Day 1:

Denial. Anger. Bargaining. Depression. Acceptance.

The 5 stages of grief.

Day 24:

The wind howled outside, shaking the fragile bathroom window and fragile Canadian. He stood, his violet, sunken, tired eyes staring into the mirror, staring back at himself. Only, this wasn't the person he knew. Matthew ran his left hand through his hair again, his wedding ring glistening as small clumps of his light blond hair traveled with it. He sighed and his hair sat in the sink, staring at him, judging him, mocking him. This year, this year was supposed to be his year. He had gotten married, he had gotten a pet, he had gotten cancer.

About a month ago he had been diagnosed with a cancerous brain tumor. The best course of action was to undergo chemotherapy, and it was begun, 24 days ago. Yet, the 21 year-old felt worse now than when he had been diagnosed. His entire body hurt, and he was always tired, and he was always sick.

There was a soft whimper, and for a moment Matthew thought it came from himself. Mr. Kumajiro, his pet dog, a wedding gift from his twin brother's best friend, sat beside him. Kuma, as the dog was called, was a large, white dog whose footsteps thundered across the house, and who was very vocal. He was still young, and he would grow even bigger, and Matt's heart sunk as he realized he might not be there to see it. No. He knew he would not be there to see it. It didn't matter what the doctors said, or what Loviano said. Matt knew that he was running out of time. He hoped that, once he was dead and gone, he would get a chance to sit with God. He would ask why, about so many things. He listed them to himself. Why was he gay? Why was he so much weaker than his brother, Alfred? Why did he get cancer? If everything happened for a reason, and if everything was part of a larger plan, the boy felt he at least deserved to know why.

Matthew now held the hair trimmer tight in his hands. He stared into the mirror once again, and saw behind him, a concerned Italian, leaning against the door frame.

Matt smiled, "I was just about to call you in." The brown haired foreigner looked up at Matthew, his eyes restless yet tired. The Canadian felt a twinge of pain and his eyes fluttered down to the sink. It still sat there, teasing him. Loviano, Matthew's husband, left the cold comfort of the door frame. He stood behind his partner, wrapped his arms around his partner, and spoke.

"You don't have to do it. I can shave your head for you…" The blonde's heart sank even further. Loviano, who was angry and determined, had never sounded so defeated.

"No, I can do it," he faked a smile, "I will do it."

"Alright," Loviano let go and stepped back, with a brief flash of emotion-it was hope, it must have been- "Kick that bastard cancer in its ass." Matt smiled, actually smiled, and turned on the razor. Kuma whined. The hair fell in waves, traveling down, circling. Some landed softly, gently, in the sink, on the counter. Most fell to the floor, curving, fighting gravity, fighting and resisting as best as it could. The hair was weak though, and, in its final struggle, pulled itself up, in a sweep, with a breeze, then fell, curling, defeated on the floor.

Day 26:

The T.V. thundered and Matt rested his head on Loviano's shoulder. Outside the air sat warmly and stubbornly, despite it being nighttime. It was summer, and Loviano loved the summer. He loved the summer nights, sitting outside and drinking wine. Canada was not as warm as Italy, but Loviano still enjoyed it. Summer had meant no school, no homework, and no bullies. It meant sneaking out at night and skinny dipping, tanning, and cool, fizzy pop, to wash away trouble.

Now, however, these were not an option. Matt had argued that Loviano go and enjoy himself, but Loviano could not do that guiltlessly. In fact, he could not do anything guiltlessly. Even waking up with his hair in knots, he remembered how Matt now had no hair. It hurt him, and it made him feel guilty. Once he had thought thank God it isn't me, once, and then he put his hand over his mouth in utter shock. That could not be true. He wanted it to be him because he was loud and unruly and he made people unhappy. It was Matt who brought smiles to peoples faces, it was Matt who remembered birthdays and allergies, it was Matt who was good and full of life. At least, he had been.

No, Loviano could not go and enjoy the summer weather, not with graceful, beautiful, and perfect Matthew struggling. So together they sat, on the rugged couch they had bought cheap online when they first moved in together, Matt resting his head, dozing now, while Loviano attempted to focus on the news. His hand thoughtlessly rubbed Matt's back as his taste buds ached for wine and pop and salvation.

Day 29:

It was another chemotherapy session. Matthew had to force himself to get out of the car, convince himself that this was worth it. This was for Loviano. Even if his gut told him that he was not going to make it, Loviano believed he would, and for the Canadian, this was enough to continue. Matthew walked in, went to the cancer ward, and in no time was connected to the tube that would feed the venom into his body, slowly killing him just to save him. Loviano sat beside him, flipping through a magazine that had been left out for patients to read. He made a rude comment about some actor who had just gotten divorced and that the famous did not respect marriage. Matthew was hardly listening, he nodded and let his mind drift, and without thinking he reached to Loviano and grasped the other's hand. Matt held it firmly but gently, and Loviano stopped his rant. The Italian began to massage Matt's hand, something he knew comforted the boy. Matt turned his head to look at Loviano.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled, averting his eyes.

Loviano stopped and held Matt's hand close to his lips, "Don't be sorry. It's not your fault."

"Actually," Matt let out a faint laugh, "it sort of is… It's my body doing this, so I guess, in a way, it's my fault." He sighed, looking back up. Loviano was glaring, not at Matthew, but at something behind him. "Lovi?"

Loviano shifted his gaze back to his husband, "It's not your fault. You didn't choose this," he spoke quickly and with anger, "Don't blame yourself. It's stupid and pointless if you blame yourself." He grew more stressed, more annoyed as he spoke, "If you blame yourself then I should have been able to stop this and I didn't. I couldn't!" He was starting to yell now, and Matt glanced around before moving his hand to Loviano's arm, grasping it.

"Please stop yelling," he pleaded.

Loviano stood up, forcing Matthew to release his arm. "I will be right back," and he left with Matt tethered to the chemo, alone and distressed.

Loviano stood outside of the hospital, far enough away that if he lit a cigarette the only complaint he would receive would be angry stares from azmatics who decided to park far away from the hospital. So, he brought out his grandfathers lighter that had faced war and dark lit bars, and a cigarette, lit it, and put the lighter away. He inhaled deeply, he had not smoked for a long while since it was not good for Matt. Cancer sticks. That's what people called cigarettes. He smirked at the irony, exhaled, and inhaled. The breath of death seeped into his lungs, and in the corner of his vision he saw a tree. He began to think, and to paint a picture in his mind that would have freed him from his lousy office job and free Matt as well.

Day: 34

It was Friday, and all day Loviano had been rushing about the house, trying to secretly pack things into bags, and those bags into cars. Matt had caught on quickly that something was off. Really, he had caught on when Loviano had not left for work. In spite of everything, Loviano had always gone to work. Every day he had too, he had gone, leaving Matt, who had been in the midst of an aspiring career as a journalist and whose life was now on hold. To make up for these absences Loviano spent his weekends within arms reach of Matthew. Yet, now, he had taken a day off of work and was keeping his distance. It was odd, but Matt did not have the willpower to investigate.

Loviano approached his husband around noon with a look of confidence draping itself around him, flowing freely behind him, and never touching the floor. Matt looked up from the book he had been reading and smiled.

"Hello, dear," Matthew spoke, motioning for Loviano to sit next to him, "You've been rushing around all day. You're probably tired."

Loviano smirked and scooped Matt into his arms, very aware of how much weight the taller one had lost, "I can't afford to be tired, not right now anyways." Matthew giggled childishly as he was carried out to their worn, old truck. Loviano placed him in the passenger seat, closed the door and went to the drivers side.

"Lovi?" Matt asked as the Italian got into the car, still holding his book, "Where are we going?"

"Camping," the other replied.

Matthew looked over at him, his sunken, violet eyes glowing, "Really?" Loviano nodded and drove out of the driveway and onto the road.

They reached the campsite around 3 in the afternoon. Matthew had promised not to fall asleep on the way there, but after an hour and a half he had begun to drift away. Now, as Loviano was paying the entrance fee Matt began to stir. The windows were down in the truck and the air danced freely into and out of the vehicle. The Canadian opened his eyes and immediately saw green. All around him were welcoming trees, branches outstretched to greet him and his accompanying stranger; the wind rustled the branches whose leaves fell, carefree to the ground.

"Oh," Loviano commented, moving the truck into the campground, "You're awake. Just to let you know, it took a lot of money to get this reservation so suddenly." Matthew adjusted himself so he was no longer slouching in the chair. "But… I guess it will be worth it."

"I'm sure it will," Matt assured, letting his hand hang out of the window. Loviano slowed the truck and began to read the numbers marking which site was which. After a while he grinned and pulled the truck into its proper spot. The brakes screeched and the two men looked to each other with concern. "Please tell me you didn't hit anything while I was sleeping."

"Come on!" Loviano cried, turning off the engine and raising his hands in the air, "I am not a bad driver." Matthew gave Loviano the 'are you kidding me look' and struggled to hide a smile. "I'm not that bad of a driver." Loviano corrected, hopping out of the truck. Matthew swung his own door open, and sat in the passenger seat a moment, before leaving the confines of the vehicle as well.

"Look at how secluded the site is," Matt brought up his arms as if to give the scenery a hug, then lowered them again. "It's perfect, Lovi." The brown haired man walked to the former blonde's side and put an arm gently around Matt's waist.

"Perffeto come te," Loviano said, kissing his husband on the cheek. "Crap," he hissed to himself.

"What's wrong?" Loviano turned and went to the bed of the truck, pulling out the tent and two chairs he had packed. He then jumped out of the truck bed and lifted out his selected items, placing them on ground.

The Italian look at the truck and confessed, "I might have forgotten to buy ice…" Matthew stared for a moment, in confusion, then nodded knowingly.

"Go buy some!" he urged, "I'll set up camp." Loviano evaluated him for a moment, then agreed.

"Just don't strain yourself," he ordered, getting back into the truck and starting the engine. Matthew promised he wouldn't and stood by the unassembled tent, waving goodbye. Yet, as Loviano pulled out, he could not help thinking that Matthew had failed to keep his last promise.

Loviano returned to the campground with the ice chest sitting comfortably in the trunk, its insides cold and preserved. As he pulled up to their campsite, he noticed that Matthew was sitting in one of the foldable chairs. He couldn't tell if the other was awake or not, only that he had finished the tent, and it was now standing strong, a fort, watching for any threats, ready to protect them in the night. Loviano parked the truck and went over to Matt, whose glasses had slipped down his nose, and who was breathing slowly.

"Hi," Matt said, quickly and quietly, his eyes closed.

Loviano looked around, and saw a small pile of firewood setting near the fire pit, as well as some tinder to get the fire started. "You worked hard. You didn't overwork yourself, did you?" He asked this with an accusatory tone, that caught both he and the Canadian off guard.

The younger strummed his fingers before responding, "No… I'm just a little nauseous." That, though, was an understatement. Matthew was terrified that he was going to vomit, and he felt his world spinning around him. When he had been gathering wood he had bent down, and stood up. When he did so he felt the ground slip from beneath him, and he had found himself on all fours, struggling not to lose his lunch. It took tremendous effort for him to walk back to the campsite and set up a chair. The last thing the boy wanted was to get sick and go home. The last thing he wanted was Lovi wasting all of his time working and worrying. In his heart he felt this was what they needed, a break. Maybe, just maybe he would get better.

"Then rest, amato," Loviano commanded softly, as if talking to a child. He went to set up the sleeping bags in the tent. Matthew attempted to nod, and decided against it, eventually sleeping in the chair.

Day 35:

The rest of the evening had gone without a hitch, there had been a campfire and the people from the next site over, had ended up talking after they realised they had lost their lighter. Loviano suspected that the two men had been partners, married like he and Matthew. They were both from Northern Europe, he could tell by their accents, but he wasn't sure where. All Loviano could really recall now was that they had been blonde and one man had been extremely intimidating while the other had been extremely sociable.

The sleeping bags in the tent were warm and surprisingly comfortable, and the Italian did not want to leave and face the brisk air, nor did he want to leave Matthew alone. He turned and faced his husband, who was still sleeping. Matthew did not look any better sleeping than he did awake. In fact, Loviano felt that Matthew looked worse, smaller and more fragile, weaker too. The hair on Matt's head was growing back already, in patches of light fuzz, yet, it was so pale, it did nothing to make the Canadian look healthier; his eyes too, seemed more sunken and his face thinner. His chest rose and fell slowly, with difficulty.

Loviano closed his eyes and turned the other way. How had Matthew deteriorated in such a short amount of time? How had everything he had known simply been shattered? This was not fair for anyone. Although, who had said life was fair?

If nature was God's gift, then it must have been his only gift. Nature, however, was indeed an amazing gift. All around the grass whispered to the wind, and the wind gossiped with the trees, and the trees guided the animals, and the animals respected the grass. Being here, walking with Matthew, side by side with the trees and the grass and the animals, Loviano began to realize why his partner had loved being outside. It truly was stunning. As they walked, together but in their own separate worlds, for the first time in over a month, both of them felt free from the rules and regulations that had been imposed by nearly everyone. Matthew's hand strayed from his pocket to Loviano's hand. It was warm and comforting. After time their hands let go and instead their arms bent at the elbows, intertwining, much like an old tree, natural to them, but odd to so many cruel others. They walked close together, silent, relaxed, free. They found comfort in each other's presence and in their breath and in their faces and in their footsteps. This was not new to them, but it had been so long since it had really been like this that it felt foreign to both of them.

"I think we should go back soon."

"Are you getting tired?"

A nod. That was the only break in their comfortable silence.

"Sunset is the most beautiful time of day," Matthew confessed, laying on a blanket, on the ground, looking at the sky.

"Tramonto. Sunset" Loviano added.

"Tramonto… Sunset… Coucher…" Matthew returned, smirking.

"Damn…" Loviano muttered, "I'm out of languages. I guess that means," he propped himself up on his elbow, "that you win." He moved so he could comfortably give Matthew a kiss. It was tender, but bitter, fueled by love, compassion, passion, but also guilt, regret and remorse.

"Je te aime." The Canadian whispered.

"Ti amo." The Italian whispered back. It was words hardly spoken between them, words that had been overused in front of them. They had lost meaning during parents fights and in short, lust fueled romances. Both boys had agreed that they would not use the words as carelessly, as freely, as the people around them had. They had agreed that these were precious words, not solely to be spoken in the heat of the moment.

"Really," Matt pleaded, sitting up as Loviano leaned back. He wrapped his arms around his husband and held him close. "I love you so much and please never forget that." Loviano was taken aback. "I don't care what people say about me when I'm gone, I just love you so much please." Matthew began to cry, tears racing down his face as Loviano held him tight. This time Matt was not interrupted. "I don't want you to waste your life mourning over me, please, just keep living, please… please…" He was stuck on the word, sobbing and hiccupping, and repeating, "Please, please, please," until it sounded odd and left a bitter aftertaste.

Loviano could only sit with him, holding the sobbing boy, rocking him and comforting him. The Italian had begun to cry as well, quietly so Matthew would not know. They both sat crying together until their hearts hurt less and their heads hurt more.

Day 36:

Somehow, the two lovers had composed themselves enough to start a fire and cook some food. It was an honest dinner, sprinkled with compliments and drizzled with a harsh reality, that Matthew might die.

They had gone to bed worn, but closer. Matthew slept, protected in Loviano's arms, till they drifted apart, late at night in their sleep.

Morning brought more cold air, and once again Loviano turned his attention to Matthew. The Canadian was facing the other way, nested in the blanket and sleeping bag combination. Loviano smiled, sat up, and in doing so shifted the covers off Matt's shoulder. Swiftly he moved them back. Matt was so cold.

Matt. Was. Cold.

Loviano froze. It wasn't that cold outside yet, the covers around Matt were cold and Matthew was cold and Loviano suddenly felt fear. He felt a strong wave of panic as he got onto his knees and began to shake Matthew. He could just imagine the Canadian opening his violet eyes in confusion and annoyance. It didn't happen and Loviano felt a whimper rise in his throat.

"No," he hissed, "No. No. No!" Loviano began to shake Matthew's body roughly, "Matt, si prega di svegliarsi!" Loviano was yelling. "Wake up, bastard wake up!" Loviano stopped, and leaned back, fighting tears and fighting to urge to scream and kick until either Matthew awoke, or he too was dead. This was it. "Ti amo," he whispered. Silence.