A boy with a pair of green eyes and brown hair that covered half of his face walked through a path that led to the hospital's playground. He should be helping the others for their performance tonight. But he has never seen such a huge establishment before. He heard from the master that only rich people can get in this hospital. That's why they were here. Because making rich people happy was their job.

When he reached the playground, he heard a voice singing. He went closer to listen.

Up in the sky, ever so high
Swinging so free in the air
Up in the sky, ever so high
Without a worry or care.

He saw a boy, just his age. He might be too old to play in the swing but with his blond hair, small figure and blue pajamas, it somehow suited him.

He does look a little pale, though.

The swing stopped. The boy opened his eyes, revealing their blue color. He turned to the green-eyes boy and smiled.

"Hi. Would you mind pushing the swing for me?" he asked him.

Wordlessly, the brown-haired guy followed.

"My name is Quatre Raberba Winner. What's yours?" the blue-eyed boy said.

"Trowa Barton," the other replied. He continued to push the swing for him.

"Are you sick, Trowa?"

"No, I'm here for work."

"Work?" Quatre asked, raising an eyebrow. "Aren't you supposed to be in school?"

"Aren't you supposed to be in school?" Trowa threw the question back to him.

Quatre smiled. "Unlike you, I'm sick." Then he added softly, "I'm dying, you know."

If Trowa was surprised, he did a good job hiding it. He tried to act normal as if he always hung around dying people. "Do you like the circus?"

"Circus?" Quatre asked, his eyes brightening up.

"Yes. I work there." Trowa stopped pushing the swing.

"How's it like working there?"

The swing slowed down. Then it stopped.

"It's like playing."

"I never did get to play much," Quatre said regretfully.

"Well, do you like swings?"

Quatre nodded. "I have a big one at home."

"It's like playing the swing. You soar. It's just that I have to land while you don't," Trowa explained.

"Oh." Quatre looked at him. "Will you stay with me for a while? I really don't have somebody to talk to."

Trowa shook his head. "I have work to do." He turned around and started to walk away.

"Trowa," Quatre called out. "Thank you for treating me like a normal kid."

Trowa turned his head to look at him solemnly, then left.

I like him, Quatre decided. He clutched the ropes of the swing tightly. I really do.

~ * ~

"Where have you been?" the master barked. "You're supposed to help out not go and wander around." Trowa's silence added fuel to his fury. "If you weren't that useful, I would have fed you to the lions," he snarled then left.

"You shouldn't have left," Catherine, Trowa's sister, scolded softly. "Where have you been?"

"The playground."

"Huh?"

"I met someone there. He's...incredible," Trowa breathed. "But he's rich..."

"So?" Catherine asked.

Trowa shook his head. His sister can be so na�ve sometimes. But I really like him.

~ * ~

A soft knock came upon the door.

"Come in," Quatre said. He shifted his position on the bed. His big blue eyes lightened when he saw his father come in his room. "Father!"

His father smiled. "How's my son?" He ruffled his blond hair.

"OK." Quatre smiled back.

"Well, I have a good news for you," Mr. Winner announced. "Two actually."

"What is it?" Quatre asked eagerly.

"You're going to be released tomorrow."

"Alright!" he cheered. "I won't go back here, right?"

"Maybe. If you take your medicines." His father eyed him suspiciously. Quatre felt himself shrink a little.

"What's the other news?"

"We're going to the circus tomorrow."

Quatre broke into a grin. "This is great! That means I get to see Trowa again."

"Trowa?"

"A friend. He told me he works there."

"I see." Mr. Winner said thoughtfully. "Well, you better start eating or dinner will get cold." He looked at the food.

"Well, I can't possibly eat now!" Quatre exclaimed. "I'm too excited!"

"Quatre..."

"Kidding."

"Now, why don't you tell me about this friend of yours?"

~ * ~

This was their second day of performing. There was nothing special about their performance today. But Trowa felt something big is coming up. He couldn't put his finger on it.

"Nervous?" Catherine asked, raising an eyebrow.

"There's something in the air. Something big." Trowa leaned against the lions' cage, his eyes distant.

"There's something big, all right." Catherine showed four of her daggers. "Because I get to throw twenty-four daggers at you instead of the usual twenty. Come on, show's about to start."

~ * ~

"This is great! I get to see them up close!" Quatre babbled as he sat down.

Mr. Winner just nodded and forced himself to smile. The truth was the he was really tired but he did promise his son that they would go here. He just wanted to see Quatre happy.

Quatre looked like his late wife. In fact, they shared everything except their genders. They have the same color of hair, blue eyes, gentleness and cheerfulness. They even shared the same disease--leukemia.

It had been eleven years since she died--Quatre had only been four. He thought he would survive knowing he still had his son. Or so he thought.

After a year, the servants found Quatre on his mother's swing, unconscious and his nose bleeding. He had to cancel his business trip just to make sure he was all right. That was when they found out that Quatre, too, had leukemia.

Of course, they had the money but sometimes he felt like Quatre wanted to give up.

Quatre started taking pictures of the animals. "Father, I want these pictures to be placed in my coffin, OK?"

Mr. Winner looked at him. "Quatre..."

Quatre turned to his father and smiled. He turned his attention to the ringmaster.

"And now presenting the star of the show." He turned to his right. "The Amazing Catherine and," he turned to his left, "her assistant, the Little Clown!"

The Little Clown did a handstand. Quatre recognized him. He tugged his father's sleeve. "That's him, Father!" He pointed at the clown. "That's my friend Trowa." He took pictures of him.

"Do you really enjoy is company?"

"Yeah!" Quatre stood up and waved at Trowa. Then his face fell. "Too bad, he has work to do."

Mr. Winner frowned, lost in his thoughts.

~ * ~

They were tying his hands. Trowa leaned against a big wooden wheel.

"Trust me, Trowa," Catherine said as she took her position.

Trowa just stared at her. From Catherine's back, he saw a flash of blond hair. He blinked. That can't be Quatre. He gasped as the first dagger missed his face. That is Quatre! Quatre was waving wildly at him. His jaw almost dropped as Quatre took his picture.

"Am I dreaming? Or are you afraid?" Catherine teased.

Trowa schooled his features into his usual unemotional face. But Quatre kept taking his pictures.

When will he stop? Trowa bowed. Quatre finally sat down and clapped.

~ * ~

Trowa gave the lions their food and pet one of them. A sudden flash that came from his back made the lion wince.

"Visitors are not allowed beyond this point," Trowa said icily.

"Geez. Whatever happened to the usual hi and hello?" came a teasing reply.

Trowa turned around and saw Quatre. He was wearing jeans, shirt and a blue windbreaker. He was holding a camera. "Hey, you're wearing jeans."

"Hey, you're wearing a clown suit."

Trowa looked down and shrugged. "What are you doing here?" he asked, changing the subject.

"My father wants to talk to the ringmaster," Quatre answered. "When are you leaving?"

"The day after tomorrow," Trowa said, somewhat regretfully.

"Oh." Quatre's face fell. "Will you join me for lunch tomorrow, then?"

"I don't think--"

"Please?" he said, eyes pleading. "A dying boy's wish?" He was startled when Trowa placed his index finger against his lips.

Trowa's sudden action surprised himself. "Don't say that," he said huskily. "I don't like it when you say that."

Maybe it was his voice or his touch but Quatre felt himself nod because of it. "OK," he whispered.

Trowa took his finger away. "I'll try to sneak out, OK?"

"OK."

"I think your father is looking for you."

"I'll--I'll see you tomorrow?"

Trowa nodded.

"Bye." Quatre gave him a shy wave.

~ * ~

A hand flew to Quate's lips. He liked the way Trowa touched his lips. It felt...good. And he liked his voice when he whispered. It's like that of a strong lover. He blushed. Just thinking about this made him feel hot yet somewhat comforted. He smiled.

For the first time after many years, he was looking forward to tomorrow.

~ * ~

Trowa found himself standing in front of Mr. Winner's mansion. He had only one thought in his mind.

Whoa.

One of the guards approached him. "Is there something you want?" he asked rudely.

"Uh...yes. May I speak to Quatre?"

"Master Quatre? And who the hell are you?"

"Tell him...tell him it's the Little Clown."

The guard looked at the other guard. He reached for the phone and mumbled something. Then he turned to the guard to who was speaking to Trowa and nodded.

"Alright, kid. You can come in."

Trowa entered the gates. He observed the surroundings as he walked on. Just ahead, he saw a fountain. It was full of angels. There were several trees but on the biggest one and the farthest, there hung a big swing. On it, he saw Quatre. He walked towards him.

Quatre jumped down from the swing and ran towards Trowa. When he finally reached him, he was out of breath. "I'm glad you made it," he panted. He looked up, his face flustered. "Did you really sneak out?"

No, your father hired me. Trowa didn't like being forced into something like this. Good will didn't have anything to do with money. But with or without money, he would do it just for Quatre. Maybe it was his eyes or laugh but whatever it was, it captured him. He could not bear to let go.

"No. The master decided to stay here for a while," Trowa lied. "And he decided to give me a break. He's in a suspiciously good mood."

Quatre grinned. Then he covered his nose.

"What?" Trowa looked down at him. "Is there something wrong?"

Quatre shook his head furiously. Trowa snatched his hand. He saw blood. He gasped. Quatre snatched back his hand. "I'm OK."

Trowa took out a handkerchief and gave it to Quatre. "Here. Let's go back inside." He led him to the house.

~ * ~

"Master Quatre seems to be more...alive these days," one of the servants observed. The others nodded in agreement.

It was true. Quatre has gained color and there seemed to be light in his usual dull blue eyes. He started going out more often and even laughed more. He didn't mention the word death or anything related to it. Not anymore. He seemed to be more contented. They had never seen the young master so happy.

"Ever since that circus boy came..." another servant said as she watched Trowa push Quatre's swing.

"Let's hope it will stay that way."

~ * ~

"Trowa?" Catherine asked.

"Hmm?"

"Everything OK at Quatre's house?"

"Yeah," Trowa said. "More than OK."

"You seem so happy these past few days," Catherine observed. Trowa kept silent. After a pause, she asked, "Do you love him?"

Trowa's head shot up in surprise. His answer was written in his green eyes.

"I'm glad."

Trowa stood up. "I have to go."

"Yeah." Catherine nodded. "He's waiting."

~ * ~

Quatre was waiting for Trowa while playing in the swing. He felt so exhausted that he could barely keep his eyes from shutting. But he will wait. He will wait.

Quatre fell down from the swing, unconscious.

~ * ~

"Is he going to be OK?'

The doctor sighed. This kid had been asking that for the ninth time. "Yes. He just passed out. He probably did not take his medications or did not eat anything at ll."

"But is he going to be OK?" Trowa asked.

"Yes!" the doctor practically yelled. "You can go in his room now. I think he's already conscious."

Trowa entered the room and found Quatre sitting on his bed. "Hi," he greeted.

"Hi? Is that all you can say?"

Quatre grinned. "Geez, Trowa. Don't make a big deal out of this. I just padded out. Happens all the time."

"This isn't funny," Trowa said in a low voice.

Quatre stopped grinning. "I'm sorry."

Their gazes locked. Suddenly, Trowa launched forward and embraced Quatre.

"Don't scare me like that," he whispered huskily.

Quatre found himself nodding. He shyly wrapped his arms around his waist.

"I thought I lost you," Trowa said before their lips met.

Quatre's world was swaying. He eagerly pressed his lips against Trowa's. He gasped as his tongue made its way in his mouth.

"Master Quatre?"

Quatre screamed, probably shattering Trowa's eardrum. They quickly separated.

"Is everything OK? I brought you food," a servant said as she entered. Then she looked at the two boys. "What?"

Quatre and Trowa were sharing a secret smile.

~ * ~

"Have you taken your medicine?" Trowa asked.

"Yes."

"Have you eaten dinner?"

"Yes."

Trowa clasped Quatre's hands in his and have it a squeeze. "I have to go." He kissed him on the cheek.

"So soon?" Quatre looked down.

He tilted his chin up. "I'll be back tomorrow," he promised, hissing his nose.

Quatre took his wrist off his chin. "Will you stay with me tonight?"

"But..."

"Please?"

Trowa nodded. Quatre led him to his room.

~ * ~

Trowa woke up and found Quatre in his arms. He felt himself smile as he reminisced. He ran his hands over his lover's body. The bruises were few but were very bad. He leaned down to kiss them as if his kisses will cure them. Quatre stirred and opened his eyes.

"Good morning, Trowa."

Trowa kissed him. Then Quatre pulled away.

"Take me to the swing, Trowa. Please."

~ * ~

Quatre sat on the swing. Trowa was about to push the swing when he caught his hand. "Sit with me."

Trowa gave him a bewildered look but obeyed.

"Hold me."

"What's going on?"

"Just hold me, please. I'm cold."

Trowa held Quatre in his arms. "Still cold?"

"Not anymore."

They both sat in silence. Then Trowa spoke up. "Remember that song you were singing the first time we met? 'Up in the sky, ever so high'," he sang. "'Swinging so free in the air.'" Before he bent down to kiss Quatre's lips, he said, "I love you, Quatre." Then he drew back and hissed.

His lips felt cold.

Trowa looked at Quatre's serene face. He was smiling.

~ * ~

"Quatre wanted you to have this." Mr. Winner gave Trowa a small box. "He decided to let you have this instead of burying it with him."

Trowa opened the box. He saw his pictures, their pictures. He picked up one and examined it. There was something written on the back.

This is my friend Trowa, Quatre wrote. He looks cute and dazed in a clown suit, doesn't he?

Trowa blinked away his tears. He picked up a small paper. It was a short note addressed to him.

Dear Trowa,
Even for a short time, I have already grown fond of you--and even beyond that. There are too many words left unsaid and too many deeds left undone. I hope this will be enough.
I love you.
Quatre.

Mr. Winner thrust an envelope to Trowa. "This is for the--" he started to say but Trowa interrupted him, pushing the envelope away.

"I can't take it," Trowa said hoarsely, then stood up and left.

~ * ~

Trowa knelt down in front of Quatre's grave and offered a small prayer. He gazed longingly at the grave.

It's like playing the swing. You soar. It's just that I have to land while you don't.

"Fly, angel. Fly," Trowa whispered. He stood up and left, clutching the box tightly.