You are a god. You've been a god for as long as you've been around, however long that may be. You've seen empires, kingdoms, entire civilizations rise and fall in the blink of an eye.

Some of them praise you. They build you temples and cathedrals, sing hymns and homilies and chant for you and only you. They bring offerings- sometimes it's food and precious metals, sometimes part of their harvest or even an animal or two.

Sometimes they kill other humans in your name, too. You never did see the point in it, but who are you to stop it?

You are a god. All mighty and knowing, full of strength and authority of the highest regard. Even if you're just a simple god, a minor one- you are important to them, and it makes you happy.

You are a god meant to bring health and wellness and life to the people. You take their offerings and return them with good health and strength of heart, keeping their bodies warm in the winter and able to keep moving when wounded. You fill them with vigor and determination from within, giving them the things they need to live on until their time is up.

Of course, time marches on. It never waits, delivering all these sweet humans to the same end. You know that. It would be foolish to involve yourself in their activities, and yet...

You stare out at the room in front of you. It is white and cold, bright fluorescent lights shining down and making Tyler's body look sicklier and paler than ever before. It stirs something within you. You feel bad.

You have no reason to. He is just a human. What does he matter? He is one of billions, he will come and go like all the others. His life shouldn't matter, and yet...

You pity him. He has been here, in this room, for an unfair amount of time. You've been witness to the past few months of suffering. All needles and tubes, harsh lighting and stone faces of doctors. Nothing but scalpels and stitches and the constant stress of being on the verge of death. That's all Tyler has known, it seems.

You should not pity him. Many others have been through the same. Why are you even here again?

Ah.

That's right.

He made a wish. You were not told what the wish was. The wish was not made to you, or to anyone in particular. It was just something you heard one day while wandering around.

"I sure fucking wish," a weary man had mumbled, sitting on a park bench all by himself. He had a jacket on despite it being the middle of summer, one arm thick with bandages that were barely visible out from under the sleeves. There were scars along his legs, and a cast around his one good hand.

His good hand is his only hand, you had noticed. And as rude as it might seem to ask someone about their condition, you couldn't help yourself.

"A car crash," he said to you. "My name is Tyler and I lost my best friends to a car crash."

He also lost his hand, though that much is obvious. You decided to not comment on it any further. Instead, you asked him why he's here, at the park, in the middle of summer while wearing such a heavy jacket.

"I don't like looking at the bandages or the scars," Tyler had said to you. "I see them and I remember their faces. And it reminds me of how I lost my hand. I don't like remembering."

You gave him your blessing that day, in the form of a water bottle. Just a plain, cheap, cold bottle of water so he doesn't die of heatstroke. It wasn't much. Just something to help him along.

When the time came for you to part ways, Tyler asked you for your name.

Now, you have many names. They come and go with every new city or religion, or with every new form you take. Sometimes you are nameless, sometimes you are simply called Giver of Health, and sometimes they don't bother to worship you at all.

The names vary. Sometimes they call you a saint for healing and bringing wellness, and other times you are considered the source of delirium and immorality.

You have been called many names in your time, and you have given many things to humans, but that day you were Jonathan and you gave him strength.

He had needed a lot more than what you gave him. You had been foolish to think that he would be okay.

Now that you stand here, above his deathbed, watching the doctors work relentlessly to keep him alive, you feel bad. He is already long gone. You have missed your chance, and Tyler's future is nothing more than a couple of dreams that might've been.

He will die here if you do not interfere. You know that for sure.

But you also know you shouldn't interrupt. You may be a god, but you are bound to fate as much as anyone else. Who are you to mess with what is surely happening for a reason?

The doctors have left. They leave Tyler alone, gazing sadly at the ceiling.

He makes eye contact with you. You know that is far from good. The only mortals that can see you are the ones on the verge of death, with their bodies weak and souls ready to leave.

Whatever he had wished for, it couldn't have been this.

You move closer to Tyler. His hand is shaky and cold as you take hold of it, lightly squeezing it in your grasp. His hand is bigger than yours, calloused and scarred from years of use and the crash.

"I don't have long," Tyler says quietly. "Maybe ten days, tops."

A pang of guilt hits you in the chest. You can't bring yourself to look him in the eye.

"I know," you say. "I'm sorry. I wish it could be different." His hand squeezes yours back before moving to tilt your chin up with the faintest of taps.

"You... you wanna know something, Jon?" Tyler gives you a small grin. He moves his hand to stroke your cheek, his movements shaky and weak.

You know you shouldn't be here. You shouldn't be listening to him. You shouldn't be talking to him or looking at him or crying over him or feeling anything, any emotion at all for this useless, mortal man who

"What?"

"I think you're pretty," Tyler murmurs. "Like.. like an angel. You're pretty like an angel, only if angels were wingless and had cute freckles and wore old hoodies."

His gaze is soft and loving, the kind of fond stare a man would give his lover or a child to their puppy. His gaze is impossibly soft and warm, and yet it sends a sharp chill through your body.

How do you respond? How do you react?

You want to kiss him. If it was up to you (and it isn't), you would kiss him and then take his hand and run away with him, far from cars and highways and the horrors that lie within. You'd take him to somewhere calm and serene, where Tyler could close his eyes and not be plagued by nightmares every night. A place where you could sit on a porch, stare out at grassy fields and the setting sun and just kiss away all his worries and fears.

But you can't. You are a god. A god meant to give life to people and things, and then let fate work its magic on those living things you create. Who are you to interrupt?

If you were to kiss him, you'd want to keep him. And you can't. His time is coming, and soon death will too, whether it be here in the hospital or far away on that little back porch.

But...

Tyler is smiling. The smile makes the worry lines in his face melt away, and his eyes crinkle slightly at the corners. His cheeks are full and round and, for a moment, you forget that he is just another dying human in a hospital bed. For the briefest of moments, he is just Tyler and you are just Jonathan.

"Why are we alone here? Don't you have family?" You desperately try to distract yourself from your own thoughts.

Tyler shrugs, the smile disappearing as soon as it had appeared. "My family doesn't like me. I've got like, two reasons to live right now. Won't be missing out on much, you know?"

"I..."

You don't like the way he speaks. Are all humans this accepting of death? Is this how they all go out? Just sad and calm in a bed, waiting for the moment their heart goes out?

Right. This is why you were told to not mingle with mortals. You get attached. You get attached and you won't want them to die. And mortals have to die, because... because Death said so.

Except Death's name isn't Death when it's just you two. It's Ryan. And Ryan said to not mess with fate, to let nature take its course. But still. That's not fair and you know it's not, because now Tyler is going to die and there's not a thing you can do...

"I don't like that," you mumble, distressed. You can feel hot, angry tears streaming down your face. It's not a good feeling. You can't remember the last time you cried, if there ever even was one to begin with.

Tyler shrugs again. "You don't have to. Nobody does."

Your hand twitches. You want to heal him. You want to take his hand and walk him out of here, then jump into his arms and hug him tight.

"But still," you mumble weakly. "I... I don't want you to go. It's not fair..."

Tyler says nothing. He watches you- all your crying and shaking- and then tries to tug at your sleeve to bring you closer. It doesn't do much more than pull a loose thread out. The message is clear, though. And, like the fool you are, you lean closer to him just as he requests.

He kisses you on the forehead. It's small and brief, a light press of chapped lips to your skin, and it manages to set your heart aflame.

You look at him. Tyler looks as proud of himself as a man could possibly get.

This time, you know you can't hold back. You lean in and kiss him, forgoing your own rules. His lips are dry and a little thinner than they look, and it is by no means a perfect kiss, but it is a kiss nonetheless.

But the problem is exactly that. It's not a perfect kiss but it's still a kiss and a kiss was all you needed to conclude that you are completely smitten with this man.

You jump at the sound of knocking at the door. Tyler pulls away first, glancing at you with surprise all over his face.

You try to return the look, but the door opening