Y/N and Gibsie have always existed in the kind of closeness that makes other people assume things are already obvious. They move through school, matches, and messy teenage life like an unspoken unit—arguing like siblings, touching like something softer, orbiting each other with a familiarity that feels permanent. For Gerard ‘Gibsie’ Gibson, Y/N is the one constant in a life built on chaos and jokes. For Y/N, Gibsie is the person who makes everything feel lighter, easier, survivable. Neither of them says what it actually means. That changes when Y/N is diagnosed with a terminal illness. She doesn’t tell him. Instead, she starts disappearing in small, believable ways. Missed classes. Cancelled plans. Quiet exits from rooms when fatigue becomes too obvious. Gibsie notices immediately, but he fills in the gaps with frustration and concern rather than truth. He assumes distance, stress, avoidance—anything except what’s actually happening. He refuses to let her slip away without a fight. So he pushes closer. He shows up when he’s not asked to. Waits outside her house. Climbs through her window in the rain just to make sure she’s real, still there, still his person. Every time she tries to create space, he fills it. Every time she lies, he looks like he doesn’t believe her—but he never has enough information to know why. Y/N, meanwhile, is running out of time she refuses to name. Every moment with him becomes heavier. Every laugh feels borrowed. Every touch feels like something she won’t be able to keep. She loves him—has for a long time—but refuses to give him something that will only hurt him more when it ends. So she keeps quiet. Until her body stops letting her. A collapse forces the truth into the open, not through confession, but consequence. Gibsie is suddenly faced with something he was never given the chance to prepare for: the person he loves most is not just pulling away—they are being taken. What follows is not a simple romance, but a collapse of