The summer breeze drifted lazily through the small apartment window. The late morning sunlight crept across the wooden floor, highlighting the stacks of scattered research papers and the half-empty coffee mugs on the table.
The faint, familiar smell of coffee filled the air, mixing with the scent of toasted bread—slightly burnt, of course and a hint of vanilla.
Neil Turner sat cross-legged on the old couch, flipping through messy notes, his glasses sliding halfway down his nose. His hair was a mess, shirt wrinkled, but he looked completely at peace.
Across the room, near the small kitchen counter, Francine Carter laughed softly as she stirred the pot on the stove, rolling her eyes at the sorry state of their breakfast.
"You know,"
she teased, glancing over her shoulder,
"for the smartest man I know, you really suck at making breakfast."
Neil smirked, pushing his glasses back up.
"Excuse me, I am a scientist, not a chef."
Francine shook her head, a playful smile tugging at her lips.
"Yeah? Well, science won't save you when you burn toast."
Neil chuckled, setting his notes aside.
"In my defense… the toaster's broken."
"It's not broken, you just don't know how to use it properly."
Neil stood, stretching his arms above his head as he crossed the room.
"Ah, so now we've discovered my one weakness."
Francine rolled her eyes dramatically.
"One? Babe, your weaknesses are long."
He slipped his arms around her waist from behind, pulling her close, his chin resting lightly on her shoulder as he breathed in her scent a faint vanilla, shampoo, and that ever-present smell of coffee.
"Mmm… maybe,"
Neil whispered,
"but science did help me win you over."
Francine let out a soft laugh, turning in his arms to face him.
"Oh really? You think I fell for your brain?"
Neil raised an eyebrow, smirking.
"Didn't you?"
She pretended to think, tapping her chin playfully.
"Hmm… well… that and your stupid, awkward smile."
Neil blushed, his cheeks tinting pink, but he grinned anyway, leaning his forehead against hers.
"I'll take it."
For a few moments, they just stayed like that, close, the only sounds the bubbling pot behind them and the faint hum of cars and people down on the street. The apartment felt like its own little world, small but safe, away from the chaos of labs, deadlines, and the constant pressure outside.
Francine's fingers played with the collar of his shirt absentmindedly, her playful expression softening. Her eyes held that quiet look. The one Neil always noticed when she was thinking too much.
"Promise me something,"
she whispered, voice gentle but serious.
Neil frowned slightly, brushing a strand of her dark hair behind her ear.
"What is it?"
Francine hesitated for a second, then smiled as if to cover up the heaviness behind her words.
"Promise me… no matter what happens… you'll always chase your dreams. Even if I'm not around to annoy you."
Neil's eyebrows drew together. His eyes searched hers, catching the crack in her playful mask.
"Why are you saying that?"
he asked quietly, his voice dropping lower.
She shrugged, looking away for a moment.
"Nothing. Just… you always get buried in your lab work. I want to make sure you don't forget to live your life."
Neil cupped her cheek gently, tilting her face back toward him.
"Francine… I only started living when you came along."
Her eyes glistened with unshed tears, but her smile was still there, shaky but real.
"You're such a sap,"
she teased, her voice cracking slightly.
"And you love it. I know you do,"
Neil whispered, leaning in, kissing her softly, his lips brushing against hers with quiet warmth.
She kissed him back, fingers curling into his shirt, as if afraid to let go.
Their kiss lingered, slow, familiar, filled with the kind of comfort that only comes from knowing someone completely.
As they pulled apart, Francine chuckled softly, brushing his messy hair back. "You know… you should really fix your hair before you start making bold romantic statements."
Neil grinned, his eyes sparkling. "Hey, mad scientist look gets the job done."
Francine raised an eyebrow. "Burning toast is 'getting the job done' now?"
Neil laughed, his nose scrunching. "Okay, okay… I'll take cooking lessons… after I save the world."
Francine smiled, resting her forehead against his again, their laughter mingling with the sounds of the bubbling pot behind them.
For that moment, the world outside didn't matter. It was just them—the burnt toast, the coffee, the messy apartment and that small, fragile pocket of happiness they built together.
And neither of them knew… how short that moment would be.
The days turn into months. They laughed, argued, cooked together, stayed up late watching movies especially One piece, and shared quiet moments reading side by side. The little apartment, though cramped, became their sanctuary filled with burnt toast, inside jokes, and whispered promises in the dark.
Neil's work in the lab continued, of course. It always did. Late nights staring into microscopes, messy notes scribbled on every surface. But no discovery, no groundbreaking experiment what mattered more is coming home to Francine.
The way she greeted him at the door with that tired, teasing smile. The soft way she'd say,
"You stink like chemicals, get in the shower you bio-hazard"
before pulling him into a hug anyway. Those were the moments that made everything else worth it.
But then… the cough started.
At first, it was small. Barely noticeable. A tickle in her throat that she brushed off with a wave of her hand.
"You sound like an old man,"
Neil teased one night as they lay on the couch, her head resting on his chest.
She chuckled, coughing lightly again.
"I'm just allergic to your ego."
Neil laughed softly, pressing a kiss to her hair.
"Mm, that must be it."
But the cough didn't go away.
Then came the headaches.
The fatigue.
The weight loss.
Neil noticed first. The way her jeans hung a little looser. The way her laughter came out weaker. The color that drained from her cheeks.
"Maybe you should see a doctor,"
Neil suggested gently one morning as they ate breakfast.
Francine rolled her eyes, forcing a smile.
"It's just stress. I'll be fine."
But she wasn't.
The doctor's visit confirmed their worst fear.
Cancer.
Stage three.
Aggressive.
Neil's world shattered like glass underfoot.
The hospital room was too white. Too cold. Machines beeped steadily in the background, like a countdown ticking away.
Francine sat on the bed, knees pulled to her chest, hospital gown hanging loosely on her frame. She looked… small. Tired. But still her… still stubborn.
Neil paced the room, tablet in hand, scrolling through medical journals, research articles, desperate for something just to save her — anything.
"I can fix this,"
Neil muttered under his breath, eyes darting across the screen. His hands shook slightly, frustration and panic boiling beneath the surface.
"I just… I need more time."
Francine watched him quietly, her eyes soft but sad.
"Neil…"
"I'll find a way,"
he insisted, his voice cracking.
"There's always a way. I just haven't—haven't looked in the right place yet."
"Neil,"
Francine tried again, but he kept pacing.
"I should've seen this coming. I've been working on cancer research for years. Years, Francine."
His voice grew louder, angrier.
"I was so close… I am close… I—"
"Hey,"
Francine interrupted, reaching out weakly, tugging his hand.
"Look at me."
Neil stopped mid-step, frozen by the softness in her voice.
Their eyes met… hers filled with quiet fear, love, and that familiar stubbornness that always grounded him.
"You can't fix everything,"
Francine whispered, her thumb brushing gently across his hand.
"It's not your fault."
But the guilt in Neil's eyes only deepened. He yanked his hand away, pacing again like a caged animal.
"But it is,"
Neil snapped, voice strained.
"It is my fault. I should've discovered this sooner. I've been staring at petri dishes and cell cultures for years… I should've… I should've found the answer by now."
Francine stood, slow and unsteady, but determined. She grabbed his shoulders, her touch grounding him.
"Neil,"
she said firmly,
"stop. Just breathe and calm down."
His chest heaved as panic fought with grief, his eyes glassy with unshed tears.
Francine cupped his face, her thumbs tracing gentle circles along his cheeks.
"I love you,"
she whispered.
"That's all that matters."
Tears finally broke free, slipping down Neil's face. His walls crumbled as he leaned into her touch, his forehead pressing against hers.
"But I can't lose you…"
His voice cracked, raw and broken.
"You might,"
Francine whispered, her own voice wavering. "But you'll never lose this." She guided his hand to her chest, pressing it over her heart.
"You'll never lose what we have."
Neil broke down completely then. His head buried into her shoulder as she held him — weak in body, but somehow still strong enough for both of them.
For a long while, they stayed that way, tangled together in silence, as if clinging to time that refused to pause.
The weeks that followed were hell.
Hospital visits. Blood tests. Chemotherapy. Pain. More pain.
Francine's hair fell out in clumps. Her skin paled. Some days she couldn't get out of bed.
Neil never left her side when he didn't absolutely have to.
But when he did… he buried himself in the lab.
Hours turned into days. Days into sleepless weeks. His team begged him to rest, to eat.
But he couldn't — not while Francine lay fighting for her life.
Late one night, the door to the lab creaked open.
James, Neil's best friend since they were kids, stood there holding two cups of coffee, eyes heavy with worry.
"Neil, you're killing yourself,"
James said flatly, setting the coffee down on the cluttered desk.
Neil didn't even look up, scribbling equations and notes furiously on the whiteboard.
"I don't care."
"You will care,"
James snapped, stepping closer.
"When you collapse from exhaustion. When your body gives up. You can't help her if you drop dead."
Neil finally turned, dark circles etched beneath his eyes, jaw tight.
"She's dying, James."
James exhaled, voice softening.
"I know."
"No, you don't,"
Neil hissed, his voice cracking.
"You don't hear her cry at night. You don't… you don't sit there holding her hand while she fights to breathe. You don't love her like I do."
James flinched, guilt flashing across his face.
"You're right… I don't."
The room fell quiet again.
Neil's shoulders sagged, his desperation bleeding through his exhaustion. His voice broke into a whisper.
"I'm close… I know I'm close… I can't stop now."
James hesitated, then nodded weakly, his hand squeezing Neil's shoulder before leaving him to his work.
And finally… Neil did it.
After months of failed tests, sleepless nights, and pushing himself to the brink of collapse… he found the cure.
A treatment so precise, so clean, it could target cancer cells and leave healthy ones untouched.
It was everything the world dreamed of.
But it was too late.
Francine passed away the day before the cure was ready.
Neil sat by her hospital bed, her hand cold in his, as the machines flatlined.
His discovery meant nothing now.
The world could celebrate the cure.
But Neil Turner? He had already lost everything worth saving.
The funeral was small. Quiet. The way Francine would've wanted it.
Grey clouds rolled over the cemetery as rain poured steadily from the sky, soaking through black umbrellas and forgotten jackets. The grass beneath their feet turned to mud, but no one moved.
Neil Turner stood at her grave, motionless, the raindrops trailing down his face — mixing with tears no one could see.
His white lab coat clung to him like a cruel joke. It wasn't supposed to be here, not today. But he wore it anyway because the lab coat was all he had left. His work. His failure.
Beside him stood James, silent, hands buried deep in his pockets, eyes fixed on the ground.
The small group around them started to drift away, umbrellas closing, cars rumbling in the distance.
But Neil stayed.
"I did it,"
Neil whispered finally, his voice raw, barely audible over the rain.
James shifted beside him but said nothing.
Neil's fists clenched at his sides, knuckles white. His eyes never left the freshly-turned soil where Francine now lay.
"I found the cure."
James' throat tightened. His jaw clenched.
"I know."
A harsh breath escaped Neil's lips, his whole body trembling with the weight of what those words meant. His shoulders hunched forward as if the air itself crushed him.
"But she…"
His voice cracked, breaking apart completely.
"I did everything… everything… and it wasn't enough."
The rain masked the steady stream of tears running down his face. But James didn't need to see them. He could hear it in Neil's voice, in the silence between the words.
James opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. What could he say? I'm sorry? It'll be okay?
Nothing would be okay again.
The world didn't stop for grief.
Days turned into weeks. Weeks into months.
The media swarmed Neil. Headlines screamed his name. "The Man Who Cured Cancer." His photo plastered across every news channel, magazine, social feed.
Genius. Savior. Hero.
Pharmaceutical companies lined up with offers.
Money. Fame. Power.
Neil rejected them all.
What was the point? The cure came too late. The applause meant nothing now.
Without Francine, everything every lab breakthrough, every headline, every zero on a check felt hollow. Lifeless. Just like him.
And yet, life wasn't done playing its cruel tricks.
Three months after the funeral, Neil sat in a sterile doctor's office, staring at a man in a white coat like looking in a mirror as the doctor's hands shook delivering the results.
Cancer.
The irony was sickening.
"The tests are clear,"
the doctor had said, voice low, eyes darting everywhere but Neil's face.
"Stage two. Early. We… We can treat this."
Neil didn't speak.
The doctor hesitated, his voice almost breaking.
"You… You invented the cure, Mr. Turner. You… You can survive this."
Neil stood, grabbed the report, and walked out without a word.
James stormed into Neil's apartment that night, the door left half open, papers scattered everywhere, cold coffee abandoned on the counter.
"Tell me it's not true,"
James snapped, pacing furiously.
"Tell me this is some sick joke."
Neil sat by the window, staring blankly at the rain streaking down the glass. Francine's photo sat beside him, framed in the faint, grey light.
"You're being stupid you asshole,"
James growled, hands raking through his hair.
"You cured cancer, Neil! You did that! You can fix this!"
"I'm being fair…"
Neil whispered, his eyes never leaving the photo.
"She didn't get the cure. Why should I?"
"Because you're still here!"
James barked.
"Because you're still breathing! Because I can't… I won't lose you too!"
Neil's expression didn't change. His voice stayed eerily calm.
"She deserved to live more than I ever did."
James' hands balled into fists.
"You think she'd want this? You think she'd want you to just… give up? Let yourself rot away?"
Neil finally looked at him, eyes hollow, dark circles carved into his face. His skin was pale, thinner than before.
"She's gone, James,"
Neil said quietly, but there was a sharpness beneath his words.
"And when she left… so did I, I already died that day."
James shook his head, pacing again.
"That's bullshit, You're still here, you shit. I'm still here. Or does that mean nothing to you?"
Neil looked back to the photo. His thumb brushed along the edge of the frame.
"You already lost me… the day I lost her."
James' voice cracked, frustration and grief tangled into every word.
"I can't watch you die, Neil."
"Then leave."
The words hit like a slap.
James' eyes burned, jaw clenching so tight it hurt.
"You're a selfish bastard."
"I know,"
Neil whispered.
"But I'm tired."
The room fell silent, the only sound the rain against the windows and the faint hum of the fridge in the background.
James stared at him, fists trembling, chest heaving.
But he couldn't stay angry.
Not really.
So instead… he left.
The months crawled by.
Neil withered.
His skin grew paler. His eyes darker. His body thinner. But his will never wavered.
The cure stayed locked away.
His body decayed.
James visited less. Couldn't bear to watch.
But when the final night came… James couldn't stay away.
The hospital room was suffocatingly quiet, steady beeping of the heart monitor and the faint tapping of rain against the window.
It was late maybe even early but time didn't matter anymore. The nurses barely came in now. There wasn't anything left to do.
Neil Turner lay on the bed, looking more like a ghost, a zombie rather than a man. His skin was paper-thin, stretched tight over his bones. His cheeks hollow, lips cracked. The oxygen mask over his face hissed softly, but his breathing was still shallow, uneven.
Cancer had eaten him alive.
But somehow… his eyes… his eyes still held that flicker of stubbornness. That last ember of life, no matter how weak his body had become.
James sat beside him old, beaten jacket still clinging to his frame, his hands shoved deep in the pockets, his leg bouncing anxiously.
His eyes never left the floor.
Neither of them spoke for a while.
What was left to say? After everything?
Of course… it was Neil who broke the silence first. Even now even lying on what was basically his deathbed — the idiot couldn't help himself.
"Hey…"
Neil croaked, voice raw and weak. His lips curled into a faint smirk.
"…you look worse than me."
James snorted, shaking his head without looking up.
"Yeah? Well, at least I'm not strapped to wires and leaking out of every hole."
A soft, dry chuckle escaped Neil's cracked lips. It made him wince.
"Fair enough…"
The monitor beeped steadily beside them. A cruel reminder that time still moved, no matter how much they wanted it to stop.
James exhaled, running a hand down his face before leaning forward, elbows on his knees. His voice was low… tight.
"You should've taken the cure, Neil."
Neil's lips twitched, but his smile didn't reach his eyes.
"You know why I didn't."
"Yeah I know you selfish bastard…"
James muttered bitterly,
"Because you're stubborn. Because you wanna die with 'honor.' Because you made that promise to Francine."
The second her name filled the room, Neil's eyes softened. The cocky smirk vanished, replaced by something… tired. Hollow.
"I promised her… if I couldn't save her… I'd go through it too."
His voice cracked.
"I wouldn't cheat my way out."
James clenched his jaw, his fists curling so tight his knuckles turned white.
"That's not cheating… that's surviving,"
James snapped.
"To me…"
Neil's voice was barely a whisper,
"…it is."
James pushed out of the chair, pacing the room, his boots scuffing the cold floor.
"You could've lived, Neil."
His voice cracked.
"We could've still— You could've… built something with that cure. Helped people. You deserve to live."
Neil's eyes drifted to the small photo frame by the bed. The picture inside faded from age showed him and Francine pressed together, full of laugh, eyes sparkling. And full of life. It felt like a cruel joke now.
"She didn't get to live,"
Neil whispered.
"Why should I?"
The silence that followed was thick. Suffocating.
James rubbed his face, his breathing uneven. His voice finally broke through the quiet. Low. Cracked.
"You ever… think about what life could've been? If she never got sick?"
Neil's eyelids drifted shut, but the faintest smile appeared small, painful.
"Every damn day."
James slumped back in the chair, staring at the ceiling as his voice wavered.
"What do you picture?"
Neil's lips twitched faintly.
"It's stupid."
James let out a dry laugh.
"Neil… I'm watching you die in front of me. Stupid."
A raspy chuckle escaped Neil's throat, followed by a soft cough.
"Alright…"
Neil breathed,
"but don't laugh."
James shook his head, forcing a smile.
"No promises."
Neil's eyes glazed over, his voice drifting like smoke.
"I picture… a farm. Middle of nowhere. Wooden house. No phones. No city noise. Just… quiet."
James blinked, then snorted.
"A farm? You? The guy who couldn't keep a cactus alive?"
Neil chuckled weakly, his voice rasping.
"Hey… I never said I'd be good at it."
James let out a shaky laugh, wiping at his eyes as they burned.
"You… a farmer… Christ, Francine would've never let you live that one down."
Neil's smile faded into something softer. Sadder. His eyes distant.
"She wanted it more than me…"
Neil whispered.
"The quiet life. Chickens. Garden. Away from the world."
James's voice lowered, the weight thick in his chest.
"So why didn't you leave?"
Neil's face twisted in regret.
"I thought… we had time."
The words hung in the air like lead.
James didn't answer. What could he possibly say to that?
Neil's breathing slowed, weaker by the second.
James wiped at his face again, pushing the tears down, but his voice cracked anyway.
"You know… maybe… if you never became a scientist… none of this would've happened."
Neil gave a faint smile.
"Thought about that too."
James tilted his head, voice tight.
"What's it look like?"
Neil's eyes drifted closed again.
"Us. Francine. Little house. Chickens running around. She's yelling at me for planting tomatoes wrong."
James's lips trembled.
"You… chasing chickens? You can't even chase your own shadow."
Neil snorted weakly.
"Shut up… I'd be decent at it… eventually."
James's laughter faded into silence again.
Neil's fingers twitched at his side. His voice dropped to nearly nothing.
"I should've left the lab… should've picked her… over the work."
James closed his eyes, swallowing down the lump in his throat.
"You're not a bad person, Neil."
"Didn't say I was."
Neil's hand trembled, reaching weakly toward the photo. His voice cracked.
"But I wasn't… the right person… for her."
James's throat closed.
The monitor beeped… slower.
Neil's breathing… shallower.
"Hey…"
Neil rasped.
James leaned closer.
"Yeah?"
Neil's hand found James's weakly. His grip was frail, cold. But it was still there.
"Thanks…"
Neil whispered.
"…for sticking around."
James's chest caved in.
"Yeah… well… someone's gotta babysit you."
Neil gave the faintest chuckle.
"Hope… in another life… we get it right."
His breathing slowed… slowed… faded.
James's other hand slid into his jacket pocket. His fingers curled around the cold metal hidden there.
The gun.
Silencer already attached.
No noise. No pain.
His hand shook violently as he pulled it free, pressing the barrel gently to Neil's temple.
Tears blurred his vision completely.
"I'm sorry. Don't ever forgive me. I just cant…"
James choked.
"I can't… watch you suffer anymore."
His voice broke as the last words fell, words Neil would never hear.
"I hope… in another life… we're friends again away from this shitty cruel world."
Thp.
Thud. Beeeep.
The silenced gunshot echoed like a whisper.
Neil never moved again.
The monitor flatlined.
The room fell silent again.
James stood there, frozen, the weight crashing down all at once.
The next day… James burned everything.
The cure.
The research.
The files.
All of it…
Ash and smoke filled the lab. The only thing left of Neil's life's work.
The world erupted in outrage.
Headlines screamed. Protesters filled the streets.
The corporations, the rich — dragged James to court. The media called him a murderer. A traitor to humanity. A coward.
But James knew the truth.
They never cared about saving lives.
They cared about control.
Profit.
Power.
Neil's cure would've been twisted. sold off to the highest bidder. Made into something ugly. Something she… Francine… never wanted.
James refused to let that happen.
But the price… the price was high.
Innocent lives would die without the cure.
James accepted that.
Hated it.
But carried it.
The courtroom was suffocating on the day of his trial.
Cameras. Reporters. Faces filled with judgment.
James stood alone eyes hollow, heart numb, and expressionless.
When they asked him why, he told them everything.
About Francine.
About Neil.
About promises made… and broken.
About the greed.
The lies.
The sickness of the world.
And then… James ended it.
The poison already coursed through his veins before he stepped up to the podium.
His body weakened quickly.
His vision blurred.
His legs gave way as he collapsed to the floor.
The courtroom erupted in chaos.
But James smiled… through the pain.
"This is what I deserve…"
he whispered, voice fading.
"…for interfering… for breaking my promise… for not letting you go naturally…"
His last breath escaped him… quietly.
The protests began days later.
The world turned on the rich.
The truth got… leaked.
The cure… gone.
But for Neil… for Francine… for James…
It didn't matter anymore.
Their story… their pain… ended that night.
But maybe… somewhere beyond this cruel, broken world…
A stubborn boy who never became a scientist.
A bright-eyed girl who never got sick.
A loyal friend who never had to make the impossible choice.
Lived quietly.
On a little farm.
Chasing chickens. Maybe even the cactus finally grown. And lived happily in a small quiet farm.
Together.
Again.
The End.