Work Text:
When Diego stands in front of his apartment door, he can’t believe he can. It’s not about recovery, it’s not about being able to stand at all or to see his apartment again. But it struck him one day that he hasn’t paid his rent in years.
What Diego didn’t think about upon waking up: his rent, his student loan, his expired ID card, if he even had a job anymore.
What Diego thought upon waking up: how long has it been, how bad is it and, above all, where is the one I woke up for.
Diego’s mailbox was full, but not overly so. The locks weren’t changed. He received no eviction notice. He should have been evicted, but he wasn’t. And he’s not eager to have a confirmation as to why.
Diego slips his key in the keyhole and pushes the door.
The place is darker than he remembers it. The light switch doesn’t work. The blinds are closed, the electricity and water are off. Either cut by his providers or shut down to cut the cost. What was only a thought is now practically confirmed. Someone has been here and someone has been paying his rent and bills. Diego thinks someone but there aren’t a hundred people who had his key and who would have done this for him. There’s only one.
The one I woke up for.
Diego sighs and tries not to think about her. They told him not to think about her. They told him to focus on recovery. Diego wanted to tell them that there was no point in recovering. If he has no one, he might as well be no one.
Diego staggers to the power unit and puts the lights back on. He sits, takes a break. He hates how tired he is. As if sleeping for years only made him more tired. It’s not logical. It shouldn't be. But then again, many things shouldn’t be.
The world Diego woke up to is nothing but a bad nightmare. Most days, it feels like he’s walking in a wasteland, surrounded by junk and emptiness and uselessness. Other days, it feels like Diego is part of that junk himself, a waste of time, space and effort. He doesn’t know what he’ll do tomorrow. He doesn’t know what he’ll do after that. But for now, he’ll open the window and let some fresh air in.
Diego walks to the kitchen, rummaging the coffee cupboard. His coffee beans have all expired, but his eyes linger on the emergency instant coffee bottle standing there. He doesn’t battle for long. He will have coffee, even if it’s instant, even if it nearly killed him the last time. There are some fights he’s not ready to fight yet.
Diego lowers himself on a chair and focuses on what he can infer from his surroundings. He hasn’t cleaned in years and his apartment is cleaner than that. Someone cleaned his place and he knows she did it regularly until she couldn’t anymore. Which means… the kitten never gave up on him. She never gave up on him coming back. She knew he’d wake up.
How unfair is it, that she knew he’d wake up and he didn’t know she wouldn’t be here?
Diego glances at the kitchen table. There are letters, probably his mail. There’s an accounting book too. Diego picks it up and his chest tightens as he sees her neat handwriting again. She wrote down every payment that was made on his behalf, month per month, for years. She paid his rent. His electricity and water bills too. Automatic payments, most certainly, since Diego can still enter his apartment and put the kettle on. The money is still withdrawn to this day. How has no one stopped those?
The kitten must have been making money. With an office to run, her own rent and his expenses on top of this… but then again, it doesn’t surprise him. She was quite the attorney and he doesn’t need to watch her trials to know. She always has been.
Diego stares at the accounting book, at the figures. What hurts the most isn’t that she paid for him. It’s this accounting book. The fact that it even is here. The kitten knew him better than anyone else. Of course he’d want to refund her as soon as he could. Of course he wants to repay her. Even just seeing her…
Diego runs a finger on his kitchen table and stares at the gray powder. He can scarcely see it, there’s not enough light and his eyes have trouble adjusting, but he knows it’s dust.
There should be dust. There should be more of it or there should be none. But there shouldn’t be this thin layer of dust.
So thin it’s heart-shattering.