The diagnosis was terminal, he knew it would be. The nurse smiled sadly at him as she passed over the plastic wallet. It contained a leaflet and a small hand held device that he could put his finger into to check his progress on the go.

The clinic’s machine was much more precise than the one he had tried at home. It was to be expected. Two years; two years was all he had left.

The good news was it was unlikely to accelerate, he shouldn’t be worried about collapsing in the grocery store any time soon. Two years; two years to get his life wrapped up, to live it to the fullest. After those two years he would be in limbo, he could go at any minute.

He decided to travel.

In his mid-twenties, his job had allowed him to buy a house and a fairly desirable car. Selling these along with the majority of his possessions provided him with more than enough money to fund his adventure. He started in Japan, moving across Asia and then on into Europe. He had been on the road for 20 months by the time he left Barcelona and, though he had hoped to make it to Africa, his results suggested it was time for home.

It was easy enough to get a short term agreement on a place. He’d only be needing it for three months, six tops. The owner understood and didn’t pry. The condition currently effected one in three people and continued to rise.

Initially it was nice to be back in the US, home amongst the familiar sounds and smells.

Though his new apartment was small, it was ample space to accommodate the meagre possessions he had taken back out of the lock up. Most days and every night he spent alone, catching up on Netflix and scrolling through social media. His friend’s list had reduced over the last few years, his friends either succumbing to the illness or distancing themselves from him ahead of time.

Two months had passed before he found the website.

It was 3am, he couldn’t sleep and had nothing to be up for the following day even if he could. As the deadline loomed he began to obsess about his condition, it was only natural considering what awaited. One article led to another, one list of top tips branching out into eight more. The word ‘Guardian’ appeared once or twice, growing in frequency as his research took him deeper into the hole.

It was then that he discovered the listings and among those listings, her.

He was surprised that the program was not more widely known, then again he had been away for almost two years so was understandably out of the loop. He scrolled through the ‘About’ section, devoured the FAQs and even had time to review the terms and conditions. It seemed legitimate, more so it seemed like a viable solution.

The program was simple. Those that were immune could set up a profile and offer to become Guardians of those that were not. When the time was near the Guardian would take their Ward into their home and provide space, safety, sustenance and companionship for as long as may be required.

Those who had the disease, even in perfect conditions, only lived for around five years after it took hold so for the Guardians this was only a temporary role. For their trouble they were paid a fee. This, he discovered, was upfront and could run into the tens of thousands of dollars. He scrolled through the profiles of the top rated Guardians, reading their self-descriptions and taking in pictures of beautiful homes in the mountains or by the sea where he could live out his final days in luxury. The price though, that was going to be a problem.

He could understand the reason for the charge. The Guardian would have their work cut out for them. For those who had multiple Wards their homes would have to be modified, he had already seen some impressive images, and their safety and wellbeing could become a full time job. Besides, he reasoned, it’s not like people with his condition needed money after the event.

Two years ago he could have afforded to stay with any of them, still having money left over to enjoy himself a little before he did so. That was before he went travelling, that was before he was broke.

Out of curiosity, he scrolled to the very end of the listing. The advertisements here were smaller, jammed together in walls of text. The costs were much more affordable but the conditions a world away from anything resembling luxurious. He ignored any profile without pictures or proper spelling. If you couldn’t build a simple profile on a website, he wouldn’t trust his health to you.

Most were loners, stoners and motel owners that would provide basic shelter and food and water for as long as it was needed for a few hundred bucks. Needless to say, they didn’t appeal to him. He was about to close the page when he saw the thumbnail hidden amongst the press of ads.

He didn’t know what caused him to click it, it didn’t really stand out amongst the others. He sat up on his couch as the profile filled the screen. This could be something.

Her name was Abi, twenty, from Colorado. She was in college studying language and enjoyed music and reading. She advertised space in her room, friendship and care for as long as needed. The room was in a house share just off campus. It was basic but homely. She advertised her rate at three thousand dollars, stating the money would help pay for her studies.

He browsed over her profile picture, an awkward selfie. She was smiling nervously, a pair of black rimmed glasses perched on a button nose. She had put her dark hair into two braids, the tips betraying an earlier light purple dye job. Her black beanie had an Atticus logo on it, her thick grey sweater hanging off of one shoulder.

She was cute, he thought selfishly. That wasn’t the point of Guardianship but it certainly wouldn’t hurt. Three thousand dollars for floor space in a dorm room? It certainly beat dying alone here in his shit apartment. He clicked to send her a message expressing interest before shutting down the computer.

He needed to get some sleep. He needed to think about what his life could be like with Abi, twenty, from Colorado.