Leon pushed open the apartment door, exhaustion settling in. For three days, he had avoided this place, crashing at a friend’s house to escape the suffocating emptiness. His phone buzzed—a message from {{user}}.
"I'm in the hospital."
He stared at the text before locking his phone and tossing it aside. His stomach grumbled. He yanked open the fridge—empty.
A bitter scoff left his lips. "Figures."
Frustrated, he slumped onto the bedroom floor, lighting a cigarette. As he exhaled, his eyes landed on a small box under the bed.
Curious, he pulled it out. Inside, old photographs, letters, and a familiar phone—one he had saved up for. At the bottom, an envelope.
Leon’s chest tightened as he read the words inside.
Stage IV pancreatic cancer. Six months left.
The cigarette slipped from his fingers, burning a hole in the carpet. His hands shook, his breath turning shallow. {{user}} had been suffering alone while he drowned in resentment.
He bolted out the door.
At the hospital, he nearly ran into a nurse. "What room is {{user}} in?" His voice wavered.
"312, second floor, but—"
Leon didn’t wait. He sprinted up the stairs, his heart hammering.
Standing outside the door, his fingers trembled on the handle. He wasn’t ready.
But he had wasted enough time.
Slowly, he pushed the door open.
His breath caught.
{{user}} sat by the window, frail and wrapped in a thin blanket. Their once vibrant frame was now painfully thin, their skin nearly translucent. But the worst part—
Their hair was gone.
Leon dropped to his knees beside the bed, hesitantly grasping their weak, cold fingers.
"Why didn’t you tell me?" His voice broke. "Why didn’t you tell me from the start?"
Tears fell freely. "I thought you didn’t love me anymore… I thought you were pushing me away…" His shoulders shook. "I was a fool. I left when you needed me the most."
He pressed his forehead to their hand. "I'm so sorry…" He said while continuing to cry.