Shawn's POV

"Whoa..." I said as we stepped into the apartment. My hands were carrying a few boxes and Em walked behind me tugging along our suitcases. "This place..."

I set the box down on the counter. Sure the apartment isn't big. Actually it's tiny. It was basically only one room where a bed fit and a counter separated the room from the kitchen. There weren't any doors except for the two that lead to the closet or small bathroom. And there was only enough space for a desk in the corner. But other than that...it seemed perfect to me. I ran over to the window and opened up the curtain expecting to see a brick wall but instead there was a view of the street in front of us including a small fire escape that had an empty plant pot.

"I like it." Em said smiling softly. I turned to look at her, her grin widening. My smile could not describe the amount of happiness that surged through me. I ran over to Em hugging her tightly as she laughed while I kissed her head continuously.

"This place," I said between kisses. "Is so amazing because you're here."

"Hmm..." Em looked up at me her arms holding me close. She kissed my chin lightly as she said, "This is our first home you know that?"

I nodded pulling out my phone placing it in front of us, "Selfie!"

As we settled into the house we would goof around. Em let me put a whole case of hats under the window because she placed cushions allowing it to become a small seating area where we'd read. Next to it was Em's bookshelf that she decided to bring up all the way from home. The moving truck was downstairs and luckily we found a flat with an elevator. That was something Em had required when we were looking for places to live.

New York was constantly buzzing. The moment we arrived all that was happening was persisting movement. Between the cars, people, and even the lights, everything was in motion. Every so often if a car let out a large puff of exhaust I'd have a small coughing fit until Em would hand me my inhaler. That was why we tried to find somewhere that wasn't located directly in the middle of the city. We soon learned that everything was city but some places were better than others. Honestly, the city life was way different than the little bubble we used to live in.

Some people aren't city people and they prefer calmed areas and lives. But New York moved like my mind did. Constantly shifting from idea and idea and never stopping. All it did was move just like I think. It was like watching the inside of my head and I'd never felt so at home. Even if a part of me was dying at least I knew this would live on.

Em had chosen the perfect home. Not just the inner aspect of our little flat but right across from us was a coffee shop. When I first stepped into that shop all I could smell was waffles. My mouth instantly started to water and from that moment on I realized how unconditionally screwed I was now living right across from this cafe. A few blocks down was a Barnes and Noble and I think Em knew too because the moment we walked in she went to Customer Service and picked up a few books she needed to read for over the summer.

"So," I said once the movers finally left after transferring all our stuff from the truck to the small flat. "What could we possibly do now?"

Em finished her bowl of cereal, the only food we currently had in the flat, and checked her watch. "We could go see the new doctor that you'll be visiting. Maybe check out the clinic."

I groaned ripping some tape off the moving back, "That's a worse idea than a unicorn sniffing a acting like a dog and sniffing another dogs butt. "

Em chuckled, "I guess we'll do that tomorrow. So...ice cream?"

I looked up at her and smiled, "You're getting warmer."

She gave me a smile, "What'd you have in mind?"

"We could break the bed in." I said grinning. The mattress was still sitting up on the wall but the bed frame had been set in place over a carpet. "You know," I raised an eyebrow. "Because new apartment and all."

Em laughed and together we managed to place the mattress on the bed frame. I grabbed her hand taking steps on the bed, "Come on let's break it!"

Em and I jumped on the bed for what seemed like hours. And I mean literally jump. We played games and acted like the floor was lava. We'd put cushions on the ground hopping from one to another until finally we were both exhausted. We didn't break the bed. At least not until later that night. Needless to say, my first day in New York was the best one I'd have for a long. Long. Time.

************

It didn't take long to get into a schedule. I'd have regular check ups with my doctor to monitor my cancer and even though we all wanted to believe it wasn't getting any worse, it sure wasn't getting any better. Mom and all my siblings kept in contact with me throughout the process. And if for some reason I wouldn't answer them when they called, Em would. There were some days I didn't want to talk and other days when I didn't want them to hear me talk. So Em would tell them how I was doing and continuously keep them posted on what was happening in my life.

Em went to college everyday. It was expensive, more so than already being on campus but we managed. I didn't have a job although I tried looking for one. Even if I found a place to work, Em wouldn't let me. She said I would be wasting my energy for something that wasn't as important. We started arguing a lot more often. I told her I was better off moving back home where I wouldn't hold her back. But then sometimes when I'd get really sick I would be ridiculously thankful she was there for me. I hated bickering and it never got us anywhere. So we always ended up on our bed cuddling as we watched Disney movies.

Even though I couldn't find a job I found success. The journal I made for Tori during her coma gave me ideas. I'd look through it and every morning when Em had classes I'd go to the coffee shop and order my favorite drink with a side of waffles. One day the waffle maker they had broke so they made me pancakes instead. Sure, I was disappointed at first but then I found out that pancakes are just as good as waffles. Maybe not number one but one and a half. Eventually I became a loyal and valued customer that was known by everyone in the shop. I'd walk in, take my seat which seemed specifically reserved for me, and the cashier would give me a smile and say, "The usual Shawn?"

I'd smile back and nod, "Keep refilling my cup till I pass out from pure electrical buzz."

They never questioned me. I would sit at the table for hours typing on my laptop. Letting my imagination roam free. Then when my first book was published I did a signing at my same table. They never questioned me when my hair started falling out. And they definitely didn't question me when some mornings I'd come in looking like hell. It was always the same smiles and greetings. Sometimes when they knew I had a rough week they'd give me free coffee. I told them I didn't accept pity coffee because regular coffee tastes so much better but they just replied, "It's on the house because it's a secret recipe no one can know about. Including the customers. See, it'll help you get better. Like a fountain of youth sort of thing."

They all read my book.

When Em arrived home she'd stop by the coffee shop to pull me out. Then we'd do whatever we wanted to do. On good days we'd go on dates in the city. On bad days, dates consisted of hospital food or staying at home with a bucket next to my feet as I threw up all night long.

There were days I'd cry. I'd scream to the world that it was unfair. That I never felt like I deserved it. I'd like to say I never pitied myself but that's a straight up lie. Of course there were days I'd curse at the world. Begged for death. Begged for everything to end. Your whole life you spend breathing. Your entire life. Something everyone seems to take for granted. Like those moments you get a cold and feel self guilt for not taking advantage of when you could actually breathe through that one nostril. But now that feeling hurt. Now it was a constant struggle and it hurt to breathe. I didn't want to breathe anymore if it just meant pain all day.

Talk about John Green, my voice would say.

Shut up, I'd reply. I'm not Hazel Grace or Augustus Waters.

But frankly I would rather go through all that pain than the pain I went through whenever I saw Em cry. That was probably the worst of all. I remember one day coming home after my usual coffee and waffles and saw Em crying on our bed holding a picture of us. I knew something was wrong when she hadn't picked me up but I hadn't noticed for an hour. She didn't say anything at all when I walked in. She didn't even bother to hide her tears. I simply crawled into bed beside her and held her close to me as she cried. She sobbed. She cursed. Em never curses...

"It's not fair," She would say crying hysterically. "Why'd it have to be you? It's not fair it's not fair it's not fair!"

Those were the moments I would have to hold her up. She was constantly supporting me. Through the chemo, the book I wrote, and even at home. She gave up everything for me. Nights out with her friends and sometimes even getting good grades. She'd stay up late studying and sometimes I'd wake up nauseous. She would have to pet my head and hold the trash can for me as I threw up.

I can't recall how many times I threw up, bled, or coughed something up on my Em. And through it all she would still kiss me goodnight. Pulling the blanket closer and silently crying next to me. I'd give anything to hold her in those moments but I just couldn't. The nights I was weak she would hold me. So the days she lost control I did everything in my power to comfort her just like she does for me. Eventually she would fall asleep.

Even my humor didn't get me through. It was always Em. My humor never dwindled. Actually it probably got stronger. I had to make jokes to make people laugh. They'd look at my bald head and instantly pity me. The only way for me to get rid of the pity was to make them laugh. I had to show them that I wasn't weak. I was still me and if there was something that wasn't going to change, it would be my sense of humor. It tended to work. I actually started spending time with the pediatric cancer wing of the hospital to make little kids laugh too as they went through chemo with me.

It was one night though. One night that I knew from that moment on nothing would ever be the same:

Em seemed hesitant at the moment. She kept biting her lip and fiddling with her fingers as we had dinner. Our usual fruit salad. Em had changed my whole diet. She believed that if I ate healthier it would help even just the slightest. She let me have my glorious waffles every morning but that was about it.

"It looks like you have a bumble bee nagging at your brain." I chuckled. "What's up?"

Em looked up at me with her big eyes. "Uhm..." She smiled softly, "How are you feeling?"

I rattled the bottle of pills next to me, "Fine. I haven't felt this good in a while. It's like all the rainbow has returned to my unicorn horn."

Em laughed softly, "Yeah?"

I nodded, "Yup."

She sighed in relief, "It's just..."

I grabbed her hand to try and get her to talk. Kissing the inside of her palm lightly. "Em you can tell me anything." I gave her a reassuring smile. Sure I was afraid. Whenever I saw Em serious there was always a part of me that was afraid she would leave me. Or ask me to move back with my mom. I wouldn't blame her if she asked me to. Suddenly I became a lot more work that neither of us expected.

"Tomorrow there's this outing on campus." Em said smiling softly as I kissed her fingertips. "It lasts the whole day. And I don't want to leave you alone for so long but I promise I'd be back by later in the afternoon. Do you think it'd be ok if I went?"

It hadn't occurred to me until then how much time she had put away for me from her friends until then. I felt a huge pang of guilt. It was like someone had taken a hammer and nailed a gong inside my heart. Here was my beautiful girlfriend being isolated from having fun--from having the best years of her life in college--because of me. "Yes!" I instantly said. "Go! Please. And when you get back tell me all about it!"

Em and I slept soundly that night. When the sun broke the horizon she headed out and I gave her a goodbye kiss before heading down to the cafe. Em had told me to call her if I didn't start feeling well. Or to call Cole that didn't live too far away. He visited us every few weeks or so. But not so much considering he spent most his time studying.

At the cafe I felt pretty good. It became a thing where my fans would come visit me. Even though I didn't have a job and money was still an issue for both Em and I, at least I had a paycheck. My book didn't take off instantly but suddenly it was becoming more popular and I wasn't sure how. No one seemed to disrupt me whenever I was writing but every so often the owner of the cafe would get my attention to tell me I had a couple fans that were watching me from the window. I would look over, sometimes a group of girls, sometimes couples, and sometimes just a guy or girl that were too shy to say anything. I would always walk up to them and talk to them. Always. Even when I wasn't feeling my best I wanted to know who they were. And that was the great thing about the cafe, I could talk but I could also write. I'd spend my whole day there between eating breakfast to getting my lunch.

But that day it was something weird. I entered the cafe and the baristas already knew something was wrong. "Rough day Shawn?" One asked me with concern written on her face.

"Yeah I don't know." I answered between breaths. I had taken my medication in the morning so the pain in my chest was bearable. Not necessarily painless, but it had been worse.

I'll just have to go get my lungs drained out again, I thought to myself.

You should call Em, my voice said.

You know exactly why we're not calling Em, I replied.

I ordered my usual, remembering to put my extra change in the little fund jar that the cafe has. One day when they asked Em what cancer I had they decided to change out their tip jar to a cancer donation jar. Every month or so they also held fundraisers with bake sales and coffee samplers and whatnot. I have book signings and they place nearly half of what they make into the fund to find a cure. It brought me to tears the first time they had a fundraiser.

"The usual," the barista said while bringing me the waffles and coffee. I had already set up my laptop and notebook on the table, placing them to the side when the plate arrived.

I poured my syrup on the waffle--a little piece of heaven on earth for me. I should've realized something was wrong the moment I tasted that waffle. Even on my worst days the waffles made me feel like I was on top of the world. For a second I feel the warmth of life come back in me even though it's probably just my obsession over waffles. But this day, the waffles tasted like ash. I was completely disgusted and had to run to the bathroom where I threw up.

The baristas were used to me getting sick. Actually, whenever they saw me run to the bathroom like that they would turn on all their blenders and machines. At first I thought it was because they didn't want their customers to hear me throw up. But then I realized that Em had actually talked to them about how I always felt self-conscious and guilty whenever I puked.

I had to go home. I thought that maybe it was the new medication that was taking my waffle appetite away. But after throwing up I felt my energy completely drain. My flat was not far away from the cafe but I took a cab. I literally got in a car, went up the street about a block, and stopped. The cab driver didn't say anything. He just seemed afraid that I was going to get him sick because I probably looked like hell.

"Maybe I should get you to a hospital," The cab driver said. I ignored him and handed him a five before stepping out on to the pavement.

You need to call Em, my voice said almost frantically.

I can't, I answered as I rode up the elevator.

I could feel tears start streaming down my face as I stumbled into the hallway. I fumbled to get my door unlocked and when I did I quickly went over to lay on my bed. My mistake was putting my keys, wallet, and phone on the counter. I think I was laying down for about ten minutes when I started breathing heavily. It felt like I was drowning. Air simply wasn't filling into my lungs. Or maybe there was too much fluid. Maybe my body just finally gave up. I wasn't sure but all I knew was that panic started filling me up faster than the air that I was supposed to breathe.

I grabbed my inhaler but my efforts to inhale the medicine failed. I couldn't get up. I fell out of bed in my attempts to get to the counter to call 911. I crawled my way there. Panting. Wheezing. Sucking in as much air as I could but getting nothing. I was gasping and nearly thrashing and tears were running down my face as I realized this was it.

"I'm sorry." I tried screaming and I'm sure something came out of my mouth but it was probably rambling or muffled through my gasps. I collapsed on the floor--all the energy in me had given out entirely. I couldn't hold myself up. I couldn't move. I just stayed still and focused on breathing. Silent tears kept streaming down my face as I kept focus. Even with me breathing all my mind could think of was Em.

The way she always smiled and laughed whenever we'd go to the park. The way she'd kiss my chin every day before saying good morning and getting out of bed. The way she held me at night and smelled like vanilla regardless how many times I must've thrown up. Most importantly, I remembered the way she looked the last time I saw her.

She was wearing her favorite shirt that just so happened to be a reference from a character in my book. Her hair had been pulled back into a bandanna and her jeans were ripped. She wore a leather jacket and her favorite pair of ray bans on her head as she got ready to go to the outing with her hiking boots. I told her she looked badass. She laughed. She kissed me. She said she loved me. And I said I loathed only vital excuses you too.

I'm sorry, I thought again. I'm so sorry.

I don't know how long I was on the floor. I felt like a fish out of water. I could breathe but I was slowly dying. I think I blacked out for the most part. Or maybe I had an out of body experience like people say they do before they die. I'm not sure. All I remember was hearing the door open.

I must've been there hours. Em called my name--she was probably worried she hadn't seen me at the cafe. Or she called and I hadn't picked up. Or maybe the baristas told her I had gone home. Em called my name again only this time it was filled with terror.