Verano en Invierno
tw: death | a scars prompt
Let’s get married, she said. While those hadn’t been her exact words, it was more of a generalization of her idea. One written on a long, crumpled list of things to do. To experience. It was under continuous revision, mostly when she had a new idea. But marriage had been on her list the longest. Circled thrice and underlined with a few question marks for flavor. Her words, not his.
Olivia was Jacob’s senior in the hospital ward, and he had only known her for a month when she brought it up, but the question of her age was never answered with a straight face. Some days she was older than him, other days she was younger. It was ever-changing like the color and length of her thinning hair, but that never bothered him. He knew she was older. Wiser too, as he could tell from her eyes. They always spoke of something more whenever he looked at them, as if they were
changed from her occasional trips to Otherworld.
(She did everything to escape the confines of her bed, even if she had to leave her body behind to do so.)
For people like them, death was an eventuality no matter how hard they struggled against it. They at least had a general idea of when it would all be over, which gave them time to plan. To get their affairs in order. While Jacob was still recovering as his body adjusted to his newest heart, it only bought him a few years at best according to his Healers. Another temporary lease on life. Maybe more since he was a wizard, but he hadn’t really intended on wasting it again. While his time learning at Hogwarts had been a huge time sink, now he would have full use of his wings and be able to soar wherever he wished - as long as it wasn’t on a broom, according to one of his Healers.
Olivia, however, was knocking on the Reaper’s Door. She always claimed that she didn’t care, and that she was ready to punch Death in the face. But her words were just beautiful lies she told. Jacob had heard her at night, mixed in with the cacophony of the others that filled the ward. A muddy grey maelstrom of sadness in concert that hung heavy in the air like cigarette smoke as it clung to everything it touched. Smothering and suffocating. It resonated with his own sadness, masked by his own lies to hide that he spun and built up over the years to hide the hurt.
So agreeing to her idea had been easy. Neither of them loved easily from what he could tell, and they harmonized easily enough from the time they spent together complaining about the entirety of St. Mungos. Him mostly in English, her sometimes in Spanish when her rants got too heated. The bond, however brief, had been formed in observance of one of the Healers. There were no real rings to speak of, but they had old scars, a new bond, borrowed time, and her lips were slightly blue as Jacob pulled away from the sealing kiss.
Their first - and last - night together after their bond had been palpably colder as Jacob lay with her, absently brushing her hair as she stained his hospital gown with silent tears. Smoke curled from the cigarette he held in his fingers that the Healers allowed, and danced in the air with her projection. Or, perhaps at the time, it had been her spirit. She stayed with him, dancing under the moonlight as it filtered into the ward until the stick burned out before fading. But Jacob stayed with her until morning. Unmoving, eyes closed, with her finished list crumpled up in his lap.
