The Dreaming Smile Above the Skin

It's been a few weeks and Brendon's eating habits have gone down. My attempts to feed him certain things have become less and less. It scares me... being able to see the outlining of his ribcage in such dim light. He still has that smile, though. Shining in that light, telling me, 'Hey, I'm right here. It's okay.'
No it's not. It's not okay. His reassuring smiles spread across his face because he doesn't want to see tears stream down mine.
His strength is leaving him day after day. I bring him things in bed, right after work.
He tells me stacking a few CD's on the shelf never hurt, but sometimes I feel his skin... how rough it's getting... how I can barely feel any warmth.
Today marks the third day of absolutely nothing but some water going into his system. I decide to make him soup.
When I walk into the room he smiles and I bring out my best attempts at smiling, too. I lay the tray on his lap, take the spoon with some of the warm liquid present, and blow.
"You feeding me, it's almost a little too much to ask for." Brendon says, that smile planted there as if it would never be removed.
"I don't want you to stress yourself out." I let slide under my breath.
The last time he ate, his hands shook as he tried to put the spoon in his mouth.
I gently bring the spoon to his lips. He opens wide as the liquid then pours down his throat as I angle the piece of silverware.
His eyes gleam as I keep feeding him.
Now I pray he'll have the strength to stomach it.
His expression kills me, because it doesn't set the mood, or any mood. He wants me to smile more. I know he does. He wants me to laugh with him, snuggle with him, and just act like nothing's wrong.
I want the reality to be that there's nothing wrong, but all of that is bullshit.
My fingers brush against the rough patches on his hand. I wish it didn't stop me from giving him food. I put the spoon back in the bowl briefly and try to regain composure, but my tears fall, right down on his skin. I wish the salty liquid had the power to heal.
Brendon then moves the tray off to the side, his happy expression falling quickly off his face, and I don't protest even though he isn't remotely close to finishing his food yet.
He pulls me into a hug and it's so... tight. I can't stop crying because he's using his strength to comfort me.
Soon he won't even be able to do that. He won't be able to walk; to eat. He'll be covered in patches and his bones will stick out from every part of his body. And yet right now... he's using his strength for me.
"I just want you to be okay." I say through hot tears, "I don't want you to be in pain."
"Ry, with you in my life, death is the least painful thing I will ever experience."
His words, I find the hardest to process...