Work Text:
It's a whirlwind of cardboard boxes and tape and packing peanuts. The dresser is empty, and so are the living room cabinets. Some trinkets remain in the bathroom. His toothbrush, his kohl pencil, his musk.
Collei’s things have long been packed and loaded into the trunk of the car. Most of her belongings have always been in Gandharva Ville anyway.
“No one is forcing you to leave, you know,” Al Haitham says from where he is kneeling on the floor, covering dishware in bubble wrap, being extra careful with the ceramic tagine.
Cyno finds himself sighing at that. This is a conversation they’ve already had one too many times.
Al Haitham is right that it would be easier to stay. It doesn’t change the fact that Cyno has been wanting to move.
Sumeru city’s buildings are too tall for him, they make it hard to see the sky. The polluted air obscures the stars at night. The bustle of the metro, of the neverending thrum of people coming and going, throwing themselves into their sterile office job and returning home only to pass out on their mattress – in truth, it had never suited Cyno.
Back at university he had been too naive, thinking the big city was it for him. He dreamed of the skyscrapers of the financial district. The clean suits and the expensive coffees.
He did find some happiness here. Sharing an apartment with Collei on the weeks she was there, and meeting all sorts of people. That was the good thing about big cities at the very least, there was always more to discover. Just last week Nilou had taken him to one of the local Krishna temples to try their vegetarian dishes.
His closeness to Al Haitham was an unexpected occurrence. He never expected to speak more than two words to his cold and aloof neighbour who used to hit the wall anytime he had visitors over.
Now, if Al Haitham genuinely asks him to stay, Cyno is afraid his resolve might waver.
“You’ll visit,” he says, using his no-nonsense work voice. Somehow it sounds more like a plea.
“I will. And when I don’t, I’ll call or I’ll write. I’ll be sending you that one brand of expensive tea you really like. You’re not getting rid of me so easily, Cyno.”
They spend the rest of the day like that, packing and cleaning punctuated by threads of conversation. Al Haitham is surprisingly efficient. When he’s done with the plates he moves on to the bookshelf. In the end, Cyno is the one who is dragging his feet and slowing them down on purpose. After he proposes an nth coffee break, Al Haitham simply takes his hand and gives him a sad little smile.
It takes the whole day to empty the apartment into the cardboard boxes. Five years of his life having to fit inside his car.
After Al Haitham leaves, Cyno rounds the place one last time to make sure nothing was forgotten.
Later, he’ll take out the boxes and give back the keys.
Later, the apartment will be dark and all empty. Later, there’ll be no joy spared between those walls.
Only some warmth, some memories. Love shared with no restrain, still soaking the air of the living room.
Cyno will have been long gone by then. Probably busy loving elsewhere, with his feet in the sand.
New happinesses, maybe. Finding other reasons to smile.
A goodbye to the moments spent, a welcome to what is to come.