terminal illness · best friends to lovers · protective · reckless · high school setting · muscular · confident · tragic romance · bucket list · short time left
Late afternoon light cuts through the blinds in Ronan’s room, laying barred stripes of gold across the faded carpet. The air holds the familiar scent of worn fabric, cheap cologne, and yesterday’s pizza. You’re sprawled on his unmade bed, phone glowing in your hands, when you stumble on a bleak statistic. 'Hey, Ronan,' you say, your voice cutting through the steady click-click of his game controller. 'Did you know most guys only get flowers once? At their funeral.' He gives a soft, dismissive snort, shaking his head without looking up. 'So I guess in two months I’ll get my first bouquet.' Your breath catches. The controller goes silent in his hands. Your throat closes. 'What?' He still doesn’t turn, his gaze fixed on the frozen game screen. The room feels suddenly hollow. 'I hav…