Archive of Our Own ^beta

dear race.

today is february 24th of 2024. outside, the sun is shining pretty brightly. it could just be me, but it feels boiling.

yesterday, the nurse came by the house and told me she'd be staying for the next few days to monitor me instead of splint and i going in and out of the hospital every other day, but i know damn well that's utter bullshit.

im not getting better.

i know you've been pushing me to keep up hope but i know (and i know you know) that im not gonna be around much longer.

its not that ive “given up” per say, but i know what's coming, and i think ive finally come to peace with it? 

god that sounds cringey.

anyways.

maybe i won't die. maybe, you'll never get this letter. maybe ill get better and like- burn this letter. make sure you never read it.

that's probably not gonna happen though. sorry.

thanks for the flowers you brought the other day. golden rods i think you called them? they bring a nice bit of life to the room im probably gonna die in.

you can't get mad at me for saying that. its my death and i can joke about it as much as id like.

actually cant believe this is probably gonna be my place of passing. the bedroom i grew up in.

i can still see your signature on the windowsill from when my family first moved in. our build-a-bear we swore we'd exchange once a week we totally forgot about is on my shelf. our stack of playbills are still collecting dust in the corner (don't let splint throw them out BTW. we got some cool ones in there, and some of them are signed too.)

i mean for fucks sake, we made out on that beanbag a few weeks ago.

god, i remember how you couldn't stop laughing all throughout bible study the next morning while everyone tried praying for my health, cause in your words “if last night is anything to go off of, your health is perfectly fine.”

great now im crying.

so much for not caring i guess, that lasted about twenty minutes.

i love you. a lot.

you've been my best friend for as long as ive known you and ive loved you since the moment i met you.

im sorry im just leaving you before we're even thirty. before we can get married. before we could maybe even have kids. before we could have a proper life together.

i know we always sneer when people said this in films, but i promise, ill always be with you in spirit.

you're my best friend and i love you more than words can say.

im gonna miss you so much. 

all my love, now and forever,

albert <3

[p.s, take care of splint. i remember how she was when aunt missy passed away, i know how much she struggles with things like this. let her know she couldn't have stopped me from getting worse.]

~

Race read the letter again as he sat on his bed, curtains closed and lights off.

Albert DaSilva had passed away on Monday, March 4th, due to terminal bone cancer. Casimir Pulaski day according to Henry. The first Monday in March.

He'd written that letter to Race only nine days prior. 

His older sister, Splint, went across the road to the Denton family the morning of the funeral to give it to him, stating to read it after the ceremony.

“It was on his bedside locker. Had your name written on the front.”

Since then, Race must've reread the letter a thousand times. Albert was only gone two weeks at this stage, but Race felt like it'd been years.

As his eyes read over the final paragraph once more, he folded the letter and tucked it gently into his shirt pocket before slowly laying down on the bed, curling in on himself.

He missed Albert.

Everybody did, obviously. Death like this doesn't just happen to someone like Al, and everyone who'd ever met him was grieving in their own way.

But Race was struggling.

That was his best friend that had died.

That was his boyfriend laying in a coffin.

That was his love they'd just lowered into the ground.

He couldn't handle the idea that he was just…gone. Just like that. He'd never see him again, he'd never speak with him again, he'd never laugh with him again- he hated it.

His heart skipped a beat when the door opened, his twin brother JoJo wandering into their bedroom and sitting at the edge of his bed.

“Hey Tony…you doing okay? He asked, patting his leg. When he got no response, he sighed quietly. “Stupid question I guess, you haven't been okay for a while I don't think.”

Race shook his head, tears pricking at the corner of his eyes yet again. 

“They were asking for you at bible study you know? Wanted to know how you were keeping and if you'd be back.” JoJo hummed, now rubbing circles against his thigh in a relaxing manner.

“I won't.” Race whispered, voice cracking. “Never going back there.” 

“Why's that?”

Race threw himself into a sitting position on the bed, throwing JoJos hand off of his leg. 

“Because, Jo! It makes no sense anymore! What are we doing praying to a fucking liar? If God's so great, how come Albert ain't practicing his dances right now? If Jesus died for all of us, how come Albert's lying in a damn grave? It's not fair! It's not fair, it's not fair, it's not-”

Tears were streaming down Race's face as he yelled, slowly growing louder and louder as he ranted on. He began hitting the edge of his fists against JoJo's chest, though with how weak and tired he was, they weren't exactly doing much damage.

Before he worked himself into a panic attack, JoJo pulled him into a tight hug, wrapping his arms around his torso and twirling his hair between his fingers to try to calm his twin brother down.

“Hey, you're okay! It's okay to feel like this, it's okay to think this way.” He insisted as Race dug his nails into his back. “We all process this differently, it's okay to be mad.”

“I thought he was still alive, Jo! At the funeral, I thought I saw him breathing when he was lying out there- it's fucking awful!” Race cried, squeezing JoJo as tight as he could. “They buried my boyfriend, my love, and he- he knew it was coming! He knew it was coming and he just had to sit back and let it happen, 's not fair!”

“I know honey, I know.” 

Race continued to cry, finally letting out all of these bottled up emotions after holding them in for weeks on end, JoJo holding him tightly for comfort.

Someday, they'd be reunited. 

Someday, Race would end up back in Albert's arms, both of them being laughing and giggling messes like old times, singing show tunes and creating their own dance numbers.

That day would come eventually, but until then, Race could always look back on the goldenrods, the prayer circles, the signature scratches, the playbills, the beanbag.

The best memories with his love.