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It had been four days. Four entire days since Stiles had died. Three days since the reading of his last will and testament and three days since Scott had finally picked up the two sets of keys from where he’d dropped them when he’d gotten home that day. He could barely even bring himself to call into work to tell them he wasn’t coming in before the tears finally started falling and it really sunk in. Stiles was dead. And he had left everything he had owned to him. Not to his father, not to another relative, but to him. When the will was being read, it took his entire willpower to not just leave then and there, but instead took the car and house keys that the executor handed to him. He couldn’t bear to look at Sheriff Stilinski either.
According to the will, Stiles wished for his body to be cremated and the ashes to be separated into two urns. One for Scott and the other for his father to do with as they wished. And today was the day that Scott would visit stiles old apartment. It had to be cleared by the end of the month or else Stiles’ old things would be discarded and the thought made Scott unreasonably hostile. How could someone just throw out the things that made someones life and not even give a rat’s ass about who had to go through it all, who had to take on that burden?
It didn’t matter though, not anymore. Stiles was gone, that was that. Scott had offered the Sheriff whatever he wanted from Stiles’ apartment, but he had refused. Said it was too hard to go back there and that he had all he needed from him, gesturing towards the small, undecorated steel urn he carried.
Pulling up alongside Stiles’ old car, he dug around for the keys to his now vacant apartment. He wondered vaguely, how long it would take for him to break down once he was inside. He didn’t make it that far.
Finally reaching the top of the stairs with numerous boxes, after passing concerned looking strangers that must have known Stiles through some parts of their lives, he slipped the key into the lock and hesitated, before finally just shoving inside. The faint smell of mint and dust wafted past him, sucked back out into the hall, tiny bits of dust particles moving around and behind him. Shafts of light swept over a small but cozy apartment, now strangely vacant, uninhabited.
Fists clenched, he stepped inside and looked around. He didn’t even know where to start. The bedroom, bathroom, living room, kitchen… It was overwhelming. Memories from the times they’d had spent together here cut deep into his heart until he could feel tears welling up again. So he just moved. To the left, towards the bedroom. A narrow twin bed and dresser and a small closet. He just had to start and stop thinking. Thinking was just too much these past few days.
Cleaning the bedroom was fast as there wasn’t a lot to pack up, but there was a box inside his closet that forced him to pause. Pictures Stiles had owned were stacked inside, pictures of his dad, his mom, Stiles, pictures of himself even. A lot of pictures of himself, he thought frowning, thinking of the summer they were 15 and again the many times until they were 18… It didn’t mean anything. He said it to himself over and over, then and now, but it still hurt. Little knives that just kept cutting bit by bit, over skin and flesh and finally to the bone. It would never stop hurting.
The afternoon passed by quickly. Most of the stuff Stiles had owned would be sent to charities or wherever would take it all. The box of pictures, some old clothes, and Stiles’ pillowcase were all he ended up taking for himself.
And so, later that night when he lay awake and was surrounded by the smell of his dead best friend, the tears came yet again and always unbidden. They came and they didn’t stop until the sun rose and set again. They didn’t stop until his own heart stopped beating, 23 stories below Stile’s old apartment window in a borrowed shirt that smelled, just a little, like mint and ash.