Archive of Our Own ^beta

“It’s bullshit,” Warren says to Jean as she helps him carry his bags to the dorm room. “I had my own apartment for so long and now I’m just another co-ed.”

“Warren,” she snorts, “it’s not so bad.”

“Sure, you feel that way. You got to room with Scotty for two years. I’m rooming with a fucking stranger.” He groans and turns to push the bedroom door open with his back. Jean shakes her head at Warren as she follows him into the room. “Great, and I’m not even the first to get here.” He tosses his backpack towards the empty of the two beds. 

The room was fairly unimpressive. One window over a bed that had been made neatly, and a bare mattress across the room. Two desks, a dresser, and a closet. One desk had already been set up with a lamp and pens in a cup holder. He opens the closet to peer inside. Exactly half of it was full of some other guy’s clothes. The dresser was much the same. 

Jean sets the suitcases on Warren’s bed and shrugs. “Maybe next time don’t lie to your dad about attending a pre med seminar all summer.”

“Like you can really blame me. New York is amazing, and there were so many shows this summer.” Warren sighs dreamily, pressing the back of his hand to his forehead and feigning fainting against his bed. He stays there a moment as Jean laughs. Then he looks up, propping himself up on his elbows. “I still think cutting me off was pretty drastic.”

“He barely cut you off,” Jean points out. “You still have your trust.”

“True…” Warren sighs. “Whatever. I’ll live, probably.”

“Yeah, how bad could it be-...”

Warren looks up and narrows his eyes as he spots Jean’s now-ex Scott standing in the doorway. “What are you doing?” Scott asks.

“What are you doing?” Jean asks, raising an eyebrow.

Warren cringes. As much as he was happy Jean broke up with Scott, he didn’t want them to have bad blood. He knew they were pretty much in the same friend group- same band, at least- and that kind of thing caused drama. “Do you need something from Jeanie, Scott?” Warren prompts.

“No..?” He cocks his head and raises an eyebrow. “Did you need something, Jean?” He tries to step around her to get into the room, and Warren sits up. “Uh. Could you… move, please?”

Jean scoffs, but moves. “Seriously, Scott. Why are you here?”

He rubs the back of his neck and grabs a pen off the decorated desk. “I needed to write something down.” He looks between Warren and Jean. “So why are you in my room?”

Warren’s eyes widen and Jean’s mouth drops open slightly. “Your… room?” she asks.

“Yeah?” Scott repeats. “Wait… they didn’t put us together again by accident, right? I can…” He stands up from where he’d leaned over the desk (practically bent in half) to scribble on a piece of paper. He was lanky as all hell, and Warren felt kind of small from where he laid on the bed. “I should go talk to someone about that, I’m sorry, Jean.”

“No,” Warren says, standing and reaching for Scott’s arm. “This is my room. Not Jean’s.”

Scott was tense, and doesn’t seem to relax any at Warren’s words. He just shrinks a little into himself. “Okay… Uh. Bye. Nice seeing you.” He pulls away and rushes from the room as Jean covers her face with her hands.

Warren snickers, and she shakes her head. “Not a word,” she says, her voice muffled in her hands. He wraps his arms around her to hug her for a moment. “God, that was embarrassing!”

“It's only been two months, and you two dated for a while, it’s bound to be awkward.”

She groans again. “Yeah, our band hasn’t met again yet. We were thinking about seeing each other later this month… It’s- I’m not even… Okay, it’s fine. We even said we’d still be friends.”

“Oh, Jean…” Warren shakes his head sympathetically and squeezes her before letting go. “That’s code for never speaking again, which in your case is not really possible.”

“Shut it,” she says, swatting at him.

“What you need is to get under a new guy to get over that one.” Warren feels proud of himself for such sound and solid advice.

“You’re so stupid,” she groans. “Make your bed, or else Scott’s going to report you to the RA.”

“Will he really?”

“Maybe,” she teases. “Just do it.”

Warren shuffles around as he searches for his sheets. “Honestly, I never got what you saw in him. I guess he’s tall, and maybe he’s hiding some muscle. But he’s just so… boring.” He pushes his suitcase under the bed to wrestle the fitted sheets onto the mattress. “What was your final straw?”

“I didn’t- We broke up pretty mutually.” 

Warren gasps and turns to look at her. She pulls at the front of her gray beanie, as if trying to hide behind it. “HE DUMPED YOU?!”

“Shut it!” she hisses.

“Why didn’t you tell me that part!” Warren gives up on the sheets, and Jean moves in to help him. 

“It’s not… important.”

“Did he at least give you a reason?” Warren stands, and crosses his arms as he watches Jean make his bed for him.

She makes an unsure noise and tucks the corners. “Sort of?” She sits on the bed to look at Warren. “He told me that he was seeing someone else- or that there was someone he wanted to start seeing. Lower the pitchfork, he never cheated on me. Probably. I don’t even know who this other girl is.”

“I need to meet her, if she’s apparently good enough to steal Mr. Goody-Two-Shoes from the Jean Grey.”

“At least Mr. Goody-Two-Shoes makes his own bed,” Scott says, brushing past Warren to grab a jacket from the closet.

Warren makes a face at Jean, and she exchanges looks with him. “I thought he left?” Warren mouths silently.

“And, for the record, I never cheated on you. That wasn’t a lie. I met my new partner a while ago, but only realized my feelings recently.” Scott stands still, looking between Warren and Jean, like he was debating asking for privacy. “Look, I am sorry about how things ended… I didn’t realize how badly I hurt you. I didn’t want that, I never did. I really do love you, but I discovered a new part of myself and I wanted to explore it.” His words are stilted and awkward. Warren watches Jean’s face as she nods.

“I know, Scott. See you at band practice next week?”

“Of course.” Scott pulls his jacket on and leaves the room in a hurry.

Warren groans as he joins Jean on the bed. “Am I really going to have to room with him? Ugh.”

“Maybe now you’ll actually spend some time in class,” Jean jokes.

--

The first week of classes goes by without incident. Scott either isn’t in the room, or is at his desk, completely engrossed in his school work. Warren looks over his shoulders several times to glimpse the insanity of what Scott was working on. 

“Anatomy class?” Warren asks, because he can’t stand not speaking. 

Scott doesn’t reply so Warren stands and hovers. After a moment, he sets his pencil down and looks up from where one hand had been typing at his laptop. “What?” he snaps.

“Is this for an anatomy class?”

There’s a moment as Scott stares Warren down. Then he says, “No. This is for a medicine class. We’re doing a unit on the lymphatic system.” Warren couldn’t see Scott’s eyes. Despite it being night and them being indoors, he had sunglasses on. Just another thing that made him douchey in Warren’s mind. “Do you… mind?”

Warren shrugs and steps back. “You’re a fourth year, too. Right? Are you graduating this summer?”

“Yes, and no. I am a fourth year. I’m not graduating. I’m a candidate for a doctorate.”

“Oh gross, eight years of school? Why are you doing that to yourself, Scotty?”

Scott’s entire body seems to stiffen for a moment, and he stares at Warren for a while. “Can you be quiet so I can study?”

“I hear a club calling my name anyway.” Warren shrugs his heavy overcoat on and leaves the room. He wasn’t lying, he did actually have plans to go out. Though, he debates canceling them because he hears Scott mumble a celebration.

Rather than ruin his night over one bag of dicks, Warren returns to the dorm in the young hours of the night. Drunk. With a girl. 

The two giggle as they stumble around, the twin bed almost too small for them. This girl was really pretty, and Warren had enjoyed hearing her talk about moss for almost an hour. Her name was Janelle and her neck was very soft.

Their bodies were warm under his sheets, and everything felt like floating in water. He knew he was still drunk. 

Janelle giggles and whispers drunkenly, “You feel so nice.”

There's a sound as a lamp clicks on and then Scott's groggy voice breaks Warren and Janelle from their drunken bliss. “What the fuck?!”

“Uh-oh,” Warren laughs, pulling the blankets down and grinning at Scott.

His hair was messed up, and his chest was bare, though the rest of him was hidden under his thick comforter. The lamp on his nightstand lit the room up, and Warren held the blanket over Janelle despite her still being fully clothed. 

“Hi-i,” Warren draws out in a sing-songy voice. “Did we wake ya?”

“Get out!” he snaps at Janelle. She yelps, and gathers her things.

“Call me,” she says to Warren on her way out.

Warren smiles at her as she leaves, and then glares at Scott. “Buzzkill,” he huffs.

“Why would you do that?!” Scott drags his hands down his face, and Warren realizes he's seeing him without his sunglasses for once. As soon as he realizes, Scott turns the light off.

“Bring a pretty girl home? Gee, Scott. I wonder.” He sighs as he sprawls out against his bed.

Scott groans loudly. “Why would you bring her here?! You're not the only person who sleeps here- Wait. Oh ew, ugh! Were you going to have sex right next to me while I slept?!”

Warren laughs and rolls over. “Hey, at least I only ever sleep with one chick at a time.”

“I didn't cheat on Jean,” Scott says. “Stay out of other people's business.”

“You seem to have no issue being involved in mine.”

“These are two totally separate things!”

Warren smiles as he begins to drift off, the image of Scott's naked face burned into his mind. He was much prettier than he had any right being.

--

“You have to lay off on Scott,” Jean says as Warren walks her to band practice. Her band had been given a space on campus to use after-hours, and since the total sex-ban in his dorm, Warren had freed up a lot of time for himself.

“He's a prick,” Warren says. “It's been three months and he only ever talks to me when he's complaining about something I do.”

Jean laughs, and Warren holds the door open for her. Their space was a little dingy, but overall nice. It kind of reminded him of a dive bar. “He's just like that, he did that to Bobby too.”

Bobby looks up from his drums to smile and wave. “What's up?”

“Gossiping,” Warren says. “How'd you survive bunking with Scotty for all of freshman year?”

Notes waft as Pietro tunes his bass, and Warren turns to watch him strum and pluck.

“He grows on you,” Bobby says. “Once you realize he just has trouble being a person and he's not out to get you, everything sort of makes more sense.” Warren glances at Jean, but nods. She'd walked over to Ororo so they could practice vocal warm ups while they wait for Kurt and Scott. “Just give him the benefit of the doubt… Oh, and try not to make any jokes about the glasses.”

Warren snaps his fingers. “That's another thing! Why does he wear them all of the time?! He looks so much better without them!”

Bobby laughs and shakes his head. “You could try asking him. Maybe he'd like that you think he looks good.”

“Seriously?” Scott complains as soon as he enters the room. His hair was pushed back with a headband, somehow pronouncing his waves even more, and he wore blue jeans under a tight shirt that left little to the imagination. Not that Warren had anything to imagine, he now knew that Scott had lean muscles. “You're talking about your hook-ups at my band practice?”

“That's my cue.” Warren shoots finger guns before brushing past Scott to leave.

--

The carpet of the hallway leading to Warren and Scott's dorm room is soft on his bare feet. He'd lost his socks somewhere between the bar and the school, and his dress shoes had been clutched in his hands the whole way. 

He sighs happily as he pours into his room. Scott was sitting in bed, studying his textbook.

“Put it down, Scotty!” Warren cheers, and Scott's eyes widen as he starts to shush Warren before remembering it was winter break. Their entire floor was empty. “I've got good news!”

“You got some poor girl to hook up with you?” he asks, setting the textbook aside. 

Warren laughs. “Nope! I got the part!” He flops onto Scott's bed, too drunk to realize how much of his personal space he was taking up. “Here, I bought you this…” He pats down his coat pockets until he finds the expensive sunglasses case.

Scott opens it and scoots away from Warren a bit. “You bought me… red sunglasses?”

“Mhmm,” Warren smiles happily.

“What part did you get?”

Warren smiles wider and looks up at Scott from where his head was in his lap. “The Angel. In the musical. I auditioned a week ago and they just announced the casting. Last musical I got a secondary role, but this is the lead!” He holds his arms up and rolls around excitedly.

“When's the play?”

“In a couple months. I think March? I’unno…” Warren yawns as he relaxes in Scott's lap. “You havta come.”

“Okay,” Scott says awkwardly.

When Warren wakes up the next morning, he's in Scott's bed and Scott's in his. He can't remember why.

--

The next two months are a rough sort of bliss. Warren and Scott, focused on their own activities, don't run into each other much. Scott stays out late to play with his band and Warren wakes up early to rehearse the play. 

Warren is convinced it's best this way. 

One night, Warren stumbles home to find Scott getting ready to head out. “Nice shades,” he laughs through a drunken slur.

Scott pauses, turning to look at Warren in the warm light of the lamp. He wore red sunglasses under his artfully tousled hair (he'd though it looked effortless until he watched Scott spend three hours on it one night). He was dressed in his gig clothes- he really only wore his nice black pants to shows. “Thanks, I guess.”

“Break a leg,” Warren gives Scott a thumbs up as he falls face-first into his mattress. 

“Thanks. When's your show?”

Warren groans as he uses the smallest sober part of his brain to remember. “Friday…”

“Cool. See you.” Scott fixes a watch on his wrist and leaves the room. Warren watched the guitar on his back, and not his ass in the tight jeans.

That Friday, Warren stands in the dressing room stretching his arms. His costume for the majority of the musical was a pair of fake white wings on his bare torso with white shorts. He runs his hands through his hair, trying to spray the curls in place. The heavy make-up wasn't his favorite, but he could feel the excitement brewing backstage.

“Break a leg,” he hears and smiles.

The director calls for places, and everyone's rushing across the stage to stand on cue. Warren stands center stage, and puffs his chest for the intro song.

The curtains part and the blinding stage lights and spotlight make the auditorium blurry in the dark. He knew Jean was somewhere out there. Hopefully she'd brought Bobby and their friend Hank like she'd said she would.

Warren sings his first note, and he feels a swell within himself. He dances across the stage, and the musical starts with a bang.

There are maybe two scenes without Warren in the first act, so his intermission is spent chugging water and listening to compliments from his cast mates. The second act was much the same. By the end of the play, he's panting hard and half convinced his makeup has melted off his face.

He keeps the Angel wings on, walking into the lobby with sore legs. Jean runs up to Warren, Hank and Bobby in her tow. 

“That was amazing!” Bobby says, and Warren practically beams. He could still hear the applause. “Your voice was angelic!”

Warren laughs and snakes his arm around Bobby's shoulders. “How long have you been waiting to make that one? The whole-”

“The whole show, yeah,” Bobby nods.

“He turned to me and made that exact joke during your first song,” Hank says.

Warren laughs and shakes his head, his chin pressing down towards his chest. “You guys are-”

“That was really amazing.” The voice stops Warren, and he looks up so quickly his wings almost fall off.

“Scott?” he asks, suddenly feeling self conscious about being nearly naked. “What are you doing here?”

Jean raises an unimpressed eyebrow at Scott, which makes Warren feel a little bad.

“You… invited me,” Scott says. He looks between the four of them and sighs. “I'll see you around. That was a lot of fun, Angel.” His lips are in a tight line, and he nods before walking off.

Warren's face heats up, and he hopes the thick make-up hides it.

“What was that about?” Hank asks.

“Just Scott being Scott,” Jean says, and Warren cringes.

The cast party was amazing; everyone showers each other with compliments and food. He walks home feeling on top of the world.

At least until he remembers Scott. He pulls his heavy coat closer around himself. It made him feel less naked. He had absolutely no memory of inviting Scott to his play, and he felt nearly certain that Scott only showed up so he could have something to complain about later. Warren huffs. 

He was going to get his revenge. 

--

The mesh shirt Warren wears feels almost more revealing than his bare chest during the play. The leather jacket and pants are tight in places he wishes they weren’t, but he knew he looked damn good.

The venue was packed, and the stage was dimly lit as the band sets up. It was a smaller bar space, but Jean and the Phoenix Force had blown up in the past two years. Warren steps from foot to foot, waiting for the music to start as the band tunes their instruments.

Up on stage, Kurt spots him and gives a wave with a giant smile. Warren waves back, and Kurt dances around. 

A shorter man bumps into Warren, and he yelps. “Hey! The show hasn’t even started yet, why are you moshing?”

“Sorry, bub,” a gruff voice replies, and Warren steps back.

“Professor Logan?” he asks, his mouth falling open. “What are you doing here?” The bar wasn’t exactly a dive bar, and he was shocked the surly art professor from school would be caught dead anywhere that served something tasty.

“I hear they got good beer, I’m here to investigate.” Logan brushes past Warren towards the bar.

The house lights starts to dim as the stage lights up and a hush falls over the crowd. Warren feels anticipation grow inside himself as the blond bassist, Pietro, starts strumming at an alarmingly fast pace. Bobby lifts his sticks up, and Jean’s voice counts them in as he hits them together on a four count. 

All at once the instruments start to play, and the singer’s voices melt together. Scott’s guitar sticks out to Warren, impressively holding the song together as Ororo, Kurt and Jean’s voices sing together. Scott keeps his head down, his hair falling into his face as he plays. He looks up, a slight smile on his face and the shades hiding the pretty eyes Warren knew he had.

Sweat rolls down Scott’s face, and Warren dances. He doesn’t dance with the crowd, he just dances. Moving his body and watching Scott. Midway through the song, Scott steps up and the others quiet as he plays a solo unlike anything Warren had ever heard before.

Warren’s eyes start opening and they don't stop opening. It's like something deep within himself opens, and the air becomes stuffy. Hard to breathe. His heart stutters and he wants to climb on stage and hold Scott's face in his hands. 

It's fucking amazing.

All too soon, the rest of the band rejoins. But Scott smiles at them, and the breath he lets out feels like Warren’s allowed to breathe again.

He dances with the song, jumping around and moving with the others. By the time their show ends, he's out of breath and panting hard. He wants to go find Jean, but he coughs and feels something move in his chest.

With a hand over his mouth, Warren rushes to the bathroom. He vomits in the toilet, he hadn't even been able to close the door or turn on the lights. His lunch must come up because he hates the feeling. The door opens as someone enters.

Warren holds a hand behind himself, and the person scoffs.

“Really? You just happen to be getting drunk here?” 

Warren turns to glare at Scott, he knew the voice. “Fuck off,” he rasps, wiping at his mouth. “What are you doing in here?”

“I have to piss.”

Warren stands and flushes the toilet before pushing Scott to leave. “Then do that.” His body feels wrong somehow, and he can't bring himself to care about Scott caring.

He collapses into bed that night, his head pounding like he has the flu.

--

Warren gasps for air as he wakes up, like he couldn't breathe in his sleep. His heart races, and he presses a fist to his chest. His mouth is dry- much drier than it had ever been before. As he smacks his lips he feels something inside his mouth, like a hair. He reaches to grab it, almost peeling it from his tongue.

A white flower petal tipped with red that shoots through the seam at the center.

“What the fuck?”

He coughs as he speaks, and it feels uncomfortable as a mass lodges in his throat. He keeps coughing until he gets it up, vomiting an explosion of those petals onto his floor. Blood and bile and some entirely full flowers pour out.

“What the fuck?!” He moves back on his bed, panting hard. His insides felt full. His heart pounds in his ears. Holy shit. He can't catch his breath. 

“Warren..?” Scott's groggy voice sounds as he rolls over in his bed.

Warren opens his mouth to say something, but he coughs harder. “Help,” is all he can get out between painful breaths.

Scott sits bolt upright, his sunglasses beside his bed. “Holy shit!” He moves, face completely horrified. He calms quickly, grabbing towels to soak the blood. He sits on Warren’s bed, his hands soft as he wipes the mess from Warren’s mouth and chest. 

His heart seizes, and he shakes. “I need- hospital,” he rasps.

“No,” Scott shakes his head. “I think I know what this is. They can't… When did this start?” He holds Warren’s bare shoulder, pressing the towel to his chest. Scott's fingers were handsome, warm and calloused on his skin.

“I don't… last night maybe? I felt so sick after the show.”

Scott bites his lip and his eyebrows knit in a worry. “You didn't eat a poisonous flower or anything, right?”

“No, I… I didn't.”

“What exactly led up to you vomiting?”

Warren squeezes his eyes closed, trying to ignore the tears. His head was pounding and his mouth was still so dry. “I bumped into Professor Logan. I waved at Kurt. I danced with the crowd. Then I felt this pain- this burning sensation almost. And it just kept getting worse.”

Scott sighs and scoots away a couple inches. “Yeah… Warren, I'm so sorry. This- It's…” He sighs again, pressing a hand to his face and rubbing his eyes. Warren relished seeing the deep brown. He was probably the most handsome man Warren had ever seen. He stands and pushes his sunglasses on. “Warren, you're sick.”

“Obviously, Scott.” He felt it deeply within himself, but he didn't think it ended with the vomit.

“No. I mean…” He moves, his body tense and nervous like he can't relax. He grabs a text book and opens it, flipping quickly before passing to Warren what looked like an image of a human body with a flower stemming from their stomach. Scott reads the giant header aloud. “Hanahaki disease.”

“What? What the fuck is this?”

“It's an autoimmune disease. It only sprouts in very specific circumstances. First you have to have a mutated X-gene, that alone is extremely rare. But your body finds it can't get rid of something so it starts growing to encourage the expulsion… In other words it happens when you hide a very specific emotion.” Scott talks with his hands, pointing at the textbook, but each word makes Warren feel sicker.

He shakes his head and moves to the dresser, pulling out a shirt. “That's bullshit,” he states. It has to be.

“You just threw up flowers and blood, you don't even care to listen?!”

Warren squeezes his eyes closed, his back to Scott as he holds the shirt in his hands. “Just… When will I get better?”

There's a long pause, and Warren hopes to everything that Scott is thinking. 

“Summers-” he turns with a start, only to find Scott with his sunglasses off and wiping his closed eyes.

“Warren, I'm so sorry. I don't think you will…” His voice is shaky, and Warren almost feels bad for the guy. “There- There's a chance, but…”

“But what?” Warren keeps his grip on his shirt with one hand, moving to grab Scott's shoulders and look into his face. “But what, Scott?”

“But you have to find the person you're in love with and tell them. Your body should expel the root and resolve the disease… if they love you too. Otherwise the root expands and kills you instantly, instead of slowly.” Scott's chin shakes a bit, and he looks at Warren with red-rimmed eyes. The sun from the window makes his brown eyes look deeper and Warren wishes he didn’t wear the sunglasses so often.

“What?” Warren steps back. “In love? I’m not in love with anybody. Definitely not anybody from last night.” He points a finger at Scott. “What are you saying?”

Scott holds his hands up and grabs his sunglasses, putting them on. “I- I’m not trying to be a dick, okay? I’m just telling you how it works. There’s not a lot of research done on this because it’s extremely rare. It’s not just that you have a mutant X-gene, but the person you’re in love with does too. It’s hormones mixing and reacting that cause your lymphatic system to-”

“Wait.” Warren shushes Scott. “So whoever I’m in love with has the mutation too? I can just look for the other person vomiting flowers and then it’s solved!” He feels a wave of relief wash through himself.

“No,” Scott says slowly, and Warren wants to rip his face off. “It doesn’t work like that. It’s possible that they can have the disease too, but you have it because you’ve been holding the endorphins in too long. It’s- They’re rooting and seeding inside of you, multiplying and killing you as they root in your stomach. They start in your immune system, infecting your lymph nodes, and eventually they spread to your stomach.” Scott sets the textbook on his desk and points to the diagram. “They spread to your lungs- that’s when you start dying. The bloody coughs. It’s just… It doesn’t typically all happen in one night.”

“Well it did for me.”

“But eventually it spreads into your entire body. You can live on a feeding tube and breathing tubes, but once it gets your heart you’re as good as dead. I’ve heard of it being removed, but you have to remove so much and you need a compatible donor- which is extremely rare- and it almost always comes back within five years anyway.” Scott’s face breaks for a moment, and he wipes at his eyes under the sunglasses. “Warren, I’m so fucking sorry.”

“I’m sure you are,” Warren says, pulling his shirt on and storming from the room.

Scott was wrong. He had to be.

--

Janelle pulls away from Warren, and makes a face. “Eugh! Did you have something in your-..” She gags as she pulls a petal from her mouth, and Warren recoils back. “What the fuck?!”

“I’m… sorry,” he sighs, taking it from her hand. “That kiss was nice, thanks for trying.”

She shrugs, still eyeing the petal. “It’s fine, I remembered how good you were at kissing, and the idea sounded fun. But, I’m sorry, there weren’t any big sparks for me.”

“Yeah, me neither.”

“Can I keep the petal?” she asks. “It’ll be a souvenir. I might press it and keep it.”

“Sure,” Warren hands it back to her. “It could decompose in one of your moss terrariums.” 

They hug and part. He walks back to campus in the cold. His overcoat was large and kept him warm, but he didn’t care enough to button it all the way up. His veins had felt ice cold since he’d woken up a month ago and vomited flowers.

Tears fall down his face, and they make the bitter air sting harder. He was out of options at this point. The air was burning his lungs, or maybe it was the sickness inside of him.

He’d kissed every girl he could think of. He definitely wasn’t harboring any feelings for anyone. He’d even tried telling Bobby and Hank that he loved them, just to cover his bases, and nothing happened.

--

“I’m as good as dead,” he whines, sitting on the floor of Jean’s band practice studio.

She gives him a tight-lipped sympathetic smile, and he knows she’d tell him to stop being dramatic if he weren’t right.

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out soon,” she says instead.

They were the first two to arrive. Warren opens his mouth to speak, but starts coughing instead. He goes for a while, not vomiting but feeling as blood and petals hit the inner part of his elbow. When he finishes, Jean is sitting in front of him with tears in her eyes.

“Oh, Warren,” she says and as soon as the tears fall, she rushes forward to hug him. It’s so tight and fast that she pushes him down against the floor of the room. “Warren!” she sobs into his neck, and he wishes that he weren’t so numb so he might cry with her.

“Jean,” he says, his body limp against the hard floor. When it’s clear she won’t let go, he wraps his arms around her. “Jeanie…” He rubs circles into her back, and kisses the top of her head.

“I wish it was me,” her voice is muffled into his neck through the sobs.

A beat passes before he says, “What?”

She’s sobbing so hard she must be having as much trouble as him breathing. “I wish it was me! I wish you could tell me you loved me and then everything would be fine!”

“I do love you, Jean,” Warren says. He feels weird, like he’s reassuring her. Which wasn’t the first time he’d felt like that. When he told Bobby, the way he cried made Warren feel like the meanest person in the world. “I don’t want you to feel sad, Jean.”

“I don’t want you to die.” Jean pulls away from Warren’s throat, her nose almost pressing against his. Her tears roll from her nose onto his, and he reaches up to cup the back of her hair. He was going to help her off of him, but she leans forward suddenly to kiss him. 

As they kiss the band room door opens, and he catches Scott’s silhouette shrouded in the light. Warren’s not sure why he pushes his best friend away, but he does. He pushes Jean away, kisses the top of her head, and he runs after Scott as fast as he can manage.

“Scott!” he shouts.

Scott keeps walking, but he shouts over his shoulder, “It’s fine, Warren!”

“No, come here! Let me explain!” Warren’s already out of breath. Scott’s long legs alone let him stride much faster, but Warren’s fucking flower-filled lungs don’t give a shit if he has anything to say to Scott. “Don’t walk away from a dying man!” he shouts, coughing violently and tripping to his knees.

They’re in an alleyway, so at least Warren doesn’t have to worry about being seen like this.

Scott stops, and turns. He looks like he’s unsure, but he squats next to Warren. “Don’t use this against me,” he says simply.

Warren chuckles darkly, barely able to breathe through the coughing fit. “Then at least- hear me out.” He reaches for Scott, and despite everything Scott helps him to his feet. “I-... I don’t-” he’s unable to speak through the panting.

“You’re still sick, yeah I see that. It’s not Jean.”

Warren shakes his head.

Scott’s quiet for a moment, and then he pulls Warren’s hand, leading him back to their room. “It would have been fine if it was Jean,” he says eventually.

“You have that…” Warren’s still panting, but able to speak now. “Other person you’re seeing.”

“Yeah. I mean, I still love Jean. I always will. I just needed to see what something else would be like. She was my first… everything. Which means something… to me.” He rubs the back of his neck, and Warren isn’t sure if the blush on his face is from his words or the cold. 

“If I loved Jean like that, I would tell you.” Warren’s serious, and he’s not even sure why.

“Why?” Scott asks, echoing Warren’s own thoughts.

“You’d deserve to know.”

--

Warren’s last show poses a problem. He’d been worrying himself even sicker than he already was, mortified by the idea of vomiting flowers or blood on stage, but miraculously it doesn’t happen.

Not until his last show.

He’d left a voicemail with his dad’s secretary about his show, that it was the last of the season, and this one meant the world to him. He couldn’t bring himself to tell his dad that he was sick, but he felt like he conveyed how much it meant to him. Before the show, Warren stands on stage, just behind the curtain. 

He peeks through the curtains at the front row, the cast’s families fill the seats. Save for one empty seat. Warren’s heart sinks lower and lower each minute. He peeks through the curtains again, until the stage manager snaps at him to get in place.

“Just one minute,” Warren says, holding up a finger. He pulls the curtain again, and his heart soars at the full row of seats- and then sinks again when he doesn’t see his dad.

He sees Scott, though.

Immediately the air becomes hard to breathe, and he knows he’s not going to last the whole two hours.

His first song is fine. He stumbles once, but he plays it off and the audience laughs like it’s planned. The second song is better. The third is worse.

He was hoping he could make it to intermission, at the very least. But when he hits his high note after his low, he coughs. Loud and wet, and the entire auditorium is silent. A gasp rings loud like ocean waves when he trips off the set piece, falling only a few feet to the ground. He coughs harder, unable to stop as his body grows sore of being sore. 

Once he gags he can’t stop. He vomits petals and blood onto the stage, they cover the white flooring and stain his shorts. The other actors are horrified as they back away.

Tears run down his face, he’d never felt less like an angel before.

“WARREN!” Scott’s voice is so loud he may as well have been god. He pushes through the audience, climbing onto the stage. The auditorium was loud- almost louder than Warren’s own coughs in his head. “Warren, breathe. Just breathe.” Scott’s hand on Warren’s back makes him cough harder as flowers lodge themselves in his throat. He wishes he could breathe.

His hands covered in his own blood are blurry, and static starts to take over. A ringing in his ears grows until it’s all he can hear. He doesn’t register collapsing into the pool of his own blood, he just feels warmer and realizes he’s on the ground.

He thinks he sees Scott mouth the word hospital to someone.

--

When Warren wakes up, he’s able to breathe. Better than he had in nearly two months. It was sunny outside with spring. His heart picks up its pace at his unfamiliar surroundings, and he rises quickly from the bed he lays in.

“Where am I?!” he shouts, and a strong, handsome hand presses against the hospital gown on his chest.

“Take a deep breath,” Scott says, and Warren’s eyes widen. “You fainted last night at your musical. An ambulance came and we brought you here.” Warren looks past Scott at a clock, reading the time as two in the afternoon. “You had a seizure, but it’s okay, you don’t have a concussion or anything.”

Warren sighs and squeezes his eyes closed as tears start to roll down his face. “Fuck.” He looks at Scott, unable to care about the tears. “Did they call my dad?”

“They tried, I think. But he’s not here. They let me sit with you… I can call him for you, if you want.”

He wipes at his eyes and takes a breath, trying to keep calm. “They let you in the ambulance?”

“No,” Scott says.

“How are you here?”

Scott looked fairly tired, his waves were messy and he was wearing the same clothes he’d been wearing at the musical the night before. “I had to drive around town to all the hospitals before I found you.”

“How long did that take?” Warren’s head was spinning, a hole sinking into his chest. His dad wouldn’t even pick up the phone when he was in the hospital with a terminal illness.

“Not long. I told the nurses about your condition, and they cleaned your throat as best they could. They said it should help for a bit. You can come back again for that when you need- so you don’t need a breathing tube yet.”

Warren nods his head, and his lips start to quiver. He opens his eyes, he wants to speak but as soon as he tries he starts to sob.

“Hey,” Scott says softly, moving to hold Warren. “Hey, it’s okay. Everyone’s really worried about you. Jean’s here too, she’s getting snacks right now.”

Warren clutches Scott’s back, his hands gripping the shirt. “My dad was supposed to be there last night,” he sobs.

“Oh,” is all Scott says, because he didn’t know anything better.

“Everybody saw me fail,” Warren continues, and he wishes the catharsis of this helped with the flowers, but it didn’t. He could let out every emotion and he was still going to die.

“There wasn’t anything you could do about it.”

Warren wishes he believed that. “You have to help me,” he says. “Scott, I’m dying, and you know how to fix it.”

Scott pushes away from Warren, a worried look on his face. “I don’t- All I know is that you can fix it by telling the person you love that you love them.” 

“I tried that- I called every single girl I’ve hooked up with this year and it wasn’t a single one of them.”

“That’s impossible,” Scott says.

“Big shocker to you, but not every fun night is based on deep love,” Warren spits.

Scott sinks into himself a little, but then leans forward in his hospital chair. “No, I mean it’s impossible that you contacted all of them. Even with our no-sex-in-the-dorm-room rule, I know you were hooking up pretty often.”

Warren shakes his head. “It is, I went through my contacts and my photos.” He pulls his phone out and opens the contacts to show Scott, scrolling through the names. “I started with Casey and ended with Janelle.”

“Wait… You have all of their contact information? Every single one?”

“Yes?” Warren says it like Scott’s insane for even asking. “I hate not knowing their names, and even if it’s not love, it’s still a fun night. I like staying friends with them and inviting them to parties.” He flips through his contacts to his photos. “Here’s Maddison, I met her in… mid February at a club, we’ve been to like three parties together since then.”

“You remember every single hook-up’s name?”

“Yes, and typically where we met. But once you get to your third Emily it’s a little hard to keep track. Tien and I met at an honor’s society meeting,” Warren says, still flipping through the pictures. He passes a shirtless selfie of himself showing off his musical-season abs, that also just so happened to feature him in boxers that hung precariously low. “Whoops, sorry.”

Scott shakes his head and sits back in the hospital seat. “I can’t believe that.”

Before Warren can ask any questions, Jean returns. “Warren!” she gasps. “Are you okay, you look like you were crying.”

--

Nobody at the hospital has anything to say to Warren that Scott hadn’t already. They offer him pain meds, and recommend ways to keep his lungs clear and what to do if he chokes. But nobody has an actual solution.

They release him the next day, though Scott and Jean hang around the entire time. He enjoyed Jean’s presence, but wasn’t quite sure why Scott stayed. 

When they get back to their dorm, Scott collapses into his bed with a loud sigh of relief. “Those hospital chairs are not comfy,” he says into his pillow.

“The beds aren’t much better,” Warren says. It felt weird being on good terms with Scott, but he figured if he was dying it felt better. “Hey, about what I said yester-”

“I’ll do it,” Scott says quickly, turning over on his bed to face Warren. “I’ll help you. However I can.”

“You really don’t have to,” Warren says. “I was just upset about my dad, I didn’t mean to guilt- well, I did mean to guilt-trip you, but you don’t have to actually do it.”

Scott shakes his head. “I want to.” He flops over onto his side so he can talk to Warren better. “It’s not someone you hooked up with recently, it’s not Jean, so maybe it’s a classmate or a friend.”

Warren shakes his head. “I don’t care about classmates, and I even tried Bobby and Hank.”

“You have to have more friends than just Bobby and Hank.”

“Not any that I care about,” Warren says and cringes at how rude he sounds. “So I’m at a loss.”

“Me too.” Scott sighs and rolls onto his back.

--

A week later, Scott bursts into the room. “FAMILY!”

“What?” Warren looks up from where he was laying in bed.

“It could be a family member, maybe? It’s not sexual, it’s not platonic. Maybe it’s family. You said something about wanting your dad at the musical, but he didn’t show. That could be something.”

“Is that how it works?”

“Not typically,” Scott says, “but typically people know if they’re in love with someone. Especially if it’s this bad.”

Warren sighs, and sits up. “I guess… I guess it’s worth a shot.” He gags but suppresses a cough. “Hand me my phone?”

Scott nods and reaches for it, a few feet away from Warren on his nightstand, easily within reach. “Do you… want me to leave?” Scott asks.

“No, if it works I want you to celebrate with me, and if it doesn’t… Well, I’m dead anyway, so who cares what you hear.”

“Right…” Scott’s face is devoid of emotion as he sits on his bed.

The phone rings a few times before Warren’s father’s secretary picks up.

“Worthington the second,” she says, “this is Pricilla speaking.”

“Hey, Prissy, is my dad in?” Warren asks.

There’s a pause, and the sound of keys being pressed on a keyboard. “Yes, he is. He has a few free moments before lunch, would you like me to transfer the call, Warren?”

“Yes, please.” Warren’s eyes dart over to Scott, who looks deep in thought.

“Good luck,” Pricilla says softly before the line beeps. It rings for a moment, and then his father speaks.

“Son,” his dad says.

“Hey, dad,” Warren starts, but doesn’t really know where to go. Scott looks at him and nods, encouragingly. “You missed my musical.”

“Oh, I did?” his dad asks like he’s bored. “I didn’t realize you were still doing that after last summer.”

It’s like a knife to the chest. “Yeah, I am. And it means a lot to me. I really wanted you there, and it hurt that you didn’t show up.”

“Warren, you can’t expect me to drop everything I have going on just to indulge this little hobby of yours.”

“No, dad, but when it’s something that’s this important, I thought you’d at least listen to me.” He wants to tell his dad what happened at the show, but he’s certain it would only make this worse. “I love you dad, I wish you would show me that you loved me too.”

“I do love you, son, but when you follow this… this whim, it’s certainly not you showing your love for me. You’re meant to follow my footsteps, not prance around some stage all your life.” His dad clears his throat. “You and I both know how this makes you seem.”

Warren squeezes his eyes closed. “Right. I’m… sorry.”

“Was that all? I’ve got a lunch to get to.”

“Yeah. That’s all.” Warren’s phone drops from his hands, falling to the bed. 

The room is silent, and then Scott speaks. “Do you feel any better?”

“Not even a little bit.”

--

When spring break comes, the school empties out again. Warren wasn’t sure if it was just him and Scott again, but he thought it might be.

“You know,” he says on their second straight day of watching Star Trek episodes together, “you don’t have to hover around me like this. You can go hang out with your band. Or your girlfriend.”

“I don’t have a girlfriend,” Scott says.

“Whatever. The girl you’ve been seeing all year.” Warren sits up, almost knocking Scott off his twin bed with the movement. “It’s April and I still don’t know anything about her.”

Scott’s quiet for a while, and then he looks at Warren. He closes the laptop and sets it aside on the nightstand. “Well, what do you want to know?”

“Literally anything,” Warren laughs, and he ignores the feeling of how solid his body is. He knows it’s roots and stems, but it feels like cement. “C’mon, I’m dying. Tell me everything.”

Scott laughs, an actual laugh, and it makes Warren feel like vomiting. Scott bends his arms behind his head, sinking a bit into Warren and his mattress. “Okay… Well, here’s a big one I haven’t told anyone.” Warren leans forward an inch, practically on top of Scott. “He’s not a girl.”

Warren gasps in genuine shock, and then coughs. A couple petals hit Scott’s chest, but they’d learned to ignore that by now. “Hold on- you’re..?”

“I don’t know.” Scott sighs. “I had a really rough childhood, so I never got to think-”

“Tell me,” Warren says, and if he weren't dying he might be embarrassed at how desperate it sounded.

Scott pauses, and leans up a bit to look at him. They’re almost sharing breath, but Warren can see his own reflection in Scott’s red sunglasses. “What?” he asks softly, like no one had ever cared enough to ask before.

“Tell me about your childhood. What made it rough?”

Scott stares at Warren, he’s certain of it, and then he falls down against the mattress. Warren joins him, they lay shoulder-overlapping-shoulder, staring up at the ceiling where Warren had pinned a poster of the New York City skyline.

“My dad was a military guy, he liked flying. When I was nine or ten he took the family- my mom and younger brother- on a trip. Our plane got struck in a storm, and we only had one parachute. My mom gave it to me and my brother, we fell from the plane over a forest. The trees caught him, but I cushioned a lot of the blow for him. I ended up in a coma for a few years, until I was twelve.”

Warren’s eyes widen, suddenly a lot of things about Scott were starting to make sense. “Keep going.” 

Scott swallows audibly, and Warren feels bad about making him say this. “I thought Alex, my brother, was dead for a long time. I lived in one orphanage for a few years, but the man running it was awful. He’d make me sneak into places and steal for him, he used me.” Scott’s voice cracks slightly. “I ran away for a bit before I got picked up and sent to another home. This man was what the word evil was invented for. He… mistreated all of those kids. I couldn’t stand it. He’d hit me if I stood up for the others, but it never stopped me.”

“Scott,” Warren says, “that’s so awful. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to-”

“It’s okay,” Scott says, he keeps staring up at the ceiling. “I actually… really like being able to share all of this.” He sighs, and Warren can feel tension leave Scott's body. “I ran away from that home too, after a while. And then I lived on the streets for a few years. Eventually I found Alex, he’d been adopted by a family. They didn’t… have room for me, but they were wealthy enough to help me get into college.”

Warren reaches over and presses a hand to Scott’s chest. They lay like that for a while, until Warren leans up to look into Scott’s face. “My dad always wanted me to be his perfect son,” Warren says. He needs to let Scott see his soul. “But… when I was about twelve, whenever I started puberty, I realized that the thoughts I was having weren’t what they were supposed to be. I never went to bed dreaming of marrying a pretty lady.” Warren swallows, and Scott’s head shifts slightly to look at Warren. “I was thinking about the boys at my school.” He admits it quietly, his heart pounding with fear. Even death wasn't enough to quell the part of him that needed acceptance.

“But…” Scott’s eyes knit together though he stays quiet.

“One day, I thought my dad was staying late for work- he always did. I had over a boy from school who I had been thinking about, and we started kissing. My dad came in and caught me with him.” Warren pulls away from Scott, suddenly touching him felt painful.

But Scott catches his wrist, his lips slightly parted. “Tell me everything,” he says just as desperately as Warren had.

“The first thing he said,” Warren swallows thickly before continuing, “was that he couldn’t believe it was his own son. Then he grabbed the other boy by the hair and threw him out of the house.” Warren cringes, and Scott leans up, wrapping his arms around Warren. He hated that Scott thought he needed that. He presses his forehead against Scott’s shoulder. “Then he took me out of the all-boys school and started homeschooling me. It was a specialized course so I could take over for him when I’m able to. But once I was able, I left for college, and I didn’t tell him when I chose performing arts as my major.”

“Why would you?” Scott says, rubbing circles into Warren’s back. “I’m still not… really sure what I want, or what I like. I know I like medicine, and biochem is so much fun to study, but the guy I’m seeing… It’s… He’s not Jean.”

“Do you miss dating Jean?” Warren asks, pulling away.

Scott nods his head. “Yes, and no. I know breaking up was the right choice, but… I do miss the certainty of it. I never had to guess what she was thinking, and I knew what our future was going to be. We were going to get married, I would become a doctor and she was going to actually go somewhere with the band. We’d get married after I get my PhD, and then we’d have kids.” Scott sighs. He looks large in Warren’s twin bed, but he liked it. “Now I don’t even know if this guy likes me.”

“Then why are you with him?”

“Because knowing myself is important to me, and I feel like I need a label.”

Warren shakes his head. “You don’t. You’re always gonna be Scott The Tightass to me. No label needed.”

Scott laughs and shakes his head, giving Warren a smile. “I didn’t think this was what college was going to be like. I feel like I need to know who I am, but it’s an impossible task.”

“Yeah, it sucks because it’s like I’m racing to finish everything I possibly can. Y’know, before I…” Warren can’t bring himself to say it, but Scott nods. “Now the only thing that seems to matter is that I make everyone else as comfortable as possible with my… death. I guess my last unfinished business is the pain I’m going to leave behind, and I just can’t handle that thought.”

Scott reaches a hand over to hold Warren’s shoulder. “That’s not on you. Don’t you worry about any of that, just try to live now.”

“Well right now I just want some pizza and to finish this episode.” Warren leans over Scott to grab the laptop. “I’ll buy, do you want cheese or pepperoni?”

--

By late-May, Warren is certain he knows every single detail of Scott’s life. Every single detail except for the name of the guy Scott’s seeing. He knows they see each other on campus, he knows they met during their Freshman year, but didn’t really see each other the last two years. 

And he knows they meet up every Friday night before band practice.

Warren’s dressed as inconspicuously as he can be. Black turtleneck and black jeans. He feels handsome, but he knows this is a mission about Scott. Because he is certain if he can figure out who Scott’s seeing, then he can figure out if they’re as in love with Scott as they should be.

He waits a couple minutes after Scott says bye to follow him from the door. He keeps a good distance, staying down the hall and hiding around corners. He’s pretty sure he looks insane, but the whole school knew what was happening to him so he either got sympathetic looks or totally ignored.

He’d told Scott how shocked he was at the amount of people that didn’t speak to him anymore. They were treating him like he was already dead.

When Scott walks farther into campus, towards the arts building, Warren feels like he’s hit paydirt. A million classmates fly through his head as he imagines every single pompous art guy Scott could be seeing. None of them were good enough for him.

He follows Scott down the hallway, to the studio art room. Warren furrows his brows, he hadn’t thought that Scott would meet up in a classroom, but he supposed it made some sense if they met on campus. The building was always empty at this time, and if anyone did come in, they certainly wouldn’t go down to this classroom.

Scott checks over his shoulder, and Warren ducks behind a wall. His heart almost explodes, and he holds his breath, certain he’d been seen. But then he hears the door open and close, and he moves forward.

Scott’s back was to the window in the door, and Warren sneaks up to it, watching as Scott steps forward.

Each step builds in Warren’s chest. Scott steps up to the desk, and a hand reaches to grab Scott’s waist. Warren narrows his eyes at the sight of the thick, hairy fingers. Then Scott steps forward, moving to stand in front of whoever was in the professor’s chair.

Warren has to slap a hand over his mouth, quickly biting his fist to stop the gasp.

“Sorry I’m late, Logan,” Scott says.

Professor Logan, sitting in Professor Logan’s chair, in Professor Logan’s classroom, looks up at Scott and there’s a growl in his chest that Warren can hear through the thin door. He ducks down quickly when he thinks Logan can see the door, his heart pounding crazy as his eyes widen.

He shouldn’t be here. But if he left, they’d hear his footsteps. Warren clenches his teeth and risks glancing through the window again.

Logan pulls Scott into himself, and Scott lets him. He sits his knees on the plush chair, stradling Logan’s lap. He looked much taller than Logan, and if Warren weren’t having an out of body experience he might find it kind of funny.

“Don’t be late next time, Slim.” Logan kisses Scott’s throat, and he gasps, arching his back and pressing his chest into Logan.

“I was busy.”

Logan growls again, and makes Warren feel something odd. “Too busy for me?” Logan grips Scott’s ass through his jeans, and bites down on his throat. Scott moans, and Warren feels his insides ignite with pain.

“I s-said I was sorry, alright?” Scott moans again, gripping at Logan’s hair.

“Are you?” Logan asks, pulling the button on Scott’s jeans.

“It’s not like you’re going to punish me or anything,” Scott laughs breathlessly, and Warren ducks again, holding a hand over his mouth to keep himself from vomiting. “Can we make this quick? I was late for band practice last week.” He peeks back through the window, wishing he hadn’t followed Scott.

Logan chuckles, and kisses Scott’s throat again.

“No marks,” Scott says, pulling away. “Warren saw that hickey you gave me, and-”

Logan grips Scott’s ass, lifting him onto the desk and pulling his jeans down. Warren had seen Scott change before- out of the corner of his eye, he never stares on purpose. But sometimes Scott would just wear his boxers or briefs. Right now he wore boxer briefs and his bulge left so little to the imagination, Warren almost didn’t realize where this was going.

“Fuck,” Scott moans, pulling the button on Logan’s jeans. “Quick, okay?”

“I hear ya,” Logan grumbles, kissing Scott’s lips, probably to shut him up. He pulls his own jeans down, helping Scott out of his as well. It’s with practiced ease when he reaches one hand to open his desk and grab lube. The other used to pull Scott’s hair back. “You ready, Slim?”

“Yeah,” Scott says, his head leaning back. His lips parted with want.

“Beg me for it,” Logan teases, and Scott stays silent. “Come on, baby,” Logan lowers his voice and says more that Warren can’t hear, and maybe that’s a good thing because Scott moans loudly, his legs opening up around Logan.

“P-Please,” he stutters as Logan’s grip on his hair tightens.

“There’s my pretty boy,” Logan says, his hand disappearing between him and Scott. Slowly his hips move forward and Scott gasps so loudly Warren’s afraid someone else might hear it.

“Fuck,” Scott moans, melting onto the desk. He moans with each thrust from Logan, his voice gradually rising until he’s screaming for Logan to go harder. “FUCK ME! HARDER! HARDER! HA-AH!” He pants loudly, and Logan seems to give him everything he wants. “Ohh, ahh- mm!” Scott’s moans make Warren’s pants feel tight, and he hates himself for spying on Scott like this, but when he sees Logan take the sunglasses off Scott’s face, he forgets every moral he’s ever had.

Warren grips his hand over his jeans, rubbing at his crotch through the fabric and biting his fist. He couldn’t make a single sound.

Scott’s face, thrown back and sweating like that, was the prettiest thing Warren had ever fucking seen. The screams make his hips stutter, and he stuffs his hand into his jeans, humping his hand, as if he wished he were the one fucking Scott.

He presses his forehead to the door, out of sight from the window as he closes his eyes. The sound of Scott was enough to keep him fucking his hand, and he tries to keep a pace that helps him imagine he were the one making Scott scream and moan like that.

He gets closer and closer, the feeling welling up inside himself, until Scott screams louder, his voice stuttering and Warren looks up just in time to watch as he cums on Logan’s hand. Warren gasps softly, moving his fist faster until he’s losing it, cumming in his hand.

He sinks to the floor, catching his breath as he listens to Scott do the same.

“I thought you were in a rush,” Logan says, and Scott laughs quietly.

“Yeah, I am.” 

Warren’s eyes widen, and he moves quickly, around a corner so Scott won’t spot him when he leaves the classroom.

Scott’s footsteps are quick, and Warren squeezes his eyes shut. They stop just by the corner, and he holds his breath. This was it.

“What’s that?” Logan asks from inside the classroom.

“Nothing,” Scott says. “Just a flower petal that must have come inside with me.” Scott keeps walking, and Warren lets out the biggest breath he thinks he’d ever held before.

--

That night, Warren can’t sleep. He sits in bed, wide awake and coughing until his throat is so hoarse he can’t cough anymore.

Scott gets back as the sun sets, surprised to see Warren still awake. He’s sweaty, and Warren can’t help but think it’s not from band practice. “Hey,” Scott says. “You need some tea?”

Warren shakes his head. “No,” he clears his throat. It hurt to speak, but it did more often than not these days. “How was… practice?”

“It was okay. Kurt sang us something he was working on and it started going somewhere towards the end.” Scott peels his shirt off and tosses it to the floor. Warren could see the top of his boxer briefs over his jeans. He licks his lips. “I can get you some water.”

“How was it?” Warren blurts, and then coughs weakly. A few petals fall through the air.

“I just told you..?” Scott cocks his head. He was wearing his sunglasses again. “I’m gonna get you that water.” He moves to grab a water bottle he kept for Warren in the minifridge, opening it and handing it to Warren.

Warren sips it slowly at first, and then gulps it. He could always feel the flowers shifting in his throat now. There was one bulb near the base of his jaw that made swallowing hard. “No, not practice.” He looks up at Scott, and Scott’s eyes widen as his cheeks turn pink.

“Oh.” He rubs the back of his neck, and takes a seat next to Warren on his bed. “It was… fine.”

Warren nods, and then reaches forward to grab Scott’s sunglasses. He moves slowly, giving Scott every chance to move away. He doesn’t. Warren grabs the sunglasses and pulls them away, inspecting them. “Why do you wear these?”

“You bought them for me,” Scott says. “Last winter you came home really drunk to celebrate your musical.” Scott swallows, and Warren watches his adam's apple move. “And you gave those to me.”

Warren furrows his brows. “I… don’t remember that.”

“Yeah, I figured that out eventually… I really like them though.”

“You wore sunglasses before that. Why?”

Scott frowns slightly, then he turns to look at Warren. “My eyes… They’re really sensitive to light. It gives me headaches if I don’t wear them.”

“Oh.” Warren hands them back. “I didn’t realize it was that simple.”

“Yeah, I got diagnosed with autism as a kid and the doctor recommended I do this to help with the light sensitivity.”

“And here I just thought you were some douche.” He licks his lips, and looks up at Scott. “I guess I was really wrong about you.”

Scott laughs, and stands to put on a new shirt. “Probably not entirely. At practice-”

“I saw,” Warren says, because he can’t stand keeping a secret from Scott.

“What?” He pauses, about to pull the shirt over his head.

“You. Today. I followed you. I saw you. With…” He can’t say it.

Scott’s eyes widen, and he pulls the shirt on and then puts the sunglasses back on. “You don’t know-”

Warren holds his hands up. “I’m dying anyway, I won’t say a thing! I swear to god!”

Scott flounders for a moment, and then covers his face with his hand. “Fuck.”

“I didn’t tell anyone. I wouldn’t- won’t.”

“You… Followed me there?” Scott looks up and sits on his bed. “How much did you see?”

Warren closes his eyes when he says, “Everything.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know!”

Scott stands and paces. “Wh… What? I mean… What the fuck?”

“I know!” Warren leans up, but he starts coughing again. Scott looks conflicted, until Warren really starts coughing, choking as a bulb comes loose in his throat. He gestures for Scott to help him, and Scott’s quick, working as any medical professional might. 

Warren vomits the flowers and blood up, but it doesn’t stop. He keeps coughing and blood keeps coming. He wants to tell Scott that this is probably really bad, but he can’t get any words out. 

“You’re too pale,” Scott says, grabbing his phone.

Starts and static fill Warren’s vision, and it’s just as scary this time as the first.

--

When Warren wakes up, he’s dazed for a moment, but he realizes quickly that he’s in a hospital.

“Scott?!” he gasps, though it’s weak and nearly impossible to hear. His inhales feel weird, and quickly he realizes he’s got breathing tubes in his nostrils.

“Relax,” Scott says, and he sounds so tired. “I’m here.”

“What happened?” Warren asks, turning to him so quickly he feels the stems inside himself move.

Scott looked as tired as he sounded. Heavy bags under his eyes and disheveled hair. “You fainted from blood loss. You’ve been asleep all day.”

“What day is it now?” Warren coughs weakly, and Scott reaches to hold out a cup of water with a straw for him.

“Sunday morning. You lost Saturday.” He sighs.

“Thank you,” Warren drinks the water and squeezes his eyes closed. “I’m sorry, Scott.”

“Don’t be,” he says. “I- I should have told you why I was so secretive about him.”

Warren shakes his head and regrets it. “No, I get it. You don’t have to explain anything to me.”

Scott nods, and sighs again. Then he sinks into the hospital chair. “Finals are in a few weeks.”

“Oh, I hope I die now then,” Warren jokes.

Scott stands without a word and leaves the room. Warren wished he hadn’t said that.

--

The next week is bad and then worse. Scott didn’t stay gone for long, but soon the nurses and doctor see Warren. The flowers were firmly rooted now. Operating was impossible, his lungs were nearly full and they were certain that within days it was going to spread to his heart. 

“You can go home,” the doctor had said to him. “Make yourself comfortable, and do something you enjoy.”

“What if it doesn’t kill me?” Warren asked. He knew he sounded like he was in denial, but he didn’t want anybody to have to clean up his blood anymore.

“It will continue to spread to your brain. It might not, there’s been some cases before… But those people don’t retain consciousness, and without that they can’t communicate with anyone. It can be… very pricey to support someone like that.”

“Oh,” Warren said. “I could probably afford it.” He turned to Scott, and his entire body was numb. “What do you think?”

“We can watch Star Trek in your bed,” he said quickly. “And I know how to operate the feeding tube… If we need.”

The next day was spent getting Warren ready to go back to campus, Scott spends every single moment studying to help him. It feels unreal.

“You don’t mind-”

“Warren,” Scott says, setting the book he was studying aside and looking at him.

Warren reaches for Scott’s arm, gripping it tightly. “This is important to me. You really don’t mind taking care of me? You know I’m going to die- I’m leaving everything behind for you to clean up. This is right before finals, I'm definitely not going to graduate and you already-.. You have so much left.”

Scott presses a hand to Warren’s chest. “I know,” he says. “I was in a coma for two years, think of this as… cosmic karma.”

“No,” Warren says sternly. “I am not your obligation.” He grips Scott’s hand and pulls it close. “I can’t fucking stand the thought of you spending a single moment with me that you don’t want to.”

“I want to,” Scott says, and cups Warren’s cheek.

Warren breathes out, his hand over Scott’s. He closes his eyes as he relaxes into the touch. “I’m sorry,” he whispers.

“Don’t,” Scott says.

Tears escape Warren’s eyes despite how tightly he has them shut, but he’s able to whisper. “Can we go home now?”

--

Scott carries Warren, because he didn’t think a wheelchair would be worth having for only a day or two. He lays Warren in his bed, moving the pillows for him and setting the oxygen tank out of the way. “Comfortable?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Warren says.

Scott settles in next to Warren, the laptop ready for Star Trek.

They’re quiet for a few episodes, maybe two before they even speak. When they do, Scott’s got his head resting against Warren’s chest. His feet stick off the end of the bed, it’s almost cute. 

“Is there anything you want to do?” Scott asks.

“Hm?” Warren asks, he was on pain meds, light ones, but they had made him drowsy. “Oh, before I die?”

“Yeah.”

Warren hums, and then shrugs. “I guess I never thought I’d go like six months without sex before I died. But it’s not like you can hook me up with a pretty girl like this.” He chuckles bitterly. “If I wasn’t so sick, I’d want to go to the beach. Fuck, it’s not even June yet.”

Scott’s quiet for a moment, and then he asks, “Have you ever slept with a guy?”

“No,” Warren says. “I’ve never wanted to.” He struggles to sit up a bit, and then adds, “And it’s not like it would matter. What guy would want to sleep with me like this anyway?”

“What do you mean? You’re handsome.”

“And hooked up to a tank. I look like death, I probably taste like blood, and I smell like vomit.”

Scott shakes his head. “You smell fine. I really like it. And I’d sleep with you, for what it’s worth.”

Warren’s brain stops working for a moment. All he’s able to get out is, “Logan?”

Scott hums against his chest. “We’ve never technically been exclusive. And I missed today… I texted him, I let him know I’m probably not meeting him again.”

“You have to promise me you’re going to have as much sex as possible when I die,” Warren says. “You cannot turn into a prude, prove me wrong- or at least the me from the begining of this year.”

Scott laughs. “I mean, I can’t promise that, I’m going to be-” he cuts himself off, and then swallows hard. “It won’t be fun.”

“Fine, you’re allotted a two week grace period, but after that you’re boning,” Warren jokes.

“What about you?”

“I’ll be bones,” Warren says, and then cringes.

“For sex. What about you?”

Warren shrugs. “How about we watch Star Trek?”

“I’m serious, I want to fulfill your last request.” Scott places a hand on Warren's stomach.

“Just because you canceled your dick appointment with Logan does not mean you need to make one with me.”

Scott leans up and kisses Warren’s cheek. It’s soft and quick, so quick he’s almost unsure it even happened. “I’ll bring you anyone you want, but… Can it be me?”

“It’s always you,” Warren says dumbly. His working theory being that the last of his blood had rushed to his dick.

Scott licks his fingers, and Warren watches his tongue move. And then he slides his hand under the covers, under Warren’s boxers. 

He gasps softly when Scott’s hand wraps around his cock, melting into the mattress. “Scott-”

“I can stop,” he says quickly. “If you want me to.”

“No,” Warren says, grabbing his forearm. “Keep going.” He closes his eyes, and when Scott moves his hand, it’s the nicest thing Warren had felt since the pain killers.

He moans softly, and Scott sets the laptop aside before rolling over, practically on top of Warren. “Anything you want,” he says, and Warren is certain that he’s already dead for a moment.

“Wh… What?” Warren’s eyes are hooded, he’s unable to focus as he drifts into the blissful feeling.

“Tell me what you want to do- anything and I’ll do it.” Scott presses a kiss to Warren’s collarbone, tugging the collar of his shirt. “I’ll ride you, I’ll make love to you, I can put my mouth on you. If there’s a really weird kink you never got to try, I’ll do that.”

“I-” Warren gasps, and tightens his grip on Scott’s wrist, pushing his hand away. “What do you want?”

“This isn’t about me.”

“It is now.” Warren looks up at Scott, his waves curtaining his face.

“I… I just want to make you happy. So you can die knowing that somebody cared as much as you do.”

“Then… Turn the light off. I want to see your face.”

Scott doesn’t even think about it, he leans to turn the lamp off, the only light in the room from the window over his bed. He pulls his sunglasses off and smiles at Warren. “Good?”

“Perfect,” Warren says. 

“How much of me do you want to see?”

Warren’s floored by that question for a moment. “As much as you’re comfortable with.”

Scott leans up, pulling his shirt off and tossing it aside. He pauses, leaning to kiss Warren’s lips. It’s a soft kiss at first, but quickly they speed up, trying to bite each other’s lips as they lick into each other’s mouths. Scott leans back, pulling his boxers and jeans off in one movement. He’s entirely naked, and Warren stares at him with wide eyes.

“You’re gorgeous,” he says softly, in awe of Scott’s body. “I’ve never seen anyone like you.”

“I bet you say that to all the boys,” Scott teases against Warren’s lips. He leans back in, pulling at Warren’s jeans and boxers until he gets them down enough to press their dicks together. He strokes them both, peppering kisses against Warren’s mouth. “What do you want?”

“I want you to know that I love you,” Warren says.

“I love you too, Warren, but really. What do you want?”

Warren reaches to cup Scott’s pretty face. “Just keep touching me. Scott, I’m serious. It’s important to me that you know this isn’t just because you’re here, and it’s not just because I’m dying. I love you, and you deserve to be with someone who tells you that.”

“Warren…” Scott breathes, looking into his eyes. His hand stops moving for a moment, and then a tear rolls down his face. It rolls down his nose, onto Warren’s, until it disappears on the pillow. “I love you so much, and even if you weren’t dying, I’d still want to do this. You deserve to know that.”

Warren reaches to pull Scott those last few inches into a salty kiss. Scott’s tears continue to fall onto Warren’s face, and Scott’s hand moves faster, his dick rubbing against Warren’s. It’s pure bliss, and his body feels better than it had since he could remember. He wished he didn’t have the breathing tubes so he could take his shirt off easier, but each moment was getting harder and harder to think.

Heat builds in his body, and he feels himself and Scott getting wet against each other. Warmth spreads like the flowers inside of him, and he’s panting into Scott’s mouth. 

Waves of pleasure roll through Warren, and he bucks his hips into Scott’s hand, fucking himself against Scott’s cock. “F-Fuck,” he moans, and Scott moans against his cheek, his panting getting louder and more urgent.

“I love you,” Warren says, kissing Scott’s face. “I love you,” he repeats.

“I-I love you,” Scott’s barely able to speak as he cums on Warren’s stomach. The warmth against Warren sends him into pure bliss as he cums.

Scott collapses against Warren’s chest, the two of them catching their breath together.

They’re quiet for a very long time, and then Scott asks, “How was that?”

“Better than anything I’ve ever felt before,” Warren says. As he regains his breath, he feels something inside him change. He coughs, and Scott looks worried, but Warren narrows his eyes. “Scott, look.”

“No blood,” he says, opening Warren’s mouth with his hand to look inside. “No petals either.”

He moves back and they look at each other.

“Wait,” Scott says. “How do you feel?”

“I can’t feel it inside me anymore,” Warren says. “I- I’m not dead, right? I thought for a minute there that I might be, but I’m not, right? I’m still alive?”

“Yeah,” Scott says, nodding with wide eyes. “This… How?! There’s only one-” he cuts himself off suddenly. “You… me?”

“What do you-..?” 

Oh.

Warren covers his face with hands. “I can't fucking believe I have to study for my finals now.”

“That’s what you care about right now?!”