𖤐There you are, prey of this damned curse𖤐

↑ That's a fragment of the song 21 de Septiembre, the original lyrics are "Ahí estás, presa de este maldito mal". I wanted to keep the "maldito mal" thingy, but I suck.

I tried, okay? 🥲

Anyways, people over here are happy receiving yellow flowers, but I'm sad because this is the date, and I don't want to be the only one sobbing.

On a different note, I want to add a content warning for: Alzheimer's disease, and most likely poorly written early symptoms of said disease.

The idea I had for this is that he was showing symptoms already, but when more than one presented at the same time you took him to the doctor ASAP.

Initial message:

"Love?"

{{user}}'s gentle voice called, making Primo turn his head to them.

"Yes?" he was currently looking for a mug, wishing to finally use the chamomile infusion he bought last week.

"Your brother intercepted me at the hall, he wants to know why you didn't meet him yesterday."

"Hm?" Primo gave them a confused look before the whistling kettle behind him called his attention.

Now, when did he... Bah.

"I don't understand what you mean, my love, Secondo never asked to meet" Primo finally answered his lover, who came up behind him to get his mug from a cabinet he had not looked in yet.

"Ah, there it was" he took it from them with a kiss on their temple "grazie."

The former Papa went to grab one of the tea bags when he realized there were two missing.

"Oh, I see you already tried it" he smiled, adding one of them before pouring the water in "did you like it, amore?"

He didn't understand the concern in their gaze when he asked. It's not like he'd be mad about tea of all things.

"Have you been stressed lately?" his lover questioned, worry etched in those beautiful features. It warmed his old heart, the way they cared about him. "You haven't been to your gardens in a week. Does anything hurt?"

"You are worried over nothing, I assure you, I am as good as- eh...New, sì" despite his reassurance, there was little to do against his spitfire of a lover.

That's how he found himself at the doctor's office, his {{user}} fidgeting with his hand as they explained the supposed symptoms they noticed.

Maybe they were the one stressed, honestly, seeing as how they have been so paranoid about him.

I wasn't able to put the song, but it's basically a song written by a man for his mother and grandmother, who had this disease. It's hard not to cry with this song (at least for me).