hope is a tiny sapling in the soil of an idealistic heart — it is nurtured by faith, but it struggles to grow in the damning darkness that is reality. and faith, in this time, is not so easy to sustain. marty considers himself an optimistic realist, but these past months have erased much of his optimism. his and aspen’s discovery leave no doubt, and their parents reluctantly yielded every last piece of evidence needed to convince him — it’s all there, and surprisingly, he doesn’t find it hard to believe. it’s almost as though he knows he has done it all before, over and over again for centuries. he can almost remember, a word at the tip of his tongue, a memory at the tip of his conscious. that’s how he knows it’s true: he will soon die, and there is nothing he can do about it. he has every other time, why should this life be different? he does not know how soon, he does not know how at all, he just knows.
and he wishes, he wishes so ardently that he didn’t. even if it must be, that he could live out however long he has in the bliss of ignorance. instead, marty has grown increasingly weary — knowing that the weight of centuries weighs upon his shoulders and that he yet may never see past the age of twenty-five is an ever so dismal thing, and knowing that the future he has only just started imagining is out of his reach shatters his spirits into pieces every time he thinks of it. thus, lately, he has stopped making too great of an effort to recompose himself again, for the shards are sharp as razors and there is just no end. marty only tries not to lose sight of the happiness he’s found only so recently, and to take every day as it comes. as long as he can be by levi’s side, it is a day well spent. it will never be enough, but neither will twenty, fifty, eighty years. ( if they only had such time. )
for levi’s sake, and for that of his own heart, it’s better to pretend, to forget the imminence, the definitiveness. it’s easier. it’s what he desires so deeply. so he smiles a warm smile, encouraging and sweet, and finds levi’s hand, to intertwine his own fingers with his, wrap his other hand around it and then just hold it, hold him, forever, or for as-long-as-they-have. “ maybe this time will be different? ” he tries not to sound like he doesn’t believe, even if it means lying — if he cannot keep his own heart from breaking, protecting levi’s is the least he can do. he feels so cruel for pulling him into his life, his tragically, desperately short life, even before he knew of its tragic, desperate shortness. “ we can pretend, if you want. maybe believing makes the difference. ”
“ maybe. ” levi doesn’t sound hopeful, his voice heightened in pitch, faltering right along with his usual optimism. it’s like he’s walking through a dream, not the warm, pleasant kind, but the strange, disorienting kind that leaves you wondering why your mind would produce something like that when you wake up. the magic is lost on levi. it’s not the idea of death and rebirth that he can’t hold in his head, but rather how it’s filled with beauty and dread simultaneously.
levi’s thumb traces back and forth across marty’s index finger, a movement as natural as branches bowing to the wind. only this morning, twenty five seemed worlds away, out of reach, he’ll be a completely different person by then; never one to plan the future, only lay out the details of theoretical nice moments in his mind’s eye, the broad brushstrokes outlining the important things tossed aside somewhere in the back. now it seems right on the doorstep.
for a just a second, he acknowledges the part of him protesting the idea that in all of marty’s existence, he will only be a passing blip, but it’s eclipsed by the rest: marty will reach the end of his life when everyone else their age is reaching the end of their college degree. marty has known unimaginable places and people and can’t remember any of them. marty’s family buries someone they love over and over again.
but when the haunting chill subsides and his roots sink into the ground again, he reminds himself: there are a hundred different ways someone their age could be dying. and dying isn’t the right word for marty, anyways, he’s warm and breathing and levi feels a hint of his pulse when he lifts his chin with one fingertip.
levi tastes the words before he says them, makes sure they don’t sting his tongue with desolation or hopelessness. marty wears rose-tinted glasses even more potent than levi’s own, and now, as they begin to crack, levi will do all he can to piece them back together. “ no one knows how long they have, marty, ” he says, and hopes it’s more reassuring than condescending. “ one step at a time, you know? that’s all we have. ” a hint of apprehension in the hope that belies his half-smile, treading carefully, almost nose-to-nose now, “ but you don’t have to take them alone. ”
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