Ghost

Gabriel watches Emmeline sleep.
She's beautiful, long dark lashes laying pinprick shadows on her high, pretty cheekbones. Her nearly-black hair pools around her head like a watered, diluted halo. William's hair.
But she's pure and young against her sheets, soft against her small body. She's the best thing to ever happen to him. Each breath she lets out with the slow, measured movements of her chest is breaking his heart. The ache is spreading, cracking underneath worn skin as he watches her small hands twitch and twist from sleep against flower-patterned blankets. One thin arm is curled tight, protective, against an abused teddy bear.

He suddenly breaks, walls crumbling in an attempt to hold him back and keep the surge inside. The water is coursing through him, diluting him down until he's nothing but on the floor. His knees hit the hardwood with a dull thud; the end to his sinking and a final breath is pulled in hard. He's becoming acquainted with the weakness, but this is new.

He's lost himself on his daughter's floor, clinging to himself out of his own told despair.
The dying is inside of him, rising and falling against waves of hurt. It's raw and desperate, embers slowly scorching his insides, dying out. Smoldering nothing.

Gabriel makes his way to the edge of Emmeline's bed, fingertips brushing against the soft hair spreading her arm. So little and pure, the dreaming angel of nothing but youth.
His thoughts are repeating themselves, empty echoes of caring. Missing; terrified of everything he will ever miss or leave behind.

"You don't deserve a ghost," he says weakly, tears hot on his face, shadows of hurt spotting the center of a sewn, fabric flower. Emmeline breathes out a soft sigh, head full of pretty everything and bright love. It's easy to let himself go, limp against her bed. He's drawn out, nearly erased.

William's hands are scooping Gabriel up into a sitting position so he can help the man to his feet. Gabriel is unsteady, hands large and thin against William's shoulders. William gives a sad, soft smile at his husband, catching sight of the unfamiliar friends of dark stains under Gabriel's eyes. He feels hurt tighten in his stomach at the side of broken, empty lights watching him. The shine slipped out to someone else months ago.
Gbariel would be too much to drag that much time before, but pounds have been wandering, falling away and the man is losing himself that much more every day.

William's lips are pressed lovingly against Gabriel's temple as he whispers, "Let's go to bed. You know you can always tell her you love her tomorrow."

The man nods, letting himself be sculpted, shifted to be walked towards the bedroom. It looms heavy in his chest, his back aching from the weight of it. The bed accepts him, loose and forgiving. Fingertips are soft against his temple before they slide the bandanna away, soft lips brushing bare skin.

"I love you," William says, curling his body against Gabriel's. He rubs Gabriel's scalp gently, down to his neck to crack the knots that lay waiting for sore necks. It's nothing but a dream, closing his eyes to feel the weight of the other against him. He wishes he would see a smile, but he never knows when one will ripen the right way to bloom.

"Tomorrow," Gabriel suddenly murmurs against his pillow. His syllables are dredged down with sleep and intoxicants. Fighting him from the inside. It wrecks him from the inside out, shutting him down. He's set up to leave.

William hums his agreement, still rubbing at the back of Gabriel's neck. Chalk bones are twisting under his skin, weak. Gabriel is so far away it almost hurts to realize how close the man is. Everything is ghosting.
He thinks about how many more hours of chemo will give them all the 'tomorrow's they need.