Dream Like New York

When you marrying a millionaire means the Pride Parade route goes right by your apartment block with prime views from the balcony so you don't have to miss out, despite sick husband #lifeperks #fuckcancer #nycpride #prouduncles #emotionaltwirling

Gen, is there a reason you don't want to talk to Paris?

You need to come home to sort out a better back-up plan to help Tristan. Paris is too sick to deal with it.

Is Cocktober over yet?

Fuck, when it rains, it pours.

We're not in LA. Paris is in the HDU @ Mount Sinai. Sorry. He didn't want anyone to know.

Who: Michael, all alone. In any other situation, he might laugh at being a Nigel No-Friends.
What: The life of being married to the World's Most Stubborn Bitch Ever
Where: Surgical Unit, Mount Sinai
When: Friday morning

Michael's shoulders were aching from feeling like he had the weight of the world on them. His hips were sore from the firm plastic his ass had been planted in for the last two and a half hours. He had been so hunched over without realising it until his lower back, too, protested with a twinge of pain. He sat up, and then back, rubbing his hands over his face. A heavy sigh left him, a vain attempt to unwind that twisted knot of fear and tension engulfing his heart and stomach. He felt ill from anxiety.

Paris didn't want to anyone to know what was happening today. They were cutting into part of his brain to biopsy the mass shown on the medical imaging. He didn't want anyone to know he was having the procedure. He had no intentions on telling anyone exactly what was happening until he knew for sure there was anything to be concerned about. And it wasn't stubbornness. Not really. It felt like Paris' arrogant stubbornness surging forward. After losing his shit at the initial hospital appointment and telling Gen and his dad to leave, Paris had emotionally shut down. Only Michael was let in. It was his emotional protective mechanism kicking in. Paris wanted - and needed - to maintain control over this. He was already feeling powerless with what his body was doing to him.

Paris was also a private person. He had his public persona for the job he did, that was flamboyant and self-confident to the max. But really, under all the couture and flashy fabulouslessness, Paris was a private person and he liked his private life kept to himself, only sharing what he chose to share. He had told his family what was happening, and they knew he was going through some medical tests, but that was where Paris had cut everything off. He told Michael that he didn't want to tell anyone what was happening until someone said, right, you have cancer, and this is what is going to happen.

They just couldn't do that from scans alone. Paris had a lot of medical tests that showed some concerning anomalies. Tara wanted to admit him the very next morning to biopsy, and she warned that if the biospy showed the mass was a malignant tumour, they would want to act to remove it immediately. Paris signed the consent for both procedures, in case he wasn't well enough to agree to the removal in the wake of the biopsy. So, here was Michael, waiting alone in a hospital waiting room to hear whether the mass in his husband's brain was malignant, and whether they would need to be cutting further in to remove it. He was barely holding it together. Tears weren't far away.

But he knew Paris. He probably knew Paris better than anyone in the world. He knew that Paris' text messages with Gen had caused him to shut down. Not through any fault of Gen's own, but when he had admitted to her something was happening, her response was to tell him that she she was glad he was going to find out. He took it as her brushing over the surface of what could be an extremely terrifying situation. And Paris shut down. Michael sat and watched him fire the quick response back to Gen with a flippant, 'She doesn't want a divorce. Bigger fish to fry', and then throw his phone onto the kitchen counter and walk out of the room to take a shower. It culminated in Paris just not wanting to 'bother' his family until he had answers. Because not having answers lead to positive platitudes he wasn't in a good head space to process.

Michael could understand. It wasn't like his own family dynamic was the best over the years. He had been estranged from his twin brother for ages, to the point he hadn't been able to tell anyone he had one when his life moved on to New York. Paris was such a tough cookie to crack, but Michael had always been privy to his vulnerable side behind closed doors. This was the most vulnerable Michael had ever seen his soul mate... and he was really scared that he might lose him forever.

Tears broke. They started to spill down his cheeks. He couldn't stop them. He was scared, and he was alone. He didn't want to do this alone. As much as he was having an emotional inner turmoil about keeping Paris' wishes to wait until there was news, as far as Michael was concerned, having his brain cut into was pretty massive news. He wanted to shoulder this alone, but he couldn't. He needed someone.

His phone was taken out. He found Marty's number and shot him through a quick text:

Paris is having surgery. I need you, Marty. I really need you.


NARRATIVE, COMPLETE

Who: Michael and Paris Hart
What: Hysteria, and then some
Where: Mandarin Oriental, Hyde Park
When: After this

In the all the scary and crazy, Michael stupidly didn't even think to go straight back to their hotel to see if Paris was there. Because they had an argument at the hospital and Paris stormed out and got into a cab alone, he had just assumed the last place Paris would go was back to their hotel. He checked everyone else's hotel, and even called up their credit card company and asked if Paris had booked any flights out of London first. Maybe Paris didn't think anything was wrong with him, but no perfectly healthy person just passed out like that. It was only on making the choice to go back to their hotel room to sit there and ring Paris' cell over and over again until he picked up that he wondered if maybe Paris had more to drink than normal, and he was pissed off at the circus he woke up to in the hospital... security standing guard outside the bay so no paparazzi could burst in there on him.

It just didn't seem likely. He let himself into the hotel room and was ripping his jacket off roughly, to throw it onto the sofa in frustration. Which is when he spotted that Paris was there. He wasn't pissed off and snapping angrily like he had been at the hospital when Michael was trying to stop him checking out. He was curled up in the bed under the covers. He wasn't sleeping, and the lights were on. Michael fought the urge to immediately give into his panicked temper and start yelling. Because Paris was still looking like he wasn't well.

Instead, he sighed heavily and put his hands up over his face to take a couple of moments to regain his composure. It was a mix of frustration and relief. Paris wasn't dead in a ditch somewhere. He was here in bed and he was safe. "You scared the shit out of me," he finally spoke up. He went and sat on the edge of the bed beside Paris. "You're still not feeling well."

Who: Michael Hart with Paris Hart and anyone else who happens to be there
What: Bad romance
Where: London Fashion Week, London
When: After THIS

Fashion Week, no matter what city, was always a huge deal in the fashion world. London Fashion Week that year was feeling like a reunion for Michael. He was there, as always, with Paris. He had been pretty much going everywhere with Paris since he got the job with him. The only difference was that now they were married, he was with Paris as his husband and Plus One, rather than as his PA.

Ajay and Billy were also there, which was nice, because Ajay was back in the saddle and Billy had moved on to his role in Broadway (and an awful set-back with cancer). Having them both there was a treat. Lincoln had arrived for a brief appearance with Clint, something that had created a flurry of activity because it was Lincoln's first public appearance since he had been stabbed. The press were all over that, and then some, trying to nail an exclusive with him, and none of the basic bitches realising he had already signed for an exclusive interview with FABULOUS about the stabbing. Tristan had invited Caden as his date, so that was new. Harley and Julian had just flown in for the main event. Even Michael's sister, Charlotte, was there with her latest sexy girl toy on her arm.

( Michael sipped his glass of champagne and watched in amusement as his sister, a Modelling Agent, was in the midst of head-hunting one of the waiters milling around and just trying to do his job... )

NARRATIVE, COMPLETE

Michael Davison is now known as Michael Hart

One week until my wedding. Is this really necessary, karma?

Pretty sure this is the sickest I've ever seen Paris. I mean, he's actually admitting he's sick and not trying to work through it.