"I'll go get that," Altair said quietly to Kahleem, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. Kahleem gave him a tired smile, his eyes gazing toward the lazy fan circling above him.
"Hi," a neighbor Altair hadn't gotten to know said as he answered the door, "I'm Maria Thorpe, I live two houses down. I wanted to bring you and Kahleem something to show support." She held out a small envelope. "How is he today?"
"Not very well," he replied sadly, "thank you, Maria. I will be sure to give it to him."
She gave him a sympathetic smile and they parted, Altair closing the door. He could hear his partner's wheezing, rasping breathing from the foyer. Kahleem had lung cancer. He'd had it now for months.
Altair did not know of his past addictions. He smoked like a chimeny, about a pack and a half a day...on a good day! On his bad days, he'd burn up two, almost three packs. From age twelve to age nineteen, he'd sucked up harmful chemicals and poisons from those Marlbro Menthols.
"Kahleem," he said as he entered the room, "a neighbor wanted me to give this to you." He passed the other man the envelope, eyeing all of the other cards littering his windowsill.
Kahleem rolled his eyes, placing it to the side. He held his thinned arms out to Altair.
"Come lay with me," he urged, "I...I'm cold." He used that excuse often, though it was unneeded. Altair would gladly climb into that big nest of blankets and pillows to sleep, to cuddle, to talk or to fuck. Granted, they had't fucked in a few months, due to Kahleem's frail state.
"Open the gift from Miss Thorpe," Altair ordered, handing him the card as he nestled up beside his partner.
"I wonder what it could be," the darker-skinned man rasped sarcastically, tearing open the envelope, "oooh, another ca-"
A few bills fell out.
"Another twenty?"
"No," Kahleem began to sit up, his thinned frame shook with the effort and he picked the bills up, "four hundred dollars."
Just who was this Maria Thorpe, anyhow?