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“here’s the keys. i’m sorry.”
the landlord stammered, tripping over his words. sorrow fills the room before silence swallows it whole. sylus nods, snatching the keys away, then turns to leave without a sound. no words needed. why talk if she can’t hear?
he heads for the stairs, the same ones you used to take together after long nights fighting wanderers, you always by his side. now the stairwell echoes more than it used to. the only sounds are the air conditioning’s low hum and his slow, heavy steps.
he reaches the door to the 7th-floor hallway. pushes it open. somehow it feels heavier than before.
weird.
he drags himself to your door. almost knocks on it out of habit, as if you were still inside. his hands are shaking as he takes the key and unlocks it. the door swings open and the smell hits him like a truck—his own musk, your perfume, a lavender candle. he steps back, the scent nearly bringing a grown man to his knees.
he steadies himself against the wall and steps inside, closing the door behind him. the place feels hollow. empty. without you, it’s dark and gloomy. you were the sunshine in every room.
he looks around, then slowly moves into the kitchen. everything looks the same. the landlord even bothered to clean out the fridge and cabinets. how ‘sweet’.
he drifts toward the couch, glancing at the coffee table that just collects dust now. the flowers he sent two weeks ago are wilting, but they still remind him of you. he touches a petal lightly and it crumbles off.
he sighs, then moves on.
the bathroom. same dingy cabinets he somehow broke. skill issue, or was the bathroom just too small? we’ll never know. he looks at the sink—tiny grey hairs scattered around, just like the last time he shaved. come to think of it, when did he last shave? he catches his reflection and shudders. he knew he was old, but was he already old?
he looks away. moves toward the shower. your body wash, shampoo, conditioner—all exactly where you left them. a spider seems to have moved in. cobwebs forming. gross.
he leaves the bathroom and takes one last look around the main area. your plants are wilting, far past saving. though, not surprisingly, your aloe vera is thriving. it was always overwatered and never grew. until now.
he stops putting it off and heads to your bedroom door. everything blurs together. he twists the knob and shuffles inside. pillows everywhere. clothes, things, just everything everywhere. you were never the most organized. what did he expect?
pictures of the two of you are plastered on the wall above your bed. the unwashed, neglected comforter—the second thing that kept you warm at night. obviously he was the first. duh.
he walks up to your bed and takes down one of the pictures. flips it over. reads the back: “me and sylus!! 3/31/26 ₍^. .^₎⟆”
it’s enough to make a grown man cry. who wouldn’t? he thinks it’s stupid, crying. he doesn’t cry. that’s not who he is. but that’s who he was to you.
to you, he was the gentleman. the one who wasn’t afraid to share his thoughts. the one you could trust.
now it’s all gone.
the trust. the memories.
none of it matters anymore. that’s not who he is without you. now he’s stone cold sylus, the one who doesn’t care for anything cute. he stopped feeding the birds outside his window. stopped feeding the stray cats around the n109 zone. gave all his food to a shelter nearby.
it didn’t matter. you were gone and he can't stand it. the thought of you not being by his side practically killed him.
“one night won't hurt,” he whispered to himself. he walked over to your closet and slid the door open. a pile of unwashed clothes sat in a laundry hamper underneath the thousands of hangers you had but never used. he opened one of the drawers inside your closet and took out a pair of pajama pants. ‘size xl’ they read. what could you possibly need extra-large pants for? you’re normally a medium in your pants. who cares.
all he hopes for now is for these to fit. he undresses and puts on the pants. quite a tight fit, but they’re on.
he leaves your room to go lock the door and shut the blinds. it wasn’t long until he was back in your room, cuddled up in your bed like he was the kitten now. if you were here the sight would make you giggle, he knows it. which is why he does it. he doesn’t believe in the gods above, or watchful gazes from above. but he hopes that if someone was watching him do this, it's you.
maybe one day he’ll be the one up there with you, so you can be together again. who knows?
────୨ৎ────
he wakes up to your alarm clock still set, how long has this been going off for without anyone saying anything?
he groggily gets up and leans over to turn the alarm off. ‘5:25 AM’ why?
he can’t fall back asleep anymore. your scent seems to come flooding back after he's woken up. might as well get up and shower.
he pulls himself out of the warm bed and up into the bathroom, and turns on the shower. the water starts to heat up and turn the mirrors foggy. better not to look at himself, to see the eye bags. to see how puffy his eyes were.
he picks up a towel and a washcloth from the broom closet right outside the bathroom and heads right into the shower after undressing. the same shower you two used to stand in the hot water together for hours. the same shower you used to try to massage him but it wouldn't work. he was always too tense for a massage.
he’s starting to wish he hadn’t been so tense around you sometimes. even though it isn’t his fault. he’s all muscle no fat.
he quickly washes up and gets out of the shower and does his routine. brushing his teeth, shaving, the whole ordeal.
but everything he did just made him feel so.. tired. like there was no end to the cycle. it was always the same cycle nowadays. before it was morning routine, work, eat, and sleep. now he barely eats, barely sleeps, and hasn’t done work in a week. it’s not like he needs money anymore anyway. you weren't here to make him have to call the bank to extend his daily limit.
he misses that, even if calling them was a pain in the ass. it was for you and that’s what mattered. now nothing matters.
more importantly, he misses you. he misses your stupid googly eyes when you see hotpot. he misses your cute gummy smile when he gets you a new plushie at the claw machine. he misses your dumb frowny face when you would lose at kitty cards against him.
he misses you. and you’ll never be back. so he might as well join you.