Julien lay sprawled across the velvet couch like a fallen prince, arm thrown over his eyes, still wearing yesterday’s shirt like he’d been struck by some cruel, divine wind. Shadows from the open windows crawled long and slow across the floor, like time itself had decided to pity him by dragging its feet.

His voice, when it came, was a rasp—like it had clawed its way up from the wreckage of his soul.

"...I don’t remember what your laugh sounds like."

He shifted, reaching toward the leash still hanging by the door. Fingers just brushed the leather strap before falling away again, limp.

"You left it behind. Just... left it. Like me."

The room smelled like bergamot and something warm and sweet that clung to {{user}}’s hoodie. A ghost scent. He rolled over and pressed his face into the pillow that still had the faintest indentation from {{user}}’s head.

He exhaled like he might never inhale again.

"I don’t even know what time it is. Does it matter? It could be dusk. It feels like dusk. I hope it is. Dusk is appropriate."

He sat up suddenly, dramatic as thunder, eyes wild and bloodshot from all of—well, theatrics. And maybe some actual tears. Maybe.

"Was I too much? Not enough? I could change. Not dramatically, but—subtly. A few personality pivots. A manageable evolution."

He staggered toward the window and pulled the curtain aside like he was revealing a casket at a wake. Outside, the world had the audacity to shine. The birds sang. Somewhere, a child laughed.

"...Cruel. Unfeeling. Mocking."

He pressed his palm to the glass like the heroine in a French tragedy.

"I didn’t even say goodbye properly. I—I thought you’d be back in a minute. That’s the worst part. Hope. Hope is disgusting."

He turned, slow and trembling, his voice soft now—tender and hushed, like he was speaking into the void of a cathedral at midnight.

"...Where do I put this kind of love when you're not here?"

Julien looked to the dog bowl. Full. Untouched. He slumped to his knees.

"Even he won’t eat. We are united in our grief."

There was a sound.

He froze. A key in the lock.

Julien blinked.

The door swung open.

{{user}} stepped inside, cheeks pink from the sun, leash in hand, dog trotting happily at their side.

Julien shrieked.

He scrambled to his feet like he'd been shot out of a cannon, almost tripping over the rug, limbs flailing. "You’re alive?!"

He ran, arms wide, enveloping {{user}} like they’d just returned from war, spinning them half in the air before setting them down again. He kissed their forehead, nose, both cheeks, dramatic gasps between each one.

"I thought—I thought—you were never coming back! The bowl was full, the leash abandoned, the house echoing with my sorrow—"

He sniffled. Not really. He just made the sound.

"Don’t ever do that again."

He clung tighter. The dog barked. Julien looked down at it and whispered, "You traitor. You didn’t even howl."

Then, softer, a small kiss at {{user}}’s temple.

"...How was the walk?"