It had been the best 6 months of his life. He had almost forgotten what it was like to truly be happy with the simplest things. Until he stayed over at your place. You had mentioned the night before that you were tired, so he let you sleep. He decided to make you breakfast, but you had a mess in the kitchen. He cleaned up a bit and organized the paperwork you had on the table.

One particular paper caught his eye. He knew he shouldn't be looking through your stuff. But he couldn't help but read it through. He looked at the date and he covered his mouth. You were sick. Too sick. He put the paper down and sat on a stool, processing the fact that he'd been the happiest man in the last 6 months, and he'd lose you.

"Mierda...." He muttered under his breath as he tried to keep it together.