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The house was haunted, and Ten knew that very well.
It started a few weeks after Johnny left, after he'd made Ten promise he'd move on and rebuild his life, and that whatever happened, he should cry as much as he needed at first, scream until his lungs gave out and the entire world knew of his suffering, but in the future he should put it all behind his back, raise his head and take a deep breath, close the door behind him and open a new one.
Ten was trying. Some days were easier than the others. Some days the sun didn't shine, the house grew dark and gloomy and he felt Johnny's presence in every corner, those two golden brown eyes staring at him from every photograph, his scent on every pillow Ten laid his head on, his smile shining in every one of his dreams, pulling him back, grabbing him by the neck and driving him insane all over again. Days like those were a step back, and even though Ten knew enough to tell himself those meters in the wrong direction didn't erase all the miles he'd walked so far, they still weighed on his chest, making his heart ache like it had been turned into ice, and he just wanted to stay in bed and cry until he fell asleep and dreamt of that marvelous smile. Days like those were hard. Every memory, even the happiest ones, was a knife cutting his skin, tracing the scars that had started to heal and opening every wound again, and Ten was powerless to do anything but let the blood flow and pray tomorrow would be better. And it always was, because most days weren't like that.
Most days, he kept his promise. Most days he focused on the beauty of the world and while his steps weren't light nor easy, they took him somewhere. Where exactly Ten didn't know, but he knew he had to keep walking, to at least honor that promise, to keep Johnny alive inside him. That's what he would have wanted, Ten thought, and he knew he was right.
He gave himself time, then he got up and started his journey. He kept the texts and some of the photographs on the frames. He donated the clothes Johnny had left behind, returned his camera to his parents, as they'd been the ones who had given it to him, after all. He bought new sheets and a new pillow for the couch, and found himself smiling along the way. He didn't get rid of anything Johnny had bought, not by now, at least. There was no point in doing it anyway. Memories linger, they find the deepest, most inaccessible corners and hide there, keeping themselves away from one's eyes and mind until someone stumbles upon them one day and it all comes back to wash over the soul like a flood. Too much, after too much of nothing. It wasn't worth it, that way. Ten preferred to let the memories stay right where they were, at an arm's reach, a gallery in front of his eyes, which he could visit every time he wanted, until the visits grew more and more sparse and the artworks didn't hurt every time Ten contemplated them. That day would come, he knew that. It was only a few feet away. He didn't want to jump ahead to that moment by any means, but he didn't fear the walk either. It was the only path he could take, and he intended to make it as easy as possible for himself, and as beautiful as he could for Johnny.
He started to notice it when the summer shined warm and golden and he heard a friend complain about the bugs. Ten had to blink a few times as he heard those words. How strange. It had been a while since he had to shoo a mosquito away, and he couldn't remember the last time he'd seen a spider, or those awful little bugs that ate the leaves of his plants and killed their vibrant greens. Maybe he'd been lucky that year, maybe the cat was scaring the insects away. He didn't think too much about it.
That summer wasn't as hot as usual. The house tended to stay a little chiller than Ten was used to, and some places around the house made goosebumps bloom on his skin. He checked every window, searching for the source of that fresh breeze, but that refreshing feeling was still there even when they were all closed, keeping the suffocating heat away from him, caressing his skin while he laid in bed and kissing the back of his neck while he sat at his desk to work on his paintings. Fingers playing with his hair, soft hands touching his cheeks, a pair of full lips finding their way to Ten's when he was least expecting. His hands were always a little colder than they should be for the warmest season, but it all came as a blessing. It was too hot outside anyway. Ten preferred to stay home.
He knew when the little details started to pile up, too many of them for it to be a simple coincidence. The tap closing on its own when Ten forgot to do so, a candle next to the bathtub lighting its own wick on fire when Ten prepared himself a relaxing bath but forgot to bring the matches with him. The pages of his planner flicking to the right one without Ten even touching it. Finding that tube of paint he was sure he'd left open with the lid closed and neatly stored on the right shelf.
Ten wasn't scared. It wasn't a step back, it was a hand holding his own and guiding him along the way. He smiled whenever something like that happened, even giggling when it was all just too obvious and the timing of Johnny's messages felt just too right. He was still there, by his side, and because he didn't look unhappy, Ten let him stay. It was their house after all. He had the right to stay a little longer, as long as he wanted or needed to, until he decided he’d found peace of mind at last and all the goodbyes easily dripped from his lips.
He sang to Johnny once in a while, danced in the living room while he felt those fleeting cold touches on his limbs, barely there but more than enough. Every afternoon, Ten came home, took his shoes off and made two cups of coffee. While he waited, he sat at the kitchen table, with his cat on his lap as he told Johnny about his day, about his boss and his colleagues, about the rain and the puddles, the mouse he'd seen near the train station, the snow that was already starting to fall on the mountains, the strange and marvelous people he saw every day. When the coffee was ready, Ten would drink from his cup, and if he focused a little harder, he could swear the liquid in the other cup disappeared slowly, little by little, and that the air was thicker right above the chair in front of him.
He let life exist, sometimes diving into it, sometimes letting it pass by his door. He went out, made new friends, got a second cat. There was a florist a few blocks away, selling all kinds of colourful plants. Ten loved it and went there almost every week. More often than not, he left the store with two sunflowers in his hand. It had been Johnny who'd bought the orange vase, and Ten thought it perfectly complemented the yellow of the flowers as he filled it with water and set it on the kitchen table, so that he could look at them while he talked slowly, quietly. He knew Johnny loved them. No other sunflowers in the world lasted as long as Ten's did. No other house felt so full with only one person left in there. No other place in the world Ten could look at the table from a certain angle, when the light from the window hit the specks of dust that had fallen onto it, and find the words "i love you" written there, in a calligraphy Ten knew by heart.
He knew Johnny would leave, one day. He hoped so, in fact. Whatever was keeping him on this earth couldn't trap him forever in that transitional state, and he knew one day the cup of coffee would rest untouched, the flowers would die as quickly as they were meant to and the summers went back to how warm they were before Johnny had left him. He hoped that day arrived soon, for Johnny's sake. He deserved a nicer place to rest, one that would treat him with more kindness than this earth had to offer, and Ten deserved all those steps forward he'd promised. He hadn't stopped walking, not at all, but he had to admit the miles were being crossed a little more slowly. Ten wasn't worried. It didn't matter if he traveled at a slower pace, as long as he enjoyed the trip. And with such good company, he found himself smiling at every step of the way.
They'd get there, one day. For now, he'd let Johnny stay as long as he wanted.