not what you need
The tests hadn't shown anything. Scorpius had never shown any signs of being unhealthy. He had been fine his whole life.
Now, Scorpius Malfoy, age 21, lay in a hospital bed, his head aching as the bright lights of the hospital room burned into his vision. He could hear the healer saying something about a blood malediction, passed down, life span, illness, blah blah blah. He didn't care. He could feel Albus' hand gripping his own, his shaky thumb tracing Scorpius' knuckles. He focused on Albus' hand, holding it cautiously in his weak grip. He didn't want to focus on anything else.
The healer had left sometime before. Scorpius didn't realize until he heard Albus start talking.
"Scorpius, I-" Albus spoke, his voice quiet. "How long have you been in pain? Why didn't you tell me?"
Scorpius didn't respond.
"Scorpius."
He didn't respond.
"Why didn't you say anything?" Albus' voice grew louder. "You- you could've told me. Scorpius. Scorpius, answer me."
"I'm sorry."
Albus went quiet. Scorpius did too. He heard Albus sigh softly. He kept staring at the ceiling. It was so bright. He counted all the cracks in the ceiling.
Albus started talking again. Scorpius didn't know about what. He wasn't sure if he tuned him out on purpose or if the ringing in his ears was just too loud for him to hear anything else. Whatever it was, he didn't listen. He knew he should've listened. Albus was probably saying something important. But he didn't care. He didn't want to hear the way his voice cracked at the end of sentences and the quiet tone he took on as opposed to his usual lighthearted arrogance and the way his words trembled with uncertainty.
“I'm cold,” Scorpius spoke, obviously cutting Albus off without realizing because Albus paused. Scorpius couldn't even hear him breathe. He pulled the blanket up to his neck, curling himself up. “It's freezing in here.”
“Okay.” Albus sighed softly. Scorpius felt Albus’ hand leave his grasp. He bit his lip. Good. He was too weak to hold it anyways. He didn't want to hold it.
He thought Albus was mad at him. He didn't blame him. Maybe if he'd gotten treatment earlier he wouldn't be mad. Maybe if he told Albus about his pain sooner it would be fine. Whatever. He didn't care. Albus could be mad at him all he wanted. It didn't bother him, he told himself, even though he felt tears sting at his eyes and felt his face redden with anger. It didn't bother him. He didn't want it to bother him.
Scorpius was set to leave tomorrow. They still needed to run tests or... something. He wasn't sure. He wasn't paying attention to most of what the healer had said. The healer said he could take potions to help calm the symptoms down. Help him live longer. He knew he would still die, so he didn't think it was necessary. He'd be dead in a few years with or without the potions. He didn't want to give himself the false hope that the potions would actually do anything in the long run.
“Are you still in pain?” Albus asked, his voice soft as it melted into the white noise of the hospital room.
“No,” Scorpius replied, quiet and small. His nose scrunched up. He didn't like lying.
“Are you lying to me?”
“Yeah.”
Albus just stood. Scorpius didn't bother looking at him. He didn't want to see Albus’ face wet with tears, staring down at Scorpius angrily. He didn't want to know how disappointed Albus must have been.
He heard Albus shuffling, doing something, and then felt those familiar clammy hands grab his own once again. Scorpius loved Albus' hands. They were soft and warm and cuddly and a bit small and chubby and fit perfectly in his own. He didn't hold Albus' hand back. He just let his hand sit in the other’s grasp.
Albus was knelt at the bedside now, his chin resting on the mattress. Scorpius breathed in as much as he could, smelling his cologne. It was loud and annoying and a bit irritating and Scorpius liked it the most out of any smell in the world because it was Albus.
“Are you mad at me?” Scorpius asked.
“What..?” Albus’ hand stopped moving. He held Scorpius’ hand tighter. Scorpius didn't have the heart to tell him that it hurt.
“Are you mad at me?” Scorpius repeated.
“No,” Albus stated as if it was supposed to be obvious. “Merlin, no, why would I be mad?”
“Because I didn't tell you.”
Scorpius could hear Albus’ breath hitch. He shut his eyes. He wished he could shut his ears too. He wouldn't have to hear Albus’ sadness.
“I'm not mad at you,” Albus said, and Scorpius winced as he heard his voice break in the middle of the sentence. “I'm not mad. I'm sorry. I'm not mad.”
“Okay.”
“I love you, you know that?”
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
Scorpius didn't reply. The rest of the day was silent.
The next few days came and went. Scorpius didn't want to deal with everyone. All the owls wishing him well and all the crying and all the condolences. He received gifts as well. Flowers and sweets and cards and plush toys. It all felt so fake and demeaning and pointless. Saying “I'm so sorry” doesn't take away the pain. It doesn't make him live any longer. Saying "I'm sorry" wouldn't heal him, no matter how much he wished that it could.
His dad visited, of course. Scorpius had only ever seen him like that once. Crying. Distraught. Afraid. He held onto Scorpius like he would disappear in his arms if he didn't hold on tight enough. Scorpius found it a bit funny. He loved his father, but sometimes it felt like his father didn't love him back. It was nice to know that he cared, despite how horrible it felt. His father insisted he come live with him. He didn't want to let him out of his sight.
Scorpius didn't want to move. He needed Albus. His father agreed to visit Albus and Scorpius' home at least once a week. Scorpius knew he'd be there more often.
Scorpius mostly just wandered around the house for the rest of the day. Albus kept begging Scorpius to stay in bed and relax to preserve his energy. He didn't want him to tire himself out. Scorpius ignored his advice, of course, because it was stupid. He couldn't just lay in bed all day. What was the point of living if he was just going to be glued to his bed? Besides, he was having much more fun walking around, even if he ultimately wasn't doing anything.
He had an idea to make himself less bored. He baked cookies. Albus didn't seem to like them. He was upset that Scorpius left his bed. Scorpius knew Albus was disappointed in him. He didn't care. He knew it wouldn't matter when he was dead.
The cookies were pretty good.