The Dreaming Smile Above the Skin

It's around 2 in the afternoon and I'm monitoring Brendon like a hawk. Ever since yesterday, his loss of weight was very obvious. Maybe I never developed a habit of watching him eat, but I know it's a part of his problem. As much as he just wanted to be played off as 'normal' and not have me worry too much... he needs to snap into reality.
A few hours go by as I prepare pasta... for the both of us. I can tell he's about to let out that excuse as he comes over to kiss my cheek.
"I'll have some later. I feel kinda tired."
"Brendon." I say, as I look right at him with a serious expression.
"Yeah?"
"I know you've been nodding off eating with me the past few weeks, and I never really started thinking about it till now... and I just think... maybe tonight..."
His expression changes, like he knows I'm going to say it, "Sure."
I might not be able to read him as well as he can read me, but he sounds guilty, like he's hiding something from me. Like he doesn't want me to worry about... him. This weight loss, it's caused by something and I know I'm going to figure it out. Hopefully by the end of it, I can just manage to get him to eat more.
We sit at the table comfortably. He gives me a smile before digging into his food. Digging, more as in, eating as much as he can as if he were an ant.
We talk for a little while and by the end of 45 minutes, he's eaten most of the meal. I smile and notice a little grin on his face as well.
As soon as I put the plates away, we both make the decision to watch a little TV.
His fingers gently stroke my palm as we watch a documentary on The Beatles. Half way through I snuggle into his side, but somehow I manage to notice his breathing most of all. It's strange. Maybe that damn shortness of breath just came back. I wrap both my arms around his left arm and try my best to hold in my tears.
But then... it gets a bit worse.
He starts to cough a little. I loosen my grip on him. Babe, please tell me that cough meant nothing?
But I'm wrong.
His hand goes to his mouth as he starts to cough a bit harder. By the time he's able to catch his breath just briefly, he tells me, "I'm gunna go to the bathroom. Sit tight, I'll be back."
He coughs a few more times as he gets up, but I get up with him. I'm not leaving his sight... not now... not until the day he dies.
"I'm okay, just, it's fine." He coughs several more times.
"You're not okay right now." I say in the lowest voice possible, "I'm not leaving you."
He then heads into the bathroom and I follow. Before I know it, he coughs a couple more times before puking up what he just ate.
It's as hard as hell to gain composure right now, but I attempt to push through it. I rub his back as the pasta I made ends up partly digested and into the toilet.
As soon as he starts to just cough up nothing, I go into the kitchen and get him some water. He takes it with a slightly shaky hand and after a single sip he says, "I love your cooking, but it going down, coming up, and washing back down my throat isn't the most exciting taste." He gives out a weak smile and sets the glass down.
His comic relief makes me want to punch him in the face at this point especially with the fact that I could feel a small smile rise on my lips.
"This isn't a joke, Brendon." I say, finally regaining a serious aspect again. I take a wash cloth and get it soaked with warm water.
"I just like to see you smile, babe." And that smile on his face is the most honest thing I've ever seen.
"Well," And I just... lose it. My lips rise and I can see a lining of blurriness at the bottom of my eye lids, "fuck."
I can hear him giggle a bit as his hand gently lands on my back. I let out a small laugh myself as tears stream down my face.
"I love you, so goddamn much." He says.
"I," A brief second passes as I choke on my tears, "I love you, too."
I manage a few seconds before taking the wash cloth and cleaning up the rest of his face. I try not to look into his eyes for too long.
As soon as I'm about to put the cloth in the sink he says, "I'm pretty sure I could've managed that."
I put the cloth into the sink before looking back at him and saying, "I don't want you to have to manage anything-" His hand falls on the side of my face.
He looks at me right in the eyes, I can't look away. His thumb wipes away one of my tears before saying, "If my breath didn't smell of regurgitated pasta, I would so kiss you right now."
A weak chuckle and another tear falls down my face before he brings me into a tight hug.
"Don't ever stop smiling for me."  He whispers. The tears now fall hard onto his shoulder.