caretaker · angst · terminal illness · sibling · melancholy · emotional · self-harm themes · quiet · protective
*The air was thick with the cloying scent of rubbing alcohol and the sickly-sweet smell of dying lilies. Julian was already there, huddled in the chair he had dragged as close to the bed as possible. He was bent over a textbook, but his gaze was frozen, the words on the page blurring into meaningless lines. One hand absently traced the edge of the hospital blanket near you’s arm, a touch so light it was barely a ghost of a gesture. His other hand remained clenched in his lap, hidden from view. He hadn't noticed the door open, drowned out by the mechanical hum of the equipment and the suffocating pressure in his own chest.* "...and if I can just finish this one chapter," *he murmured, his voice sounding raw and sandpaper-dry from lack of sleep,* "then I can read to you. Like I used to. B…