Life was great after that. Quincy had slowly yet surely regained Bruce's trust, Bruce had met Quincy's sisters, Quest and Quinn, both somewhat monotonous, and they had altogether grown closer as a pair. Before either of them knew it, 4 months had passed. It was summer. Bruce and Quincy were planning a trip to a nice water park a few hours from from where they lived. It wasn't too long a trip, but Bruce was somewhat obsessed with being prepared. The trip came and went, and as did the sticky, hot, precious 3 months. On the fourth of August, Bruce received a letter from the local hospital. He didn't make it to school that September.

*~*~*

Quincy couldn't see Bruce anywhere. He knew he wasn't being beat up anymore; he had taken care of that long ago. He whipped out his phone and called Bruce. It rang for a bit, and then went to voicemail. "Hi, this is Bruce Smith," was played in his ear. "Leave a message!" Quincy groaned. This was definitely not the way to start the year off.

*~*~*

Quincy made his way to the Smith residence and ran to the door. There was an envelope taped to it. He ripped it open. Inside was an address. He dashed to his car and fumbled to put his keys in the ignition. He was shaking and sweating profusely. As soon as the engine grumbled to life, he plastered the now very crinkled note to the front window and punched the address into the GPS. He sneaked a glance at the paper before he sped down the road. He really hoped this wasn't what he thought it was.

*~*~*

It was what he thought it was. He was sitting in Bruce's hospital room, clutching yet another piece of paper. It was rather vague and hard to read through the tears welling in his eyes, but he could make out the word 'Cancer' quite a few times. He just sat there for hours, clutching Bruce's hand, whispering apologies more to himself than the sick boy in front of him. At around 10:00, he went home. He stepped inside and threw his bag into the hall. Before he could head to the sanctity that was his bedroom, he found his shoulder being gripped in the vice-like grasp of a uniform-clad policeman. Today was just not his day, was it?

*~*~*

Bruce was lying on his back on what, he understood, would be his bed for quite a while. It was dark. He didn't know what time it was. He didn't care. Time was futile at this point. He was honestly just waiting at this point. Waiting for the sunrise, waiting for his parents to visit, waiting to die his unavoidable death, waiting for Quincy. Fuck, he missed him. He really hoped he visited again soon. He didn't visit again soon.