Moonlight filtered through the half-open blinds, striping the bed where Iris slept fitfully. Luke watched the rise and fall of her chest from his perch in the armchair, his fingers clenched around a pen gone slick with sweat.
The notebook in his lap held three carefully folded pages, each addressed in Iris's looping script:
For Mom & Dad
For Mrs. Jeon
For Luke
He'd found them tucked in her nightstand drawer while searching for her pain medication, the envelopes pristine except for the slight crumpling at the edges where she'd handled them repeatedly. They'd felt like a punch to the gut - tangible proof of her preparations for an outcome he still couldn't accept.
Across the room, Iris coughed in her sleep, the sound wet and rattling. Luke was on his feet before he'd made the conscious decision to move, his hand hovering over her shoulder until the spasm passed. In the dim light, her skin looked almost translucent, the veins standing out in stark relief at her temples.
The clock on the bedside table read 3:42 AM. Luke returned to his chair, flipping to a fresh page in his own notebook. The pen hesitated over the blank paper before finally descending:
Dear Iris,
If you're reading this, I've finally worked up the courage to tell you all the things I've been too scared to say out loud...
The words poured out in a torrent - all the fears and hopes and messy, imperfect love he'd been bottling up since her diagnosis. He wrote about the terror of waking up alone, the guilt over every stupid argument, the impossible gratitude for each extra day they'd stolen together.
Somewhere around page four, a rustle of sheets alerted him to Iris stirring. He looked up to find her watching him with knowing eyes, too bright with fever in the predawn gloom.
"Writing your memoirs?" she rasped, nodding toward his notebook.
Luke snapped it shut, forcing a smile. "Just some song lyrics."
Iris hummed skeptically but didn't press. Instead, she extended a trembling hand in silent invitation. Luke crossed to the bed in two strides, carefully arranging himself beside her without jostling her fragile frame.
Her fingers found his in the space between them, their palms fitting together like they'd been designed to interlock. "Tell me one?" she whispered.
Luke swallowed hard. "One what?"
"One thing you were writing." Her smile was a shadow of its former self but no less radiant. "In case I don't..."
He cut her off with a kiss, pouring every unsaid word into the press of lips. When they broke apart, he rested his forehead against hers, his voice barely audible. "I was writing that loving you is the easiest thing I've ever done."
Iris's breath hitched. Outside, the first birds began their morning songs as the sky lightened to pale gray. Luke held her close and watched the sunrise paint them both in gold, memorizing the exact weight of her hand in his.