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Summary
He can imagine her smiling, wherever she is. She’s probably home right now, sifting through Netflix for another good show, heating up leftover food. He wants to ask her what she’s doing. He wants to keep this one last image of her. “So, what were you calling me for?” Clarke asks, breaking through his reverie. There's an urge to stall, but he doesn’t know why. He’s dying, for fuck’s sake. His time is up. “I need to tell you something.”Based on the tumblr prompt by shittyaus: I'm dying slowly but I have enough energy to make one last phone call to tell you goodbye and you have no idea what's going on
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