I look at August, and I see the universe. I see the universe in the mischievous gleam of his eyes, in the sharp indents of the dimples on his cheeks, in the loosely woven mahogany curls that I cannot resist running my fingers through, and in the numerous freckles that I try and fail to count one-by-one. I watch the universe expand with his joy and collapse in on itself with his sadness. Stars begin to sparkle and shine when I call him Auggie, and they flare and flash when I morph it endearingly into Auggie Doggie. The universe was stable—until it wasn’t.

     August got sick at the tail end of our junior year of high school. It wasn’t like a common cold or flu. No, it was something too ever-morphing and ever-evolving to pinpoint. Doctors struggled and tried to name it, tossing around diagnoses like Auggie’s life was a game of catch, but nothing stuck. August was just sick. 

     It was hard for me to get out of my classes to see him. Since I was only his boyfriend rather than a family member, I couldn’t get the pass from the school or the hospital to just leave everything behind and be with him. Each time I expressed my concern on this absolute bullshit rule, Auggie would weakly sigh and caress my cheek with his bony hand. My tirade would always end there with a choked sob. August used to be so full of life, so full of love. The universe within him used to be in balance. Now, it’s off-kilter, with blackholes scattered throughout sucking the light, life, and love out of him. My heart ached each time I went to visit him. It felt almost criminal to see him this way. Auggie Doggie, my whole world, reduced to this bed ridden state, and there was nothing I could do about it. 

     Sometimes, the hospital and Auggie’s parents would let me spend the weekend with him. They never gave me any forewarning or time to plan. When I came to the hospital on certain Fridays after school, they would give me a tight-lipped smile and a chaste hug before nodding and opening the door for me. At first, I wasn’t aware of the intention behind these random sleepovers, but, as they became more frequent, I began to understand. August was dying. They didn’t have the heart to tell me. Hell, Auggie didn’t tell me anything. He just gave me an impossibly bright smile as I entered the room and patted the small space next to him on the hospital bed. The space, in the beginning, was a lot smaller. In the beginning, August was a lot healthier, too. 

     With a soft smile, I sighed and shook my head. With carefully measured paces, I made my way over to him. I move slowly on purpose, so as not to disturb anything. To keep his image in my sight for as long as I could before the scent of sickness and Clorox overtake my nostrils. My brain morphs him into what he once was.  Before the medicine turned him skinny and lifeless, he was fit. I mean, he was the all-star of the soccer team, so of course he was fit. With skin bronzed and freckled from the endless Sun exposure and toned muscles from constant use, he was an Adonis. His brown curls would bounce as he ran and fall into his eyes, making him lose focus for a second. Quickly he would raise his hand to move the locks from his eyes as he made a stellar kick past the opposing team’s goalie into the goal. After he would score, he would look to the stands and lock eyes with me. His eyes would light up once I gave him a thumbs-up with a small grin.  

     “Nick,” August says simply, snapping me out of my delusion. He gives a weak smile and pats the spot next to him once more. I sigh shakily and make my way over to him. I move the flattened, sweaty curls out of the way of his pale forehead. Softly, I place a kiss there. 

     “Hi,” I respond. Carefully, I climb into the bed with August to not disturb his position. He chuckles, and his joy quickly morphs into weak coughing. August hunches forward, and I place a hand on his back, rubbing small circles there. After a few minutes, his coughing dies down; his chest heaves as he tries to catch a semblance of breath.  

     “You know,” he begins, wheezing slightly, “I’m not made of glass.” 

     “But you kinda are,” I retort. I ease his back to lie against the bed again. Slowly, I lay my head on his chest. He cards his fingers through my hair.  

     “Yeah, yeah,” August chuckles, “it’s just because you care about me, I know.” 

     “I really, really do,” I say as I nod, nuzzling into his sternum. He smells vaguely of himself—of bergamot and cedar—but the smell of hospital and sterilization is almost completely overpowering.  

     “You wanna know something, Nick?” 

     “Sure.” 

     “I’m tired of this. All of this. All the poking and the prodding. All the tests that lead to nowhere. It’s all bullshit!” 

     His body forces him to laugh again, but he is quickly ravaged by sobs. They take over and control his entire body. August’s chest heaves, raising my head up and down with his labored breaths. Tears begin to well up in my eyes. My body curls into his, trying to encapsulate all his pain and suffering into my being. I force myself to take calming breaths, squeezing his thigh with my hand to encourage him to follow. After a few minutes of shaky breathing, our sobs die down. I hush him softly, whispering soft, sweet nothings to calm him down. A small, weary smile graces his features. 

     “I’m just,” August begins, stopping briefly to yawn, “I’m just really exhausted is all.” A mischievous smile graces my features. He raises his free hand to the bridge of his nose, pinching it slightly. “Don’t you fucking dare.” 

     “Auggie Doggie,” I sing-song, “don’t go to sleep.” The fingers he was using to play with my hair find purchase in a strong grip. They yank, hard. “Ow, fuck!” I protest, chuckling slightly. He outwardly expressed disdain when I called him Auggie Doggie, but I know he secretly loves it.  

     August rolls his eyes, rubbing his hand deeper into my hair. “I just might,” he states plainly. He yawns and tilts his head back, looking at the ceiling with a longing that I can’t quite place. I lift my torso so that I am sitting more presently next to him. Adjusting accordingly, August slings an arm around my shoulders, pulling me closer and still looking at the ceiling. I use my hand to gently guide his face to mirror mine. I tilt my face a fraction and meet his lips in the middle of the small space we’ve created between us. August sighs, and his breath graces my lips. It feels sick and stale, but it reminds me that he’s still alive. My lips try to reach for him again, but he shakes his head and leans back on the bed.  

     “Let’s rest, Nick,” August says, almost like a whisper or a secret prayer.  

     “Okay,” I reply. I adjust my body once more as to properly accommodate the body masses of two teenage boys. My eyes grow heavy as I hear August’s breath even out. He’s asleep now. I rarely sleep while he rests, but my body cannot take the stress of everything right now. I let my eyes flutter shut, resting my nose on the pulse point of his neck. Anything to remind me that he’s alive and mine.  

     I look at August, and I see the universe. While we sleep, the universe folds under the pressure, collapsing into itself. Everything is inhaled by the swirling expanse of the gigantic black hole. The stars blink faintly before surrendering.  

     I am awakened by nurses shaking my shoulders and the flatlining of the pulse monitor. The skin touching my nose feels cold and still. The world is too bleary for me to understand the gravity of the situation as it happens. It’s not until I am dragged out of the bed and a sheet is placed over August’s body that my mind snaps to attention.  

     A gut-wrenching scream escapes my body. Hospital staff and August’s parents rush over to me and hold me back as I try to rush over to the bed. They begin to work quickly, moving the bed out of the room. August’s parents are hugging me, gradually sinking with me to the floor. My chest heaves with violent sobs, my hands coming up to cover my face. August’s dad rubs comforting circles into my back as his mom whispers incoherently, words that I can only place with emotion rather than definition.  We morph into one, grieving being. Something so full of desolation and loss that I cannot think of a name for it.  

     I don’t feel present in my body. My conscience is still with August, wherever his spirit and body are now. My sobs revert to heaving sighs, trying to reach anything that will help me feel like I haven’t lost the essential piece of my soul. My body trembles with unmitigated fear and loss. I don’t know how to continue on, but I know that I must. It would be what August would have wanted. It should be what I want for myself, but the universe doesn’t exist in anyone else. I look out into the world, and I see a blinding August-shaped hole that has been ripped out of it.