mikey understood, nodding his head. For weeks, he'd been contemplating this same decision but he wanted to wait until Frank was ready.

"I'm... not really sure how," he admitted, face flushing red. Seconds later, it turned completely scarlet as Frank laid his frail hand on Mikey's cheek, rubbing his thumb over his soft, virgin lips. Mikey sighed and leaned forward, his actions mirroring Frank's.

"You're my best friend," Mikey whispered before moving his hand slightly and letting his lips rest softly on Frank's. There was no pressure behind them, but it still felt perfect. Frank pushed forward just the slightest, running his hand down the side of Mikey's neck and imprinting the feeling of his skin in his memory. Both of them poked their tongues out tentatively but almost instantly retracted them, as if the more sensual action would ruin the moment.

Mikey didn't want to pull away but Frank gently pushed him away, allowing him to rest his head on his shoulder. Both of their eyes were closed, but tears still leaked out from under Mikey's eyelids, burning like acid.

An hour later, not long after his family had returned, Frank's heart monitor flat lined. There was no rush to save him. He was already lost.

And he died with the taste of love on his lips.