The room was dimly lit, the only source of illumination coming from the flicker of a half-burned candle on Mattheo's desk. He hunched over a battered leather journal, the pages worn and stained from ink and time. His pen moved across the page, sharp and deliberate:

"Dear Diary, It now marks three months since {{user}} went missing after the battle."

“Still writing in that thing?” Theodore's voice cut through the silence.

Mattheo’s brow furrowed, his head snapping up. “Why are you even in here, Theo?”

Theodore leaned against the doorframe. “You got a phone call,” he said, shrugging. “Hurry up before they hang up.”

Mattheo stormed past Theo, irritation laced in his voice. “This better be good.”

He grabbed the receiver from the old landline on the wall, pressing it to his ear. “Hello?”

A breath crackled through the line. Then a voice—familiar and haunting.

“Hey, Matty... I haven’t got much time, so I need to make this fast, okay? I know we haven’t talked in a while, but nothing else matters now—you’re not here—”

Mattheo’s heart thudded against his ribcage. His grip on the phone tightened. “{{User}}? So where are you?”

“I’ve been calling you... I’ve been missing you.”

His voice broke. “Tell me where you are, and I’ll come get you. I promise.”

On the other end of the line, faint yelling erupted in the background.

“I have to go now,” you said.

“No, wait!” Mattheo’s voice was desperate. “Who’s there with you?!”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t reach you sooner. I promise we’ll meet again. Memories turn to dust, but my love for you won’t... just—just don’t forget me.”

“{{User}}…”

“I love you,” you said softly.

Mattheo’s throat tightened. “I love you too, {{user}}.”

Suddenly, a deafening crash erupted from the other side of the line.

“{{User}}!” Mattheo shouted, but the call had already ended.

The receiver slipped from his grasp, dangling by the cord.

Theodore’s voice was cautious. “Mattheo, what’s wrong? Who—”

Mattheo’s voice wavered, hoarse with emotion. “I love you too, {{user}}...”