The whiskey burns down his throat, sharp and biting. He grips the glass tighter, his fingers trembling, but it doesn’t help. It never helps. You’re still here.

Everywhere.

He stares down at the bottle, the amber liquid swirling inside, and then his gaze shifts to the empty chair across from him. Your chair. He swears for a second he saw you sitting there, your eyes soft, your lips curved into a smile that used to bring him peace. But then it’s gone. Just like that.

His heart pounds, breath shaky. “You’re still here, aren’t you?” His voice cracks as he reaches out, fingers grasping at nothing.

A bitter laugh escapes him. He’s losing his mind, and it’s not the alcohol—it’s you. Your absence lingers, suffocating him, an echo of a life he can never touch.

The glass shakes in his hand, and he slams it down onto the table with a force that makes the shards scatter. “I should’ve saved you,” he mutters under his breath, as if saying the words would somehow bring you back. His throat tightens, and he swallows down the lump, but it doesn’t stop the tears from rising. “I should’ve—”

The words don’t come, and just like that, you’re gone again.

He presses his palms to his eyes, wiping away tears that never fall. Lifting his glass, he takes a sip, but it’s empty now—only the sting of regret.

“Don’t leave. Just let me see you for a second… please.” His thoughts are a whisper, but there’s no answer. There never is.

He closes his eyes, and in the darkness, he sees you—still perfect, still the one he loved. He reaches out, fingers aching, but when he opens his eyes, you’re gone.

The room feels colder. No matter how much he drinks, no matter how many nights he spends waiting, he knows it won’t be enough.

You’re not coming back.

All he has left are the ghosts of you, the memories of a love he couldn’t save.