#I know what he said in neoplasm was very likely a lie but I can’t stop but feel worried to him | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

haniiwrites · 6 years

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black out

At first, there’s a lot of bruising. Now, Neil isn’t one to be clumsy, but yeah, there’ve been accidents at work, so he attributes them to that at first. It’s normal. There are tools and pieces to the set and fights and, well, Dave’s more than a little handsy in bed, so he never thinks they’re serious. It’s only when he’s getting undressed later, readying himself for a shower (one of the ones he doesn’t take with Dave, hilariously enough— he’s cooking,) that he notices that his skin, at some parts, is more yellow-green and purple than it is its normal pale toned. Again, he doesn’t think it’s serious— just Dave being a little rougher than usual, they tend to do that. But a few weeks later, he doesn’t seem any better and all, and it looks like there are even more bruises.

And, well, it makes him just a little uneasy. He’s not the sort to bruise easily, and he did remember that there was a time where his dad had been sick, but— pft, no, it’s obviously nothing, because Neil thinks himself invincible most of the time— food and sleep is for the weak, and when it was time for a show, then it was time for a show and there was absolutely no fucking around.

There really isn’t any time to worry. Because, hello, there’s a fucking wedding to plan and god knows that Dave isn’t going to take on any of the responsibilities. There are people to invite and food to decide on and there is music to choose and, the thing is, Neil doesn’t know shit about weddings.

He just knows he wants it to be perfect.

So when the nose bleeds start and his gums are a little more sensitive than normal (they bleed, too, sometimes, fucking hell,) he’s only a little pissed off. Neil can handle it, so long as it doesn’t get on any of the tablecloths, he can. It isn’t like it’s anything bad, really, it’s just… him being a little sick. Stress, probably, at least, that’s what Neil thinks Dave would explain it as.

It’s when his joints start hurting and he feels like an old fucking man that he decides to take any action whatsoever. The morning is like any other (though, it’s a little colder than normal, so Dave and Neil linger in their bed before the blond hauls himself up to go and make coffee,) and Neil likes that about it. There’s a small feeling of dread that’s creeping up his spine but he effectively ignores it, if there’s anything he’s learned what with being with Dave for so long, it was how to ignore tiny, annoying things. Like dread.

The lie is hard to say, Neil saying that he’s actually got to run some bizarro errands before going into work, but he manages, saying it with a bit of a smile and a small, but long kiss pressed to Dave’s lips, “I’ll be there soon, don’t miss me too much, fuckass,” Neil says as his parting words, because he needs something to get rid of Dave’s kicked puppy look, and the both of them go in their separate directions immediately afterwards— Dave to the theatre and Neil to the doctor’s office.

The office isn’t as bad as he thought it’d be, but then again, it’s much different than he thought. There’s a haggard old man being held by his nurse, a mom wheeling out her son (she looks tired, so tired, and he can only think about Patricia, and adjust himself in his seat,) and there is a couple, looking like they’re about ready to cry— that’s when Neil focusses on the floor, counting the teal and grey flecks that decorate the tiles.

The whole visit, Neil thinks, goes by as a blur. He doesn’t really take anything in at that point, and he certainly can’t remember any of it later. There are a thousand tests to take and a million more things running through Neil’s mind. Questions are answered, but not all of them, and he’s still left with the uncertainty of it all, which might very well kill him. He doesn’t really understand anything of what the doctor says, because he doesn’t know shit. Neil knows that he isn’t that sick, there’s nothing wrong, just some stress and maybe some exhaustion and— something along those lines— but nothing else. Nothing, right?

So the words sound like some sort of far away voice, but it echoes in his brain and he can’t seem to get it out. There’s a possibility of some— some fucking intracranial solid neoplasm, the doc’ said. A tumor— a fucking tumor. A few more tests and scans and apparently, it’s for certain.

Getting home is another thing that he thinks of as a blur. How he gets to his apartment, he has no idea, but apparently, he got there. Neil stands outside of his door for a full hour, unmoving and completely still, save his small, short breaths and the blink of his eyes that occurs from time to time. His body leans backwards and his back hits the brick wall, Neil sliding down and staring blankly at the door.

It’s a few hours later when Dave comes home. The blond runs towards him and Neil’s suddenly shaken out of his trance. “What— no, sorry,” he laughs it all off and shakes his head, running his hand through his hair and giving him a bright smile, “Wow just— tired. So fucking tired,” and Dave mumbles something along the lines of I told you so, you fucking asshole, and all Neil does is roll his eyes and sigh in annoyance and thinks I love you so much, you fuckass, you don’t even know.

#-#--#---#----#-----#c;neil carlebach #d;neil carlebach #drabbles

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