The Things We Leave Behind - By Nina Tsang

Written By: Nina Tsang

Category: Romance and Drama

Competition: Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026

Nina Tsang presents "The Things We Leave Behind," a deeply moving narrative in the Romance and Drama category for the Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026. This heartfelt story explores themes of love, vulnerability, and the emotional complexities that come with the bonds we form. As part of an international competition, Nina's work stands out for its raw emotion and vivid portrayal of intimate relationships.

About the Work

"The Things We Leave Behind" captures the essence of a poignant love story intertwined with drama. Nina Tsang crafts a narrative that delves into the depths of human emotion, highlighting the struggles and resilience found within relationships. The piece is rich with vivid imagery and profound introspection, inviting readers to ponder the inevitable complexities of love and loss.

The things we leave behind.

Original Submission by Nina Tsang

Chapter 1

A body laid rotting in the humid room where darkness clung to a boy’s skin with desperate need. His skin was stretched taut around his ribs, every organ visible under the warmth of the covers. Each breath burned with a deep-seated ache. Sleep threatened to take over but his eyes wouldn’t close.

Weeks-old medication, alongside a glass of water, laid forgotten on the wooden bedside table. Every glimpse of the mess in the room brought shame. The memory of the caring boy he loved resurfacing from deep within his mind.

The dark room had been set alight with a beam that cut through the delicate curtains. It blinded him, causing his heart to race and his eyes to squint. He could hear the grumble of an engine that vibrated through walls. A familiar sound that was more often than not, closer than he wished.

That’s when the engine cut off and the room once more became dark. His ears tuned into the sound of heavy footsteps hitting the wooden floorboards, to how the door sounded when it had swung open. Keys jingled, creating music that shot into his ears with a sting.

A tired voice echoed out.

“Sam?”

The voice grew louder as a figure approached. A snake coiled tight around his heart. He pulled the sheets higher up his chest. An outline of a man stood at the doorway. Sam’s dead eyes fluttered over to the figure watching as it approached the mound of blankets.

The man walked around the bed, his warmth radiating over the corpse of a boy. Sam remained still, as a disgustingly sour smell emanated off him and filled the room. The air around him smelled like rancid milk that caused everything living around to choke.

The comforting weight of the rough hands on Sam’s bony shoulders was devastatingly different to the weight of the blankets. The man planted a soft kiss behind his ear, lips brushing the greasy hair.

“Did you eat today?”

“No…” His voice came out in a rasp.

“I’m guessing you didn’t take your medication either,” he sighed, sitting up and dragging his hands down his face. “Sam y’know this is why you feel terrible most of the time.”

Sam groaned, drowning his head in sheets blocking the man out. The thought of obligations brought a sense of dread. It brought the thought of how every meal that touched his acid-stained tongue would turn to worms and stones between his teeth.

“Come on, Sam get up, let’s get you something to eat. You’ll feel better after you move your legs.” It was unbearable hearing the words so effortlessly leave the mouth of his lover. Hearing the same thing so often was so infuriating. He could almost feel the veins pulse out of his forehead.

“Just shut up would you?! Why are you always so obnoxious? Tom, go the hell away.” He tossed around. Moss grew within his ears and thorn-covered vines tightened their grip around his throat.

Then he saw it.

He saw how Thomas froze, before fumbling on a weak smile. His heart clenched at the sight and his body twitched to reach out but he couldn’t, he didn’t. He couldn’t bear touching the person that didn’t deserve him.

Slowly, as if handling porcelain, Thomas stroked Sam’s hair back. He settled his weight beside him, digging his face into the crook of his neck. He wanted nothing more than to soothe the scowl written all over the pale boy's face.

“Please?” He nuzzled closer.

“It's so much work, Tom…” Sam melted against the man, huffing in irritation

“For me?” The boy turned around to face his lover. He had tired eyes and they were filled with a warmth that was far too hot for Sam’s coldness.

“If you shower, I can change the sheets and cook you something nice to eat in the meantime.”

“Why can’t we just stay like this for a while?” It was barely a whisper, barely a sound that vibrated the air around. A buzz from a fly filled the heavy silence that followed his question.

It soon dropped dead.

Thomas sat up, swinging his legs over the stained mattress. His eyes stared at a spot between the trash-littered dresser and the painting that hung on the wall. The painting was from five years ago, when they had travelled the world, when the sun shone brighter and the colours looked like colours. Where this darkness didn’t warp Sam’s mind into an inescapable maze.

“I don’t like living like this.”

“Living like what? You think I enjoy being like this?!”

“That’s not what I mean—”

“Go to hell, Thomas. Go to hell!”

Bats began to fly and the birds went to rest. Stars watched them through the curtains, the moonlight clawing its way through. The wood creaked under Thomas's weight as he turned back towards the door.

“I’ll be in the kitchen.”

He could see the tremble in his fingertips. The way his freckled face was riddled with hurt and how he pulled away from the room of the dead.

The walls seemed to expand in wild places, bulging at their seams. The bed suddenly felt coated with fresh sweat and a noise grew louder, becoming unbearable to stand.

It was the sound of silence.

It terrified him because every time he was left alone monsters would creep up to stroke his thoughts. To whisper horrible truths and lies and be left swirling and mixing together to create ideas far too cruel to act on.

The shower didn’t look too bad anymore. The slow pitter-patter of the water which mimicked rain sounded far more peaceful than anything right now. However the stripping and lathering of clothes and soap exposed him far too much of him to the ghosts for his liking.

Finally, the moonlight finished its murder of the shadows and the room seemed to eventually settle. The bed groaned from sagging weight as Sam sat up. His muscles felt like jelly under the summer heat his arms and legs wobbling.

The throbbing of his hip created a hop in his step. His feet scuffled against the wood with an unseen tiredness.

Stepping through the threshold of the bathroom, he switched the lights on. He winced, eyes shutting immediately into a squint. The flash of brightness was a cruel reminder of the light that shone in a constant hum outside. It was a reminder of the colour he was missing, and how now he could truly see the colour of his greying skin.

The tiles were a sea of green and were cold under his bare foot. The mirror’s reflective surface uncovered something Sam had been avoiding for weeks. It uncovered how his body had suffered and how scarred he had become within his unmoving mess.

Within the reflection he could see the oil that licked his body creating an obvious sheen. How his dark hair was filled with tiny white specks and looked perpetually wet. His once-white shirt he wore had a long yellow smear down the middle from grime and his pants began to crust in between.

He was a mess. An unlovable, disgusting mess.

Slowly, he was stripped of his clothes and left bare for anything to attack. The metal knob felt icy in his palm as he turned it.

The water gushed out like a dam breaking open. Sam jumped back, lifting his feet from the temperature shock. It had been colder than expected, sending electricity throughout his veins.

As he waited, the steam clawed at the mirror with a desperate need to escape. He reached for the tiles to ground his body through these sensations as he stepped under. He sunk to the floor, curling up into a ball, hoping the heat would just swallow him whole.

The water began to pool around his toes. He stared at the faded scars that adorned his body. They were superficial lines meeting the insides of his thighs. Back then he would scrape at the cuts with anger. Now they were only a small reminder of what he used to be, what he could be.

He knew exactly where Thomas had stored the knives and watched how he typed in a passcode with mistrust. A passcode he learned to resent when the world seemed to become covered in umbrage.

Sam was a flickering candle ready to extinguish.

He had tried to unlock the safe over many days when his thoughts got loud, and Thomas was gone for work. However, he always eventually gave up, sinking to his knees and hitting the kitchen floor. He had scratched his arms until they turned a crimson red.

Water rose around his ankles.

It sloshed side to side and leaked over the shower curb built to stop the spillage. Tears felt trapped underneath the skin, with hate boiling beneath. He was worthless, he was stupid. He couldn’t even shower properly without making a mess for Thomas to clean, because it wasn’t Sam who mopped it up.

It was always Thomas.

If Thomas wasn’t here maybe Sam would be alone, swinging side to side under his parent’s roof. Maybe if Sam wasn’t here Thomas would find someone worth living for. Who was he kidding? Of course, Thomas would find someone else, he was kind, funny, warm and everything Sam was not.

A sob broke out of his throat. Grief for something he hadn’t yet lost overwhelming his pent-up system. The pitter-pattering from the shower sounded like rain during a sunny day.

The door creaked open. The door Sam forgot to lock.

“Sam? I’m coming in.”

A pair of mismatched socks stepped onto the tiles before swivelling towards the shower. Water began to seep into the fabric as Thomas stood upon a soaked bathmat.

“Sam! You okay? Nothing bad happened, did it?”

The tears that threatened to spill stung like fire ants on his face before falling into the pooling water below. At that moment everything stopped.

The sun cut through the darkened clouds. Rain freezing in motion. Thomas didn’t pay any mind to the running water as he stepped into the shower pulling Sam close into a cradle. The water was pelting down at them but somehow, it felt lighter. Lighter with Thomas here to protect him.

“Why do you always try to deal with these things alone?”

Sam’s body began to shiver, the droplets of water sinking into Thomas’s shirt turning it translucent.

“Let's finish up, yeah?”

Working his freckled hands, Thomas gently wiped the tears away from Sam’s cheek. He pumped out the shampoo, the bottle half full. The pearly substance glistened like a pool of magic swirling in a night sky. Lathering it up in his palm, bubbles rose from the foam.

Heat crept up to Sam’s ears, creating a dusty red. Thomas slipped behind, spooning his bony spine, the ridges in his back leaving smooth grooves for the soap suds to glide down.

Fresh mint shot up their nostrils, filling them with a cold headache. The smell overtook his senses, the soap melting down his face.

The silence was hauntingly still; his mouth itched to chew his nubbed nails.

Go to hell Thomas, go to hell!

Why had he said that? What made him say something so cruel to someone who was still washing his hair.

The shampoo had foamed up like a layer of mold as Thomas scrubbed with a profound gentleness. He washed away the dirt, the dandruff, the oils and everything in between.

He was meant to feel better. Meant to be better but he never was.

“I have stew on the stove, if you're hungry.”

On rare occasions, when Thomas was up for it, he opened the cookbook early in the morning light. He would cook on the weekends, as Sam threw a fuss from the couch. The aromatic smell would circulate throughout the house, making their stomachs growl. However, the image of lumps of meat, gurgling up from brown bubbling liquid didn’t sit right in Sam’s mind.

Nevertheless, the bright smile that stretched across Thomas's face forced him to choke down the savory, sweet flavours. He had complimented the chef, claiming it was his new favourite dish. A beautifully crafted lie just to see that twisted, upright frown.

Since then, the pot had always stayed fresh and close enough to the stove for whenever Sam’s bad days came. Always enough leftovers to serve and enough to last over a couple of days. He never had enough heart to tell Thomas it never was his favourite.

“Okay…”

Sam murmured to the ground as if it was the only thing in that room that mattered, when in reality the man behind him was the god behind every decision he made. Thomas stood up reaching high for the shower head. He switched the flow of the water.

Almost instantaneously the water shot out, creating a cold splash that hit Sam’s back square on. He had flinched violently back, as if he had been shot.

“Sorry! Didn’t think it would come out so fast…”

Thomas pointed the water away from Sam. He saw how tight he tensed up after the initial spray. After a few moments, the water had once again warmed up to a comfortable temperature. He had begun tenderly rinsing the soap remnants away.

“I can finish up.”

“You sure?”

Sam turned his head to meet the brown in the man’s eyes. He gave a small and uncertain nod before holding the wall for support.

“I’ll be fine.”

________________

Chapter 2

Thomas’s leg rattled against the table as an overbearing wave of nerves flooded him. He had already tidied away the dirty linens, replaced the sheets and wiped down the already spotless counter for the fourth time, yet Sam had not emerged. He had knocked on the bathroom door every few minutes waiting for the cry.

None had come.

Instead, an annoyed voice would spill out from beneath the door.

“I'm fine! Just let me dry off!”

At first he hadn’t believed Sam was fine, but as the minutes passed and the swearing increased, he felt at peace.

He still felt nervous but maybe a little less so. He knew there was nothing sharp around that could possibly injure the boy.

At that moment a sudden urge stirred deep beneath his chest. He turned his head back taking a long swig of water hoping the itch would dissipate. He tried to ignore the growing ache, but it eventually started to burn the back of his throat.

Thomas balled his fist up tight, whacking his chest in a rhythmic motion. He cleared his throat once more.

He couldn’t hold it back anymore. The sound of the cough was wet and rattling, a gooey substance appearing alongside the droplets of saliva in his palm.

It was a blood-curdling red.

He stared at his hand for a moment in disbelief, his breathing becoming erratic. Suddenly he heard the door opening and footsteps dragging across the floor. Thomas looked up from where he sat. Sam walked in.

“Oh! Um, are you hungry?”

Thomas’s voice heightened as he hastily stood up, the chair toppled behind him with a loud bang. Both of them flinched, ducking their heads.

The air was suffocating with an unknown tension. Thomas hid his hand behind his back, wiping any residue from his mouth.

“Sorry.” He walked towards the sink turning on the tap. “You startled me.”

The rush of water spilt over his hands, and he pumped an excessive amount of green soap. His lungs took in a shaky breath of stale air as he scrubbed his hands raw until no blood remained.

Not now, not when Sam is in the room.

His eyes warmed with prickling tears before he choked down another cough. Sam shuffled around the dining table flopping over onto a wooden chair. His frame was engulfed within the fabric of Thomas’s hoodie, and the sleeves were rolled up his arms.

“What’s got you all on edge?”

Sam melted like butter against the chair as he stared at the lights above.

“Nothing.” He smiled, wiping his hand on a checkered tea towel. “Just tired.”

The dishes clattered together as Thomas opened the drawers. Carefully, he reached for a porcelain bowl. A bowl Sam used to love. He had bought it from the Christmas markets a few years ago where Sam dragged him along. It was finely decorated with radiant blues and gorgeous greens that caught Sam’s eye. He had said it was his favourite colours but left it due to its costly price.

Thomas went back alone on the last day of the markets to buy the dish, bargaining down the price to something affordable. He remembered the way Sam’s eyes lit up with an ecstatic glow and a smile so bright Thomas vowed to never let it disappear.

Setting a steaming bowl of stew down in front of Sam, he watched in hope, exploring Sam’s eyes. He found nothing but apathy in Sam’s eyes towards the colours that lay in front. He saw how his eyes strayed away from the food and how he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Thomas’s shaky smile remained.

“One bite. For me?”

It was a hushed question, aware of how pathetic he must have looked at that moment. He handed over a spoon, holding the handle towards him. Sam had barely looked at it.

“After, can we just sleep? Tom, I don’t want to be alone.” His voice had cracked. Hyperventilation taking over his lungs. The world seemed so lonely from where Sam stood. There was only one reason to remain, to see how life would play out for his sweet beloved.

He knew it was pointless because the base of their relationship was built out of wood. However, those steps were infested with termites and now he could see all the rotting holes.

The spoon collected chunks of tender meat, brown liquid dripping off the sides. Bringing it up to his mouth Sam held his breath before gagging it down. The velvet liquid felt like swallowing sand as it dragged down his throat in a lump.

“Sam, can we talk—”

“What now?”

“Well… earlier, you didn’t mean it right?” Heart pulsating, Sam froze with the heat leaving his face.

“What do you mean?” His voice came out harsh, faster than expected. It made his body feel heavy and stiff as if metal was embedded within his bones.

“Never mind.”

The chair scratched against the wooden floor and squeaked as he stood up. He took Sam’s bowl away. His gaze averted, to his stew-filled bowl in Thomas’s hands.

“You're not going to eat?”

He emptied out the umber liquid into the bin, the bag crinkling underneath the new weight. At first, he tried to ignore the question by reordering the dishes in the already full dishwasher.

“I'm just not hungry.”

“Okay…”

He turned on his heel, dragging his body across to the bedroom. He should’ve pushed further. But after all he shouldn’t go digging in the places he didn’t belong. It wasn’t his place even if he belonged in his lover's heart.

The bed was clean with towels neatly folded on top and clothes were shoved into the corners of the room. Thomas had left the lamps on to illuminate the surroundings. Sam didn’t crawl or shuffle beneath the covers; he collapsed. He sank into the mattress face drowning through the fabric.

He wanted to feel the mattress dip down once more and to turn and see that familiar freckled face. When he turned, there was only empty space. Where darkness chose to consume once more.

________________

Chapter 3

Hot sharp pain rose within his chest, setting fire to his insides. Dark crimson splattered across the bathroom tile and bit the green. He had slumped back against the wall, a pounding ache resurfacing within his lungs.

Thomas rasped for air as he clutched and clawed at his shirt in desperation. He was soaked in a sticky sweat that dripped down his skin. Sam’s breathing was ever-present in the room across the wall.

He couldn’t breathe. When he did it felt as if thousands of needles pierced his body. The air a sludge he couldn’t seem to choke down. A metallic taste had infested his senses, his mind filling with fears.

Where Thomas was suffering, Sam was sleeping and his fear of waking him grew. It was the only time of day where his thought-plagued mind would calm and fall at peace. Thomas could not worry the boy without the confirmation he desperately needed.

Tomorrow.

He would go to the sterile hospital where the lights did not flicker and where the people were a void of emotion and false smiles. It was a place where he hadn’t needed to worry about another.

Unhurriedly, he wiped up the blood as if it were water and climbed back into the bed. The bed that held too many secrets to be pure. The bed that would soon become a death bed.

________________

Chapter 4

Empty.

The bed was empty as usual when Sam awoke. The nightstand was cleared of the moulding water glasses and replaced with a fresh one. A yellow sticky note had always been left beside it on the coffee-stained wood.

Make sure to eat and take your medication today. Stew is on the stove to reheat. Love you.

Sam lifted his head slightly to read before falling onto the pillow in exhaustion. Thomas always went to the office early, like every other working bee. Working in an ordinary office for an ordinary salary and an ordinary life. However, Sam was anything but ordinary. He wasn’t the ordinary partner as he didn’t provide for the household and didn’t help build this life with Thomas. Instead, he leeched off the very soul he cherished and swore to protect.

The clock read 1:42pm, it was too late to take his meds and too early at the same time. So instead, he stared at the ceiling until it was no more. The last thought on his mind became the aching dread of Thomas’s arrival.

________________

Chapter 5

Sam had been asleep for several hours before he woke up to realise the time. The clock had read 7:36 p.m., yet Thomas had not returned. His arms trembled as he sat up, stomach rumbling. However, his hunger became suppressed when he noticed no car seemed to approach the house and no headlights blinded him through the half-closed curtains.

Thomas was likely working late, yet his inbox remained empty from any notifications. Unease built within his chest. It was an unusual pang that continued to grow.

They had a routine. Thomas had a routine. When Sam would sleep for the whole day, he would always know when Thomas came home at 6 p.m. They maintained the schedule or notified each other of the possible changes.

So where could Thomas possibly be at this time? Why wasn’t he home kissing his forehead and telling him everything was, okay? Why was he not here asking if he ate?

The questions clouded his mind, making the worry transform into a pain. The room suddenly felt weirdly empty and cold. Tiny bumps formed on his arms as hairs stood up on end.

“Tom?” Sam called out to the empty room as he sat up looking around. “Thomas? Are you here?”

He groaned, a pain shooting up his neck from a long night of being twisted. He swung his feet over the bed.

Before he stood up, he took a long sip of water, from a stale glass. The water was lukewarm and it slid down his throat like butter on a hot pan.

He hadn’t noticed how he was trembling, shaking like a leaf in the wind. His mind seemed to be occupied with his eyes set on the window shades; it seemed to entice him closer. The pale light that glowed beneath it felt almost unreal.

“Thomas?”

Fingers slid between a gap as he peeked through. The car Thomas always took for work was already parked in the driveway. It looked untouched since yesterday. Thomas wasn’t yet home either and this strange sight dug a pit into his stomach.

Thomas never took public transport; that's one thing he knew. He would avoid it like a plague and complain like a whiny puppy when there had been no other choice. It had been a while since he heard that complaint or any complaint, in fact.

So why, moments later, did Sam see Thomas step off that nighttime bus that always passed by? Why were his shoulders slumped and facing the ground like the world ended? Sure, Sam wasn’t the one to talk but Thomas wasn’t like himself. He was the only light in this decaying world.

As he approached the door Sam’s eyes flickered between the safety of the room or the hall. Wherever he would scramble away to, he knew he would eventually come to regret it. He didn't have the energy to interrogate him but leaving the man alone when he could be drowning like him became a throbbing headache.

So, he limped towards the hall, stopping before he turned the corner, it was where the front door loomed. The door opened loud and clear. Sam took a deep belly breath and poked his head around the corner.

He wasn’t met with that warm energy he knew. Instead, it was a haunting image of a hollow shell. His eyes seemed melted and his precious freckled face seemed almost dead.

Thomas had not yet noticed the prying eyes as he removed his feet from the too-tight shoes.

Tiny blood stains speckled his shirt around the collar and forearm. A sight that made Sam’s stomach flip.

“Thomas?” Sam’s voice came out as a quiver, his stare landing on the blood for slightly too long. Thomas had tensed at the sound, like he hadn’t quite expected to hear Sam’s voice so soon. “You okay?”

Thomas bent down, sliding his shoes away onto a rack, before meeting his eyes. He wiped tears away and gave an artificial smile.

“Yeah.” The word was restrained, “I’m just tired.” Thomas stepped past him walking towards the bedroom.

Sam frowned, Thomas’s words didn't satisfy the gnawing feeling in his gut. “No, you’re not.” Thomas stilled.

“I'm not in the mood for this, Sam.”

He gritted his teeth, did Thomas really think he didn’t need to tell him anything? Did he think he was some sort of child? Thomas could tell Sam things too! So why did he throw him away when he actively reached out?

“Quit lying!” His voice slammed into Thomas. “You first came home late; you walk past like I’m not even here and then you act as if you don't constantly ask me if I followed your bloody list?!”

“Why? What’s the point? I already know the meds are still in its bottle and the food is untouched!” Thomas shut his mouth, the blood in his veins creating a loud thump in his mind. He moved passed Sam and didn’t look back. His steps were heavy like a ball and chain dragging against the floor.

Stepping towards the bathroom he collapsed, doubling over the toilet bowl retching.

________________

Chapter 6

The sour smell of bile was strong, stinging Thomas’s senses. It was a pale yellow that coated the cold ceramic.

Thirty days.

Thirty days till the grim reaper will take his wake and the world will become no more. Long choked sobs tore out from his chest as he slumped against the toilet bowl in agony.

“Thomas…?” He had forgotten to shut the door before the nausea took hold of his shaking body. Sam stood at the doorway, hands becoming limp beside him. He could almost hear the way Sam’s breath stopped. Thomas was too exhausted to speak, to defend the sight that stopped his heart.

Before Thomas could wipe the stray tears that continued to spill, Sam dropped to his knees. He cupped Thomas’s face wiping them gently away, whispering something that felt so distant. “W-why didn’t you tell me?”

That’s when the sobs began. Once more his head dropped onto Sam’s chest. He dug his nails into his shirt, and the tears burned a hole into his heart. Sam’s arms hovered over his body. He’d never seen such sadness paint the man’s face quite like this.

Slowly, he buried his nose into Thomas’s brown locks before tightening his hold, he breathed the man in. For once in his life, he just needed to be. He memorised the way he shook and the way he smelled hoping he wouldn’t ever forget it.

Fingers traced circles on his back as he tried to soothe the shaking body in his arms. He needed to ask what happened, what made him cry like this. What made him break enough to almost give up.

Finally, the salty tears dried up and only redness invaded boy’s eyes. That’s when he looked up.

“W-what’s happened?”

Somewhere deep down in Sam’s heart he didn’t want to know. Not knowing, staying ignorant was blissful and far easier to ignore. However, something deep within made his heart drop. He knew he couldn’t avoid it forever.

He saw how Thomas struggled to open his mouth. To speak the words he hoped were only dreams. A rush of emotions struck him tears falling once more from not only Thomas but also Sam. They were left in the silence of the bathroom and in the numbing warmth of an embrace.

________________

Chapter 7

The days had passed from the sickening brightness of the day to the decaying darkness of the night. Thomas had finally quit his job. At first, he was adamant to stay, but as time went on his coughs became an unrelenting guest and red became a friend.

Sam continued to sleep past noon, yet he spent every waking moment trying to care for the man. Although Thomas still cooked their meals and froze them for the following months, Sam tried.

The first couple of days he tried to cope but the thought of the unforgiving, merciless cancer seemed to destroy him. It felt so selfish to mourn a life that hadn’t yet left. But he couldn’t help it. So, he did what he could and tried to be better.

In the afternoons, when he woke, he would heat up a bowl of frozen stew. He would forget it on the spinning microwave dish, and it would be left for it to be found. Thomas would find it the following day when a smell emitted from the area.

One time Sam tried to cook, he had burnt all the contents inside, leaving a layer of black crust at the bottom of a pot.

A couple more days passed. Thomas’s condition worsened and reality struck Sam. Every time Thomas stood for a few seconds his breathing would become heavy. Every time he dared to walk the halls he would collapse out of breath.

It was worse than Sam could have ever imagined. Thomas could no longer cook, clean nor do the things he loved. Heartbreak set in as Sam watched Thomas’s expression slowly fall and break. That’s when he really needed to step up.

He started to set alarms for 10am in the morning. He took his medication on time and began dressing himself in two-week-old sweaters and semi-clean clothes. He started to take on far more chores than he had ever taken in the last few years.

One night Sam was lost in the glistening bubbles and aging water that filled the sink, that’s when Thomas had stumbled out of bed. Sam had a simmering pot on the stove that boiled into a thick soup. Thomas watched the boy wash up as he leaned his weight on the kitchen island.

Sam’s eyes hadn’t brightened since the news but weren’t quite hollow. He seemed to have a determination Thomas hasn’t seen in years. His hands scrubbed the dishes filled with purpose.

“H-have you eaten?” A sharp gasp escaped Sam as a dish fell into the water with a splash. He turned his head and met the eyes of the sick boy. “You were spacing out. Don't push yourself, yeah?”

Sam’s shoulders fell, as Thomas slumped into a chair.

“You haven’t eaten recently either y’know.” His voice came out raspy yet harsher than expected. He continued “You say don’t push yourself yet you’re the one dying here… I hate it when you pity me.”

Tears began to water in his eyes as frustration boiled within. His fists were clenched tight and his teeth were grinding together.

“It’s just so unfai—” The pot of soup suddenly spilled over the edges. It made its descent down the sides to the stove and eventually the floor. “Shit!” In the panic Sam ran to grab a cloth, trying to stop the flow of the spillage. “Stop, stop, stop!” The rag quickly became drenched in the hot liquid.

Silently, Thomas stood shifting himself towards the scene. He calmly switched the stove off and pulled the still bubbling pot to the sink. Sam stood in shock, eyes wide, before falling to the floor in a ball, crying.

“I'm sorry Thomas… I'm so useless, I still need you even now. I'm sorry.”

Thomas bent down, crouching beside Sam.

“I don’t pity you… I worry about you.”

________________

Chapter 8

It had been a happier day.

They had laughed, reminisced on old times, and they even went on a walk and watched how the skies went by. The grass felt softer than usual and Sam didn’t notice how the sun shone too bright, or how disgusting little bugs infested the garden.

It had been a happier day.

Until Thomas’s legs gave out. The blood on his hands was thick and viscous, as it dripped down his pale wrist, contrasting sharply. It had splattered onto Sam’s shirt as Thomas hunched over grasping his stomach.

The smile on Sam’s face had vanished, the warmth draining at the sight. Fear had swelled within his chest; he wasn’t ready for Thomas to die. He didn’t care if the blood never came out of his clothes or if he was left alone forever. He just couldn’t bear to watch him die. He had never clutched onto something so tight. Every tremor that racked Thomas’s body passed into him.

Please, be okay. Sam prayed an angel would hear his plea, but it was useless. He never was the religious type but if it meant one more day with Thomas, he would pray until the sun came up.

He sat in the hospital repeating the words over and over again.

At the end, Thomas became bedbound. Stuck by the very vines that had held Sam down to the bed. His body mirrored Sam’s old one, where the sheets were stained with sweat and his sleep was restless. Despite this, Thomas never ceased his attempts to help.

He insisted on cooking the meals, even after he doubled over in pain. He insisted on helping Sam, even when he struggled and every single time Sam would push Thomas away forcing him to rest.

Every time Sam pushed him away it brought a type of restlessness he had never felt before. He had never felt like a burden in his own skin. He didn’t want to be cared for, yet his body wouldn’t allow otherwise.

When Thomas tried to intrude Sam would snap saying he could do it, but It’s wasn’t like Thomas didn’t believe him. It was just, he couldn’t remember a time when he wasn’t doing something.

Even when Thomas was a kid, he had learned how to do the dishes and do the laundry, peeling the onions for the dinner his mother was never there for. Now, with his hands empty he felt himself becoming meaningless.

As he grew sicker, they both started losing weight. More weight than one should bear. Sam had looked barely alive, like a walking skeleton in the house. It was supposed to be Thomas who looked ghostly, who was half there, not Sam.

The already baggy clothes now engulfed bones, his skin still like cling wrap. While Thomas’s appetite made his movements mechanical, he still attempted to eat. Sam, however, didn’t. He was too focused on waking up, taking his meds and learning how to care for Thomas.

It had been officially a week and five days since the diagnosis that eventually became his death sentence. Twelve days of learning how to cope. Twelve days watching Thomas’s body deteriorate. Around eighteen days left until the world would stop spinning and tears would forever spill.

Eighteen days to try and be happy. Eighteen days to love Thomas as much as he could.

It was supposed to be eighteen days…

________________

Chapter 9

The room was dark, dense, wrong. It smelled too close to death, too thick to breathe. It had only been a few days since that happy day, yet Thomas’s condition had rapidly declined.

They only had five days left.

“I attempted to make stew,” Sam set the seasick bowl down and sat across from where he lay. He stirred the lumps of meat around. “It’s not as good as yours, but it's edible,” with a small smile, he gazed at Thomas’s weakening form. He saw how his eyes flickered open.

The past few days had been entirely focused on Thomas as Sam ignored the slow withering of his own health. His hands had become blistered and burned from boiling water on the stove and hunger eroded at his stomach as he avoided the frozen home-cooked meals from guilt.

He helped Thomas to prop the pillow up and to sit upright.

“D-did you eat?” Thomas’s words were breathless, barely audible over the distant hum of the fridge. Sam stared perplexed, the million thoughts running through his mind, focused on one.

“Why does that matter?” he averted his gaze, but he could feel Thomas searching his soul with gentle eyes. “I'm not hungry, and I made this for you, not me.”

He pursed his lips together as Sam prodded a spoonful of stew towards his lips. He turned his head away, Sam pulled back.

“Come on, Tom don’t be stubborn.” He knew exactly how Thomas got at times like these. He coaxed the food closer, smearing the liquid across his lips. He sighed, putting the spoon down. “Fine, I’ll take the first bite, but you're eating right after.” He met his eyes, slowly but surely opening his mouth. When the meat met his tongue, he winced at the taste. It hadn’t melted like he hoped and the flavour made him gag. It tasted like he licked a rock made from salt.

Forcefully, he gulped it down and it slid down his throat in a big clump. He saw how Thomas’s smile appeared. Two small dimples appearing on his hollowed cheeks. An incredulous look was written all over Sam’s features, it must had looked laughable because as his confusion grew so did the man’s smile.

“What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing… I just missed this.” He scrunched his face up, heat creeping up his neck.

“You’re impossible.” He let out a huff. “You’ll eat now, right? You might die before you get to taste my amazing stew.” He rolled his eyes a small smile tilting his lips “I hate you, y’know?”

Thomas nodded his smile dimming ever so slightly. Dimming into something serious, too serious for what the moment called for.

“First, you gotta promise me something.” Sam’s annoyed face vanished, but he kept the slight lilt to his voice.

“Like what?”

“Promise me to keep living after I die.”

“What?”

“Sam just promise me—”

“Tom, you’re not dying.” His voice was final. As anger boiled his blood within his veins, his vision flashed white.

“Please?”

“I fucking said you’re not dying Tom!”

“We might not have five days lef—”

“Shut up! Just shut up! Stop counting your death sentence like it's…it’s coins!”

The room turned radio silent. The spoon occasionally clinking against the ceramic as he swirled the stew around.

“Just eat, okay?” Thomas opened his mouth allowing himself to be fed, the chunks of salty meat felt like rocks between his teeth. Despite the liquid being smooth and buttery, it went down like sandpaper in his delicate throat.

His sips were small, yet he endured the taste Sam brought him. The warmth he felt moments ago turned into a profound sadness. He wished he could stay. Be at home with Sam 24/7 looking after his every need. Sure, it was exhausting but it was mentally relieving to know he was safe.

When the bowl emptied halfway, Sam pulled it away. He saw the way Thomas wheezed to catch his breath. He noticed how he groaned every time he shifted wrong. He had eaten all he needed to for today and exhaustion took over.

“Sleep now, Tom.”

Their conversation repeated over and over within Sam’s mind. How could Thomas take this situation so lightly? It sometimes made him want to scream.

While Sam began to spiral, the warm pressure of Thomas’s hand brought him back.

The man had sunk into the mattress and shut out the world around him. He shuffled down the pillow head at peace. Sam held Thomas’s hand feeling how it rested heavy in his and eventually went limp. He heard how his breathing slowed soon stopping altogether.

He had taken his last breath. The world stopped. It felt like an eternal winter had suddenly hit him in the middle of summer. He wouldn’t dare to move his hand.

“T-tom?” there was no groan, no tired huff, just the radio silence from before. “Thomas! Wake up!” His voice cracked as he shook the man but there was no movement. His chest remained frozen and the truth hit like a bullet train.

He was gone.

The world spun in rapid circles. This was just a dream; it had to be. He shook the man once more, but he remained unmoving. It was too real, it was real. That’s when a raw, guttural scream ripped through the shock. They were supposed to have five days left. They didn’t get those five days.

He was alone.

Streams of tears fell down his cheeks from his wide eyes; they dripped down onto the cooling skin of his lover.

________________

Chapter 10

The fridge remained humming and the chair remained occupied with a hunched figure, but this time only one soul remained in the room. From all the moments they had spent together the only things left were the seasick green bowl, the painting with too many colours and the memories.

The memories.

The memories spent awake late at night, giggling under the stars.

The memories of their travels across the land.

The memories of watching Thomas cook in the early sun.

The memories of feeling loved.

“I promise, Tom… I promise to live”

Chapter 1

A body laid rotting in the humid room where darkness clung to a boy’s skin with desperate need. His skin was stretched taut around his ribs, every organ visible under the warmth of the covers. Each breath burned with a deep-seated ache. Sleep threatened to take over but his eyes wouldn’t close.

Weeks-old medication, alongside a glass of water, laid forgotten on the wooden bedside table. Every glimpse of the mess in the room brought shame. The memory of the caring boy he loved resurfacing from deep within his mind.

The dark room had been set alight with a beam that cut through the delicate curtains. It blinded him, causing his heart to race and his eyes to squint. He could hear the grumble of an engine that vibrated through walls. A familiar sound that was more often than not, closer than he wished.

That’s when the engine cut off and the room once more became dark. His ears tuned into the sound of heavy footsteps hitting the wooden floorboards, to how the door sounded when it had swung open. Keys jingled, creating music that shot into his ears with a sting.

A tired voice echoed out.

“Sam?”

The voice grew louder as a figure approached. A snake coiled tight around his heart. He pulled the sheets higher up his chest. An outline of a man stood at the doorway. Sam’s dead eyes fluttered over to the figure watching as it approached the mound of blankets.

The man walked around the bed, his warmth radiating over the corpse of a boy. Sam remained still, as a disgustingly sour smell emanated off him and filled the room. The air around him smelled like rancid milk that caused everything living around to choke.

The comforting weight of the rough hands on Sam’s bony shoulders was devastatingly different to the weight of the blankets. The man planted a soft kiss behind his ear, lips brushing the greasy hair.

“Did you eat today?”

“No…” His voice came out in a rasp.

“I’m guessing you didn’t take your medication either,” he sighed, sitting up and dragging his hands down his face. “Sam y’know this is why you feel terrible most of the time.”

Sam groaned, drowning his head in sheets blocking the man out. The thought of obligations brought a sense of dread. It brought the thought of how every meal that touched his acid-stained tongue would turn to worms and stones between his teeth.

“Come on, Sam get up, let’s get you something to eat. You’ll feel better after you move your legs.” It was unbearable hearing the words so effortlessly leave the mouth of his lover. Hearing the same thing so often was so infuriating. He could almost feel the veins pulse out of his forehead.

“Just shut up would you?! Why are you always so obnoxious? Tom, go the hell away.” He tossed around. Moss grew within his ears and thorn-covered vines tightened their grip around his throat.

Then he saw it.

He saw how Thomas froze, before fumbling on a weak smile. His heart clenched at the sight and his body twitched to reach out but he couldn’t, he didn’t. He couldn’t bear touching the person that didn’t deserve him.

Slowly, as if handling porcelain, Thomas stroked Sam’s hair back. He settled his weight beside him, digging his face into the crook of his neck. He wanted nothing more than to soothe the scowl written all over the pale boy's face.

“Please?” He nuzzled closer.

“It's so much work, Tom…” Sam melted against the man, huffing in irritation

“For me?” The boy turned around to face his lover. He had tired eyes and they were filled with a warmth that was far too hot for Sam’s coldness.

“If you shower, I can change the sheets and cook you something nice to eat in the meantime.”

“Why can’t we just stay like this for a while?” It was barely a whisper, barely a sound that vibrated the air around. A buzz from a fly filled the heavy silence that followed his question.

It soon dropped dead.

Thomas sat up, swinging his legs over the stained mattress. His eyes stared at a spot between the trash-littered dresser and the painting that hung on the wall. The painting was from five years ago, when they had travelled the world, when the sun shone brighter and the colours looked like colours. Where this darkness didn’t warp Sam’s mind into an inescapable maze.

“I don’t like living like this.”

“Living like what? You think I enjoy being like this?!”

“That’s not what I mean—”

“Go to hell, Thomas. Go to hell!”

Bats began to fly and the birds went to rest. Stars watched them through the curtains, the moonlight clawing its way through. The wood creaked under Thomas's weight as he turned back towards the door.

“I’ll be in the kitchen.”

He could see the tremble in his fingertips. The way his freckled face was riddled with hurt and how he pulled away from the room of the dead.

The walls seemed to expand in wild places, bulging at their seams. The bed suddenly felt coated with fresh sweat and a noise grew louder, becoming unbearable to stand.

It was the sound of silence.

It terrified him because every time he was left alone monsters would creep up to stroke his thoughts. To whisper horrible truths and lies and be left swirling and mixing together to create ideas far too cruel to act on.

The shower didn’t look too bad anymore. The slow pitter-patter of the water which mimicked rain sounded far more peaceful than anything right now. However the stripping and lathering of clothes and soap exposed him far too much of him to the ghosts for his liking.

Finally, the moonlight finished its murder of the shadows and the room seemed to eventually settle. The bed groaned from sagging weight as Sam sat up. His muscles felt like jelly under the summer heat his arms and legs wobbling.

The throbbing of his hip created a hop in his step. His feet scuffled against the wood with an unseen tiredness.

Stepping through the threshold of the bathroom, he switched the lights on. He winced, eyes shutting immediately into a squint. The flash of brightness was a cruel reminder of the light that shone in a constant hum outside. It was a reminder of the colour he was missing, and how now he could truly see the colour of his greying skin.

The tiles were a sea of green and were cold under his bare foot. The mirror’s reflective surface uncovered something Sam had been avoiding for weeks. It uncovered how his body had suffered and how scarred he had become within his unmoving mess.

Within the reflection he could see the oil that licked his body creating an obvious sheen. How his dark hair was filled with tiny white specks and looked perpetually wet. His once-white shirt he wore had a long yellow smear down the middle from grime and his pants began to crust in between.

He was a mess. An unlovable, disgusting mess.

Slowly, he was stripped of his clothes and left bare for anything to attack. The metal knob felt icy in his palm as he turned it.

The water gushed out like a dam breaking open. Sam jumped back, lifting his feet from the temperature shock. It had been colder than expected, sending electricity throughout his veins.

As he waited, the steam clawed at the mirror with a desperate need to escape. He reached for the tiles to ground his body through these sensations as he stepped under. He sunk to the floor, curling up into a ball, hoping the heat would just swallow him whole.

The water began to pool around his toes. He stared at the faded scars that adorned his body. They were superficial lines meeting the insides of his thighs. Back then he would scrape at the cuts with anger. Now they were only a small reminder of what he used to be, what he could be.

He knew exactly where Thomas had stored the knives and watched how he typed in a passcode with mistrust. A passcode he learned to resent when the world seemed to become covered in umbrage.

Sam was a flickering candle ready to extinguish.

He had tried to unlock the safe over many days when his thoughts got loud, and Thomas was gone for work. However, he always eventually gave up, sinking to his knees and hitting the kitchen floor. He had scratched his arms until they turned a crimson red.

Water rose around his ankles.

It sloshed side to side and leaked over the shower curb built to stop the spillage. Tears felt trapped underneath the skin, with hate boiling beneath. He was worthless, he was stupid. He couldn’t even shower properly without making a mess for Thomas to clean, because it wasn’t Sam who mopped it up.

It was always Thomas.

If Thomas wasn’t here maybe Sam would be alone, swinging side to side under his parent’s roof. Maybe if Sam wasn’t here Thomas would find someone worth living for. Who was he kidding? Of course, Thomas would find someone else, he was kind, funny, warm and everything Sam was not.

A sob broke out of his throat. Grief for something he hadn’t yet lost overwhelming his pent-up system. The pitter-pattering from the shower sounded like rain during a sunny day.

The door creaked open. The door Sam forgot to lock.

“Sam? I’m coming in.”

A pair of mismatched socks stepped onto the tiles before swivelling towards the shower. Water began to seep into the fabric as Thomas stood upon a soaked bathmat.

“Sam! You okay? Nothing bad happened, did it?”

The tears that threatened to spill stung like fire ants on his face before falling into the pooling water below. At that moment everything stopped.

The sun cut through the darkened clouds. Rain freezing in motion. Thomas didn’t pay any mind to the running water as he stepped into the shower pulling Sam close into a cradle. The water was pelting down at them but somehow, it felt lighter. Lighter with Thomas here to protect him.

“Why do you always try to deal with these things alone?”

Sam’s body began to shiver, the droplets of water sinking into Thomas’s shirt turning it translucent.

“Let's finish up, yeah?”

Working his freckled hands, Thomas gently wiped the tears away from Sam’s cheek. He pumped out the shampoo, the bottle half full. The pearly substance glistened like a pool of magic swirling in a night sky. Lathering it up in his palm, bubbles rose from the foam.

Heat crept up to Sam’s ears, creating a dusty red. Thomas slipped behind, spooning his bony spine, the ridges in his back leaving smooth grooves for the soap suds to glide down.

Fresh mint shot up their nostrils, filling them with a cold headache. The smell overtook his senses, the soap melting down his face.

The silence was hauntingly still; his mouth itched to chew his nubbed nails.

Go to hell Thomas, go to hell!

Why had he said that? What made him say something so cruel to someone who was still washing his hair.

The shampoo had foamed up like a layer of mold as Thomas scrubbed with a profound gentleness. He washed away the dirt, the dandruff, the oils and everything in between.

He was meant to feel better. Meant to be better but he never was.

“I have stew on the stove, if you're hungry.”

On rare occasions, when Thomas was up for it, he opened the cookbook early in the morning light. He would cook on the weekends, as Sam threw a fuss from the couch. The aromatic smell would circulate throughout the house, making their stomachs growl. However, the image of lumps of meat, gurgling up from brown bubbling liquid didn’t sit right in Sam’s mind.

Nevertheless, the bright smile that stretched across Thomas's face forced him to choke down the savory, sweet flavours. He had complimented the chef, claiming it was his new favourite dish. A beautifully crafted lie just to see that twisted, upright frown.

Since then, the pot had always stayed fresh and close enough to the stove for whenever Sam’s bad days came. Always enough leftovers to serve and enough to last over a couple of days. He never had enough heart to tell Thomas it never was his favourite.

“Okay…”

Sam murmured to the ground as if it was the only thing in that room that mattered, when in reality the man behind him was the god behind every decision he made. Thomas stood up reaching high for the shower head. He switched the flow of the water.

Almost instantaneously the water shot out, creating a cold splash that hit Sam’s back square on. He had flinched violently back, as if he had been shot.

“Sorry! Didn’t think it would come out so fast…”

Thomas pointed the water away from Sam. He saw how tight he tensed up after the initial spray. After a few moments, the water had once again warmed up to a comfortable temperature. He had begun tenderly rinsing the soap remnants away.

“I can finish up.”

“You sure?”

Sam turned his head to meet the brown in the man’s eyes. He gave a small and uncertain nod before holding the wall for support.

“I’ll be fine.”

________________

Chapter 2

Thomas’s leg rattled against the table as an overbearing wave of nerves flooded him. He had already tidied away the dirty linens, replaced the sheets and wiped down the already spotless counter for the fourth time, yet Sam had not emerged. He had knocked on the bathroom door every few minutes waiting for the cry.

None had come.

Instead, an annoyed voice would spill out from beneath the door.

“I'm fine! Just let me dry off!”

At first he hadn’t believed Sam was fine, but as the minutes passed and the swearing increased, he felt at peace.

He still felt nervous but maybe a little less so. He knew there was nothing sharp around that could possibly injure the boy.

At that moment a sudden urge stirred deep beneath his chest. He turned his head back taking a long swig of water hoping the itch would dissipate. He tried to ignore the growing ache, but it eventually started to burn the back of his throat.

Thomas balled his fist up tight, whacking his chest in a rhythmic motion. He cleared his throat once more.

He couldn’t hold it back anymore. The sound of the cough was wet and rattling, a gooey substance appearing alongside the droplets of saliva in his palm.

It was a blood-curdling red.

He stared at his hand for a moment in disbelief, his breathing becoming erratic. Suddenly he heard the door opening and footsteps dragging across the floor. Thomas looked up from where he sat. Sam walked in.

“Oh! Um, are you hungry?”

Thomas’s voice heightened as he hastily stood up, the chair toppled behind him with a loud bang. Both of them flinched, ducking their heads.

The air was suffocating with an unknown tension. Thomas hid his hand behind his back, wiping any residue from his mouth.

“Sorry.” He walked towards the sink turning on the tap. “You startled me.”

The rush of water spilt over his hands, and he pumped an excessive amount of green soap. His lungs took in a shaky breath of stale air as he scrubbed his hands raw until no blood remained.

Not now, not when Sam is in the room.

His eyes warmed with prickling tears before he choked down another cough. Sam shuffled around the dining table flopping over onto a wooden chair. His frame was engulfed within the fabric of Thomas’s hoodie, and the sleeves were rolled up his arms.

“What’s got you all on edge?”

Sam melted like butter against the chair as he stared at the lights above.

“Nothing.” He smiled, wiping his hand on a checkered tea towel. “Just tired.”

The dishes clattered together as Thomas opened the drawers. Carefully, he reached for a porcelain bowl. A bowl Sam used to love. He had bought it from the Christmas markets a few years ago where Sam dragged him along. It was finely decorated with radiant blues and gorgeous greens that caught Sam’s eye. He had said it was his favourite colours but left it due to its costly price.

Thomas went back alone on the last day of the markets to buy the dish, bargaining down the price to something affordable. He remembered the way Sam’s eyes lit up with an ecstatic glow and a smile so bright Thomas vowed to never let it disappear.

Setting a steaming bowl of stew down in front of Sam, he watched in hope, exploring Sam’s eyes. He found nothing but apathy in Sam’s eyes towards the colours that lay in front. He saw how his eyes strayed away from the food and how he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Thomas’s shaky smile remained.

“One bite. For me?”

It was a hushed question, aware of how pathetic he must have looked at that moment. He handed over a spoon, holding the handle towards him. Sam had barely looked at it.

“After, can we just sleep? Tom, I don’t want to be alone.” His voice had cracked. Hyperventilation taking over his lungs. The world seemed so lonely from where Sam stood. There was only one reason to remain, to see how life would play out for his sweet beloved.

He knew it was pointless because the base of their relationship was built out of wood. However, those steps were infested with termites and now he could see all the rotting holes.

The spoon collected chunks of tender meat, brown liquid dripping off the sides. Bringing it up to his mouth Sam held his breath before gagging it down. The velvet liquid felt like swallowing sand as it dragged down his throat in a lump.

“Sam, can we talk—”

“What now?”

“Well… earlier, you didn’t mean it right?” Heart pulsating, Sam froze with the heat leaving his face.

“What do you mean?” His voice came out harsh, faster than expected. It made his body feel heavy and stiff as if metal was embedded within his bones.

“Never mind.”

The chair scratched against the wooden floor and squeaked as he stood up. He took Sam’s bowl away. His gaze averted, to his stew-filled bowl in Thomas’s hands.

“You're not going to eat?”

He emptied out the umber liquid into the bin, the bag crinkling underneath the new weight. At first, he tried to ignore the question by reordering the dishes in the already full dishwasher.

“I'm just not hungry.”

“Okay…”

He turned on his heel, dragging his body across to the bedroom. He should’ve pushed further. But after all he shouldn’t go digging in the places he didn’t belong. It wasn’t his place even if he belonged in his lover's heart.

The bed was clean with towels neatly folded on top and clothes were shoved into the corners of the room. Thomas had left the lamps on to illuminate the surroundings. Sam didn’t crawl or shuffle beneath the covers; he collapsed. He sank into the mattress face drowning through the fabric.

He wanted to feel the mattress dip down once more and to turn and see that familiar freckled face. When he turned, there was only empty space. Where darkness chose to consume once more.

________________

Chapter 3

Hot sharp pain rose within his chest, setting fire to his insides. Dark crimson splattered across the bathroom tile and bit the green. He had slumped back against the wall, a pounding ache resurfacing within his lungs.

Thomas rasped for air as he clutched and clawed at his shirt in desperation. He was soaked in a sticky sweat that dripped down his skin. Sam’s breathing was ever-present in the room across the wall.

He couldn’t breathe. When he did it felt as if thousands of needles pierced his body. The air a sludge he couldn’t seem to choke down. A metallic taste had infested his senses, his mind filling with fears.

Where Thomas was suffering, Sam was sleeping and his fear of waking him grew. It was the only time of day where his thought-plagued mind would calm and fall at peace. Thomas could not worry the boy without the confirmation he desperately needed.

Tomorrow.

He would go to the sterile hospital where the lights did not flicker and where the people were a void of emotion and false smiles. It was a place where he hadn’t needed to worry about another.

Unhurriedly, he wiped up the blood as if it were water and climbed back into the bed. The bed that held too many secrets to be pure. The bed that would soon become a death bed.

________________

Chapter 4

Empty.

The bed was empty as usual when Sam awoke. The nightstand was cleared of the moulding water glasses and replaced with a fresh one. A yellow sticky note had always been left beside it on the coffee-stained wood.

Make sure to eat and take your medication today. Stew is on the stove to reheat. Love you.

Sam lifted his head slightly to read before falling onto the pillow in exhaustion. Thomas always went to the office early, like every other working bee. Working in an ordinary office for an ordinary salary and an ordinary life. However, Sam was anything but ordinary. He wasn’t the ordinary partner as he didn’t provide for the household and didn’t help build this life with Thomas. Instead, he leeched off the very soul he cherished and swore to protect.

The clock read 1:42pm, it was too late to take his meds and too early at the same time. So instead, he stared at the ceiling until it was no more. The last thought on his mind became the aching dread of Thomas’s arrival.

________________

Chapter 5

Sam had been asleep for several hours before he woke up to realise the time. The clock had read 7:36 p.m., yet Thomas had not returned. His arms trembled as he sat up, stomach rumbling. However, his hunger became suppressed when he noticed no car seemed to approach the house and no headlights blinded him through the half-closed curtains.

Thomas was likely working late, yet his inbox remained empty from any notifications. Unease built within his chest. It was an unusual pang that continued to grow.

They had a routine. Thomas had a routine. When Sam would sleep for the whole day, he would always know when Thomas came home at 6 p.m. They maintained the schedule or notified each other of the possible changes.

So where could Thomas possibly be at this time? Why wasn’t he home kissing his forehead and telling him everything was, okay? Why was he not here asking if he ate?

The questions clouded his mind, making the worry transform into a pain. The room suddenly felt weirdly empty and cold. Tiny bumps formed on his arms as hairs stood up on end.

“Tom?” Sam called out to the empty room as he sat up looking around. “Thomas? Are you here?”

He groaned, a pain shooting up his neck from a long night of being twisted. He swung his feet over the bed.

Before he stood up, he took a long sip of water, from a stale glass. The water was lukewarm and it slid down his throat like butter on a hot pan.

He hadn’t noticed how he was trembling, shaking like a leaf in the wind. His mind seemed to be occupied with his eyes set on the window shades; it seemed to entice him closer. The pale light that glowed beneath it felt almost unreal.

“Thomas?”

Fingers slid between a gap as he peeked through. The car Thomas always took for work was already parked in the driveway. It looked untouched since yesterday. Thomas wasn’t yet home either and this strange sight dug a pit into his stomach.

Thomas never took public transport; that's one thing he knew. He would avoid it like a plague and complain like a whiny puppy when there had been no other choice. It had been a while since he heard that complaint or any complaint, in fact.

So why, moments later, did Sam see Thomas step off that nighttime bus that always passed by? Why were his shoulders slumped and facing the ground like the world ended? Sure, Sam wasn’t the one to talk but Thomas wasn’t like himself. He was the only light in this decaying world.

As he approached the door Sam’s eyes flickered between the safety of the room or the hall. Wherever he would scramble away to, he knew he would eventually come to regret it. He didn't have the energy to interrogate him but leaving the man alone when he could be drowning like him became a throbbing headache.

So, he limped towards the hall, stopping before he turned the corner, it was where the front door loomed. The door opened loud and clear. Sam took a deep belly breath and poked his head around the corner.

He wasn’t met with that warm energy he knew. Instead, it was a haunting image of a hollow shell. His eyes seemed melted and his precious freckled face seemed almost dead.

Thomas had not yet noticed the prying eyes as he removed his feet from the too-tight shoes.

Tiny blood stains speckled his shirt around the collar and forearm. A sight that made Sam’s stomach flip.

“Thomas?” Sam’s voice came out as a quiver, his stare landing on the blood for slightly too long. Thomas had tensed at the sound, like he hadn’t quite expected to hear Sam’s voice so soon. “You okay?”

Thomas bent down, sliding his shoes away onto a rack, before meeting his eyes. He wiped tears away and gave an artificial smile.

“Yeah.” The word was restrained, “I’m just tired.” Thomas stepped past him walking towards the bedroom.

Sam frowned, Thomas’s words didn't satisfy the gnawing feeling in his gut. “No, you’re not.” Thomas stilled.

“I'm not in the mood for this, Sam.”

He gritted his teeth, did Thomas really think he didn’t need to tell him anything? Did he think he was some sort of child? Thomas could tell Sam things too! So why did he throw him away when he actively reached out?

“Quit lying!” His voice slammed into Thomas. “You first came home late; you walk past like I’m not even here and then you act as if you don't constantly ask me if I followed your bloody list?!”

“Why? What’s the point? I already know the meds are still in its bottle and the food is untouched!” Thomas shut his mouth, the blood in his veins creating a loud thump in his mind. He moved passed Sam and didn’t look back. His steps were heavy like a ball and chain dragging against the floor.

Stepping towards the bathroom he collapsed, doubling over the toilet bowl retching.

________________

Chapter 6

The sour smell of bile was strong, stinging Thomas’s senses. It was a pale yellow that coated the cold ceramic.

Thirty days.

Thirty days till the grim reaper will take his wake and the world will become no more. Long choked sobs tore out from his chest as he slumped against the toilet bowl in agony.

“Thomas…?” He had forgotten to shut the door before the nausea took hold of his shaking body. Sam stood at the doorway, hands becoming limp beside him. He could almost hear the way Sam’s breath stopped. Thomas was too exhausted to speak, to defend the sight that stopped his heart.

Before Thomas could wipe the stray tears that continued to spill, Sam dropped to his knees. He cupped Thomas’s face wiping them gently away, whispering something that felt so distant. “W-why didn’t you tell me?”

That’s when the sobs began. Once more his head dropped onto Sam’s chest. He dug his nails into his shirt, and the tears burned a hole into his heart. Sam’s arms hovered over his body. He’d never seen such sadness paint the man’s face quite like this.

Slowly, he buried his nose into Thomas’s brown locks before tightening his hold, he breathed the man in. For once in his life, he just needed to be. He memorised the way he shook and the way he smelled hoping he wouldn’t ever forget it.

Fingers traced circles on his back as he tried to soothe the shaking body in his arms. He needed to ask what happened, what made him cry like this. What made him break enough to almost give up.

Finally, the salty tears dried up and only redness invaded boy’s eyes. That’s when he looked up.

“W-what’s happened?”

Somewhere deep down in Sam’s heart he didn’t want to know. Not knowing, staying ignorant was blissful and far easier to ignore. However, something deep within made his heart drop. He knew he couldn’t avoid it forever.

He saw how Thomas struggled to open his mouth. To speak the words he hoped were only dreams. A rush of emotions struck him tears falling once more from not only Thomas but also Sam. They were left in the silence of the bathroom and in the numbing warmth of an embrace.

________________

Chapter 7

The days had passed from the sickening brightness of the day to the decaying darkness of the night. Thomas had finally quit his job. At first, he was adamant to stay, but as time went on his coughs became an unrelenting guest and red became a friend.

Sam continued to sleep past noon, yet he spent every waking moment trying to care for the man. Although Thomas still cooked their meals and froze them for the following months, Sam tried.

The first couple of days he tried to cope but the thought of the unforgiving, merciless cancer seemed to destroy him. It felt so selfish to mourn a life that hadn’t yet left. But he couldn’t help it. So, he did what he could and tried to be better.

In the afternoons, when he woke, he would heat up a bowl of frozen stew. He would forget it on the spinning microwave dish, and it would be left for it to be found. Thomas would find it the following day when a smell emitted from the area.

One time Sam tried to cook, he had burnt all the contents inside, leaving a layer of black crust at the bottom of a pot.

A couple more days passed. Thomas’s condition worsened and reality struck Sam. Every time Thomas stood for a few seconds his breathing would become heavy. Every time he dared to walk the halls he would collapse out of breath.

It was worse than Sam could have ever imagined. Thomas could no longer cook, clean nor do the things he loved. Heartbreak set in as Sam watched Thomas’s expression slowly fall and break. That’s when he really needed to step up.

He started to set alarms for 10am in the morning. He took his medication on time and began dressing himself in two-week-old sweaters and semi-clean clothes. He started to take on far more chores than he had ever taken in the last few years.

One night Sam was lost in the glistening bubbles and aging water that filled the sink, that’s when Thomas had stumbled out of bed. Sam had a simmering pot on the stove that boiled into a thick soup. Thomas watched the boy wash up as he leaned his weight on the kitchen island.

Sam’s eyes hadn’t brightened since the news but weren’t quite hollow. He seemed to have a determination Thomas hasn’t seen in years. His hands scrubbed the dishes filled with purpose.

“H-have you eaten?” A sharp gasp escaped Sam as a dish fell into the water with a splash. He turned his head and met the eyes of the sick boy. “You were spacing out. Don't push yourself, yeah?”

Sam’s shoulders fell, as Thomas slumped into a chair.

“You haven’t eaten recently either y’know.” His voice came out raspy yet harsher than expected. He continued “You say don’t push yourself yet you’re the one dying here… I hate it when you pity me.”

Tears began to water in his eyes as frustration boiled within. His fists were clenched tight and his teeth were grinding together.

“It’s just so unfai—” The pot of soup suddenly spilled over the edges. It made its descent down the sides to the stove and eventually the floor. “Shit!” In the panic Sam ran to grab a cloth, trying to stop the flow of the spillage. “Stop, stop, stop!” The rag quickly became drenched in the hot liquid.

Silently, Thomas stood shifting himself towards the scene. He calmly switched the stove off and pulled the still bubbling pot to the sink. Sam stood in shock, eyes wide, before falling to the floor in a ball, crying.

“I'm sorry Thomas… I'm so useless, I still need you even now. I'm sorry.”

Thomas bent down, crouching beside Sam.

“I don’t pity you… I worry about you.”

________________

Chapter 8

It had been a happier day.

They had laughed, reminisced on old times, and they even went on a walk and watched how the skies went by. The grass felt softer than usual and Sam didn’t notice how the sun shone too bright, or how disgusting little bugs infested the garden.

It had been a happier day.

Until Thomas’s legs gave out. The blood on his hands was thick and viscous, as it dripped down his pale wrist, contrasting sharply. It had splattered onto Sam’s shirt as Thomas hunched over grasping his stomach.

The smile on Sam’s face had vanished, the warmth draining at the sight. Fear had swelled within his chest; he wasn’t ready for Thomas to die. He didn’t care if the blood never came out of his clothes or if he was left alone forever. He just couldn’t bear to watch him die. He had never clutched onto something so tight. Every tremor that racked Thomas’s body passed into him.

Please, be okay. Sam prayed an angel would hear his plea, but it was useless. He never was the religious type but if it meant one more day with Thomas, he would pray until the sun came up.

He sat in the hospital repeating the words over and over again.

At the end, Thomas became bedbound. Stuck by the very vines that had held Sam down to the bed. His body mirrored Sam’s old one, where the sheets were stained with sweat and his sleep was restless. Despite this, Thomas never ceased his attempts to help.

He insisted on cooking the meals, even after he doubled over in pain. He insisted on helping Sam, even when he struggled and every single time Sam would push Thomas away forcing him to rest.

Every time Sam pushed him away it brought a type of restlessness he had never felt before. He had never felt like a burden in his own skin. He didn’t want to be cared for, yet his body wouldn’t allow otherwise.

When Thomas tried to intrude Sam would snap saying he could do it, but It’s wasn’t like Thomas didn’t believe him. It was just, he couldn’t remember a time when he wasn’t doing something.

Even when Thomas was a kid, he had learned how to do the dishes and do the laundry, peeling the onions for the dinner his mother was never there for. Now, with his hands empty he felt himself becoming meaningless.

As he grew sicker, they both started losing weight. More weight than one should bear. Sam had looked barely alive, like a walking skeleton in the house. It was supposed to be Thomas who looked ghostly, who was half there, not Sam.

The already baggy clothes now engulfed bones, his skin still like cling wrap. While Thomas’s appetite made his movements mechanical, he still attempted to eat. Sam, however, didn’t. He was too focused on waking up, taking his meds and learning how to care for Thomas.

It had been officially a week and five days since the diagnosis that eventually became his death sentence. Twelve days of learning how to cope. Twelve days watching Thomas’s body deteriorate. Around eighteen days left until the world would stop spinning and tears would forever spill.

Eighteen days to try and be happy. Eighteen days to love Thomas as much as he could.

It was supposed to be eighteen days…

________________

Chapter 9

The room was dark, dense, wrong. It smelled too close to death, too thick to breathe. It had only been a few days since that happy day, yet Thomas’s condition had rapidly declined.

They only had five days left.

“I attempted to make stew,” Sam set the seasick bowl down and sat across from where he lay. He stirred the lumps of meat around. “It’s not as good as yours, but it's edible,” with a small smile, he gazed at Thomas’s weakening form. He saw how his eyes flickered open.

The past few days had been entirely focused on Thomas as Sam ignored the slow withering of his own health. His hands had become blistered and burned from boiling water on the stove and hunger eroded at his stomach as he avoided the frozen home-cooked meals from guilt.

He helped Thomas to prop the pillow up and to sit upright.

“D-did you eat?” Thomas’s words were breathless, barely audible over the distant hum of the fridge. Sam stared perplexed, the million thoughts running through his mind, focused on one.

“Why does that matter?” he averted his gaze, but he could feel Thomas searching his soul with gentle eyes. “I'm not hungry, and I made this for you, not me.”

He pursed his lips together as Sam prodded a spoonful of stew towards his lips. He turned his head away, Sam pulled back.

“Come on, Tom don’t be stubborn.” He knew exactly how Thomas got at times like these. He coaxed the food closer, smearing the liquid across his lips. He sighed, putting the spoon down. “Fine, I’ll take the first bite, but you're eating right after.” He met his eyes, slowly but surely opening his mouth. When the meat met his tongue, he winced at the taste. It hadn’t melted like he hoped and the flavour made him gag. It tasted like he licked a rock made from salt.

Forcefully, he gulped it down and it slid down his throat in a big clump. He saw how Thomas’s smile appeared. Two small dimples appearing on his hollowed cheeks. An incredulous look was written all over Sam’s features, it must had looked laughable because as his confusion grew so did the man’s smile.

“What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing… I just missed this.” He scrunched his face up, heat creeping up his neck.

“You’re impossible.” He let out a huff. “You’ll eat now, right? You might die before you get to taste my amazing stew.” He rolled his eyes a small smile tilting his lips “I hate you, y’know?”

Thomas nodded his smile dimming ever so slightly. Dimming into something serious, too serious for what the moment called for.

“First, you gotta promise me something.” Sam’s annoyed face vanished, but he kept the slight lilt to his voice.

“Like what?”

“Promise me to keep living after I die.”

“What?”

“Sam just promise me—”

“Tom, you’re not dying.” His voice was final. As anger boiled his blood within his veins, his vision flashed white.

“Please?”

“I fucking said you’re not dying Tom!”

“We might not have five days lef—”

“Shut up! Just shut up! Stop counting your death sentence like it's…it’s coins!”

The room turned radio silent. The spoon occasionally clinking against the ceramic as he swirled the stew around.

“Just eat, okay?” Thomas opened his mouth allowing himself to be fed, the chunks of salty meat felt like rocks between his teeth. Despite the liquid being smooth and buttery, it went down like sandpaper in his delicate throat.

His sips were small, yet he endured the taste Sam brought him. The warmth he felt moments ago turned into a profound sadness. He wished he could stay. Be at home with Sam 24/7 looking after his every need. Sure, it was exhausting but it was mentally relieving to know he was safe.

When the bowl emptied halfway, Sam pulled it away. He saw the way Thomas wheezed to catch his breath. He noticed how he groaned every time he shifted wrong. He had eaten all he needed to for today and exhaustion took over.

“Sleep now, Tom.”

Their conversation repeated over and over within Sam’s mind. How could Thomas take this situation so lightly? It sometimes made him want to scream.

While Sam began to spiral, the warm pressure of Thomas’s hand brought him back.

The man had sunk into the mattress and shut out the world around him. He shuffled down the pillow head at peace. Sam held Thomas’s hand feeling how it rested heavy in his and eventually went limp. He heard how his breathing slowed soon stopping altogether.

He had taken his last breath. The world stopped. It felt like an eternal winter had suddenly hit him in the middle of summer. He wouldn’t dare to move his hand.

“T-tom?” there was no groan, no tired huff, just the radio silence from before. “Thomas! Wake up!” His voice cracked as he shook the man but there was no movement. His chest remained frozen and the truth hit like a bullet train.

He was gone.

The world spun in rapid circles. This was just a dream; it had to be. He shook the man once more, but he remained unmoving. It was too real, it was real. That’s when a raw, guttural scream ripped through the shock. They were supposed to have five days left. They didn’t get those five days.

He was alone.

Streams of tears fell down his cheeks from his wide eyes; they dripped down onto the cooling skin of his lover.

________________

Chapter 10

The fridge remained humming and the chair remained occupied with a hunched figure, but this time only one soul remained in the room. From all the moments they had spent together the only things left were the seasick green bowl, the painting with too many colours and the memories.

The memories.

The memories spent awake late at night, giggling under the stars.

The memories of their travels across the land.

The memories of watching Thomas cook in the early sun.

The memories of feeling loved.

“I promise, Tom… I promise to live”

About the Competition

The Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026, hosted by Hashtag Kalakar, is a prestigious platform showcasing diverse voices from around the world. Participants in various categories share their unique perspectives, contributing to a rich tapestry of global storytelling and artistic expression.

We extend our heartfelt gratitude to Nina Tsang for her poignant contribution, "The Things We Leave Behind," to the Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026. Her evocative narrative offers a touching exploration of love and human connection. Thank you, Nina, for sharing this deeply moving story with us.

About Hashtag Kalakar

Hashtag Kalakar is a creative platform dedicated to providing artists, writers, singers and other creative talents with opportunities to showcase their work and reach wider audiences through competitions, features and creative initiatives.