"we watch as our young hearts fade."
- dean lewis
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THE SUN WAS beginning to set when Gus stepped out of his mother's house, the sky an orange backdrop to his silhouette as he walked down the driveway. Aurora watched eagerly from the car, removing her gaze from the sun to look at him instead.

As he came closer, she smiled.

"So?" she asked when he was sitting in the driver's seat, strapping the seatbelt over his chest. "How was it?"

Gus faced her. It took a moment longer than normal for his mouth to stretch into a grin. Aurora noted the way his eyes didn't crinkle, and the way his hands gripped the steering wheel, knuckles tight.

"Good," he said, quickly kissing her cheek before pulling out of the driveway.

"Good?" she repeated. "That's all you have to say?"

"Really good."

"Gus!" he chuckled as she slapped his shoulder. "You were in there for over an hour. What did you guys talk about?"

"Mostly my dad."

Aurora's annoyance began to grow at his clipped responses. She wanted his words to run like an open faucet and fill her curiosity. Instead, the tap was off. And every word out of his mouth seemed forced.

Aurora couldn't pinpoint why.

"What did she tell you about him?" she tried again.

"His name is Khean. They knew each other for a month and fell in love," he said slowly, peeling his eyes off the road to glance at Aurora.

She smirked. "Sounds familiar."

"He went back home after summer and when my mom found out she was pregnant, it was too late. He was gone and all she had was a name, Rory. It wasn't enough to find him—to tell him about me."

"What was he like?" Aurora asked, rolling down the window and letting the soft breeze into the car. They were still driving through the neighbourhood, and the roads were quiet here.

"Kind," Gus said simply.

"Like you." Her hand found his. "What else did she say?"

"That's really it." Something about the way Gus said those three words had Aurora leaning closer, doubting him.

"You expect me to believe she told you a story about your dad and then you two sat there, staring at a wall for an hour?" Aurora rolled her eyes. "She must have said more."

Gus shook his head. "Nothing else."

"Okay," she said, stretching out the word. "Are you going to come back some day? Does she want to see you again?"

"I don't think so," he whispered.

Aurora squeezed his hand, having expecting so much. "And what about you?" Gus lifted his eyes off the road quickly to turn to her, eyebrows drawn together. "Do you want to see her again," Aurora clarified.

"I just want to go home," he said.

The way his voice broke when he said that word—home—was enough for Aurora to catch on that he was withholding secrets. Gus stilled as she turned down the volume on the radio and placed her hand on his leg. When he stopped at a red light, she grabbed his chin between her two fingers and forced his eyes to hers.

"Gus," she demanded, voice stern. "We both know you can't lie to me, so spare me the pain of witnessing this and tell me the truth."

Aurora smiled sweetly. Gus turned away.

"I just. . .want to keep some stuff she told me to myself," Gus said. He was squirming in his seat, beads of sweat visible on his forehead in the light from the setting sun. "All right?"

"But I thought we were in this together. I thought you'd want to share—"

"Just let it go, Rory!" he yelled, slamming down on the brakes at a red light. Aurora's body jerked forward, grabbing the door for support. "What my mom told me is private. It's mine. I don't want to tell you everything."

Aurora flinched, dropping his hand. She had never heard him yell before. Not even so much as raise his voice—especially not at her. The words were out, settling between them like iron-hot coals. When Gus bowed his head, she could nearly hear the apology hovering on his lips.

"Got it," she said, turning her attention back to the window and the sky that was now verging on black.

When Gus reached for her leg, she tugged it away. When he reached for her hand, she tucked it beneath her thigh.

"Rory," he begged, "I didn't mean that."

"You did."

"No, I didn't."

"It's fine, Gus," she grumbled, gesturing to the windshield. "The light's green."

They didn't say another word for the rest of the ride back to the hotel. Aurora didn't know what was worse: the silence or the fighting. Fighting held hurtful words, but each second of silence that ticked by felt like the little crack of space that had opened up between them was growing.

When Gus pulled the car into the hotel's parking lot an hour later, he rushed around to the passenger side to help Aurora out, who was already halfway outside.

"I can do it on my own," she said, shaking off his hand on her hip as she wobbled to the sidewalk.

"Rory." Gus sighed, jogging to keep up with her. "Let me help you."

"I'm fine." She gritted the words out through her teeth, thankful for the darkness to hide the flush in her cheeks and the sadness in her eyes.

The revolving door to the hotel spun open, and a trio of men in business suits walked out. Their laughter carried through the chilly air and Aurora found herself taking a step in their direction, away from the hotel.

"Rory?" Gus called. It took a second for him to run to her. "Where are you going?"

He planted his feet firmly in front of Aurora, blocking her view. The skyscrapers loomed above him, traffic playing in the background, and Aurora failed to meet his eyes. Instead, she stared at the pocket on his t-shirt, the freckles on his nose and the way her skin warmed when he placed his hand on her hip, the gentle spot where her t-shirt had risen up.

She shook her head to clear her mind. "I'm hungry," she declared, taking another step away, "I want pizza."

Gus chuckled, mistaking her tone. "You always want pizza," he teased. "Let's go."

When he wrapped his arm around her shoulders, Aurora ducked her head, swerving out of his touch that felt too warm, too good to match the way he had yelled at her in the car. This time, when she met his eyes, she saw that they were guarded, and Aurora wandered what his mother had told him that had Gus lying to her.

"I can go alone."

She barely made it two steps before Gus was in front of her again, hands crossed firmly over his chest, curls swaying side-to-side as the wind picked up, raising goosebumps on both their skin.

"Are you mad at me?" he whispered.

Aurora deliberately didn't meet his eyes. "Yes," she admitted.

"I'm sorry," he said, taking a step closer until his arms were wrapped around her waist, Aurora's head pressed into his chest. Their bodies were a roadblock in the middle of the bustling sidewalk, but neither of them cared. "Please don't be upset."

"I'm not upset." Aurora hated this—having to voice aloud the way her heart ached and verbally name the reasons for it. She preferred to ache in private, internally where no one could see or hear. "It doesn't matter," she said with a slight shake of her head. "I just want to eat. I'll meet you back at the hotel."

She was out of his grasp, wobbling down the sidewalk on her crutches when his voice called out behind her.

"Rory!" She turned slowly to face him. "You stay in the hotel. I'll get you something to eat."

"I can do it on my own."

Gus' rolled his eyes as he walked to her, apologizing when a woman passing by hit his shoulder. "I'm not letting you wander around the city at night time alone, Rory. You can barely even walk. Wait in the room, and I'll get you as many pizzas as you want."

"This isn't about fucking food, Gus!" Her crutch fell from her grasp and Gus ran to her, bending over to pick it up. "Leave it," she hissed, "I can pick it up on my own. I can get food on my own. I'm sick of everyone thinking I'm broken and can't do anything on my fucking own!"

Gus dropped the crutch. He took a step back, blinking at the girl in front of him.

"Rory, I—"

"I didn't want to burden you with questions about your mom. I just wanted you to want to tell me what she said," Aurora whispered, hot tears springing to her eyes. "I hate these fucking crutches. I hate how I cry when I'm frustrated and I hate that I couldn't follow you down the street today when you ran away. I hate not being able to do anything on my own!"

The words erupted from her like a volcano, molten hot lava dripped off her tongue, destroying the space between them. Aurora lifted her eyes to Gus' and he was staring at his shoes, mouth slightly parted.

"Fine," she said, breathing a defeated sigh. "Go get us dinner."

Aurora walked past him, stopping when his hand latched onto her forearm, holding her in place.

"Come with me," he begged. "Please."

Aurora tugged her hand away. She tilted her head until her hair covered her face like a curtain, blocking it from his view.

"Go," she said, "I need some time alone."

She disappeared into the revolving door and up the escalator without risking a glance back. The cool air from the lobby cleared the fog in her head, and the soft music in the elevator matched the beat of her heart.

Aurora pressed the button for the twelfth floor, then her finger hovered on the one that kept the doors open. She pressed it once, waiting. When the doors began to close and no one walked through, she pressed it again, waiting.

When it was clear Gus had done as she asked and left, she allowed the doors to shut and carry her upwards. It was only when she was standing inside their room that she fell back against the closed door, allowing herself to cry.

They weren't tears of anger or sadness. She didn't cry for Gus or out of worry for their relationship. Aurora knew they'd be fine—knew she'd apologize to him and he'd smile in that familiar way before kissing her skin and laying her down in bed, where they'd forget the fight altogether.

Instead, Aurora cried because for the first time in her life, she felt helpless. Incapable. Weak. The crutches and the pain in her body held her back in the last week of her life where she should be moving nowhere but forward.

The world crashed down around her slowly. First the hotel room ceiling, then the walls, then the floor crumbled into tiny pieces until she was free falling into a darkness that held no end.

She sank to the ground, throwing her crutches across the room, sobbing until her eyes ran dry.

She was going to die soon, with crutches beneath her arms and her hand in a brace. She was going to die unable to walk down a flight of stairs or hold her boyfriend's face with two hands.

Aurora's breaths came in short bursts as she crawled across the floor and into the bathroom. The tiles were cold beneath her skin, and she peeled off her clothing as she rested against the bathtub. She tried to boost herself up, to reach for the tap and fill the tub with running water, but her ribs ached before her fingers could grasp the cool metal.

She tried again, with no luck.

She took a deep breath and forced herself off the floor, pushing on her feet and on her knees to move—to do anything. Still, she sat there, unable. 

Aurora rested her head against the tub.

She noted that the day was August twenty-fifth.

She mentally counted that there were five days left in the month.

Aurora closed her eyes and let herself shed only five tears, one for each day she had left.

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thanks to @wowzabella for the aesthetics!

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