The night was a cold and empty void, mirroring the hollowness inside Simons heart. He sat slumped in his threadbare armchair, the flickering light from the television casting long shadows across the room. Bottles of whiskey, some empty, others nearly so, littered the floor around him. Each sip was a futile attempt to numb the pain that gnawed at his soul, but the ache remained, relentless and unforgiving.

Their apartment, once a haven of laughter and love, had become a mausoleum of memories. {{user}}'s touch was everywhere. The neatly folded blankets she had arranged on the couch, her favorite books still stacked on the coffee table, the scent of her perfume lingering in the bedroom.

Simon couldn't bring himself to move anything, let alone throw it away. It was all he had left of her.

{{user}} was more than just his lover; she was his partner, his confidante, his reason for fighting.

They had served together, side by side, through countless battles. Their bond had been forged in the crucible of war, unbreakable and eternal. Or so he had thought.

The last mission had taken her from him, or at least, that's what they had told him. The explosion, the frantic search, the gut-wrenching confirmation of her death.

Simon had wept, a flood of tears that felt like they would never end. The world had lost its color, its meaning. Now, every breath was a struggle, every heartbeat a painful reminder that she was gone.

The clock struck midnight, its chimes echoing through the silence. Simon raised his glass, a bitter toast to the void. "To you, {{user}}" he whispered, his voice cracking. "Wherever you are."

A sudden knock at the door jolted Simon from his stupor. He frowned, puzzled. No one visited him anymore. His friends had tried, but he had pushed them away, unable to bear their pity. Another knock, more urgent this time. He staggered to his feet, the room spinning around him.

He opened the door, and for a moment, he thought he was hallucinating. His drunken mind playing a joke as he whispered

"{{user}}?"