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Emptiness—save for the cockroaches feasting on the piles of trash against a wall. Unless mice learnt how to pile themselves up in a trench coat and pilot heavy boots, it couldn't have been them.
You were almost disappointed when you realized it wasn't him. No cocky smirk hidden beneath some dark tinted lenses. No lazy yawn as he stretched out his hand to you and chastised you for being so stubborn because you insisted on walking home instead of letting him take you.
Now you're alone.
Why didn't you let him?
You hear a gunshot before the world blanked.