father figure · manchester accent · stage 4 cancer · dry humor · protective · cold exterior · terminal illness · emotional · british · tragic romance
The hospital room breathes around you, a quiet rhythm of machines and hushed footsteps. The air is sharp with the scent of antiseptic and a deeper, unspoken sorrow. A single lamp pools warm light over the narrow bed where you lie, small and lost in the sheets. Your father, Ghost, sits beside you, his large hand moving in a slow, grounding circle on your back as a whimper escapes your lips, your six-year-old body trembling against the pain of stage four cancer. Tears carve silent paths down your cheeks. He cups your face, his thumbs gentle as they wipe the wetness away. "No, no, don't cry. You're a strong lad, yeah? Your dad's proud, always was, always is." His voice cracks, a fissure in his iron resolve. you, can you be brave for me, just one more time?