It was Saturday evening. The attic apartment not unusually quiet, atmosphere still and stuffy like it had been abandoned for many lonely years and counting.
Only it wasn't empty. Someone, a man, still called this cluttered mess of a place, home.
Steven Grant's hallowed body occupied the small spaces inside next to all the dusty stacks of books and papers, more like a doll rather than an actual human being. Laying stagnant across the crumpled leather cushions of his couch most nights, like tonight, a blanket draped across his lower half yet it brought no warmth to the stiffened and achy limbs.
He had been staring at his ceiling for hours now, only the hours seemed to pass like minutes these days. Fast and unwavering. Almost like a river rushing through the mountains, stopping for no one but the giant lake waiting on the other side.
These are the moments he missed you most.
Steven felt like that river more often than not, crashing and rolling over jagged rocks, spewing over cliff faces as he just careens with the constant flow of life, waiting to reach his own lake for that final moment of peace.
When he pictures what its serene waters would look like, the surface is sparkling like stars in Andromeda's galaxy, almost blindingly so as he imagines himself gazing upon it.
Around its edges, there are wildflowers, many different colors but mostly his favorites like red and blue, some purple or pink. A smear of richness against stark green foliage like an oil painting, muddled by the lightly blowing wind but just as beautiful.
If he thinks hard enough, Steven can hear the familiar chirps of birds as they soar through the baby blue sky above without a care in the world. Chasing each other through the swaying trees in what seems to be a game of tag.
If Steven wanted to be any animal, it would be a bird. Free to fly as far as his little wings could take him. Dipping and diving anywhere and everywhere he so pleased. Maybe then he wouldn't feel so stuck. Not so deep down in his abyss of a mind that he cannot climb his way out even if he tried.
Did birds feel the heaviness of an untimely ending? Did they even know what sadness was? He supposes so- if they could die from a broken heart.
Maybe he is like a bird after all. Small. Fragile in the palms of mother nature's hands as he withers away from a loss so great it has taken a chunk of his very being with it. A gaping hole in his chest refusing to be filled with the tender-hearted devotion of another.
As his eyes tighten to listen for more than just feathered creatures, the faint buzzing of honeybees could be heard, bumbling from plant to plant in search of the sweet taste of nectar.
Perhaps Steven would rather be the striped bug, then at least he'd have a purpose. A driving force to get up and work, to live. But even then it seems to be a mundane existence, familiar even, doing the same thing every day, all day. It was. Because that is his exact routine.
Get up, go to work (late might he add), come home, sleep, repeat.
Even as an insect he wouldn't be able to escape the endless cycle of tirelessly working until his soul released into the oblivion.
Did he really not have anywhere to go? Nowhere to fit in? He felt the only place he truly mattered was with...
Then- over the wind and the birds and the bees, his torrential thoughts- he picks up on a bubble of soft laughter coming from across the water. Light and airy as it dances in the breeze that carries it to his ears like tufts on a dandelion, and his eyes pop open at the fleeting sound. A delicate huff of breath he never thought he'd hear again, one he only heard in his dreams.
Steven's wild gaze searches for its maker like a hawk would a field mouse and it doesn't take longer than a few seconds for him to spot a figure in the distance.
A woman wearing a white dress slouches in the tall grass, face turned towards the beaming sun rays, eyes closed in bliss as she soaks in its light. Although she is far away, Steven knows exactly who sits on the other side waiting for him.
"Hey!" he shouts, hands cupping his mouth to form a makeshift megaphone yet it only seems to echo back in his face, like there was some sort of an invisible barrier. You don't even seem to stir at his booming proclamation.
"Hey!" he calls out again, louder this time, beginning to jog his way around the rim of his wide lake for a closer look. Heart skipping beats like smooth stones on a rippling pond.
It's not until Steven is halfway to his destination, on his fifth drawn-out yell that you peek a look at him, perking up at the soft crunch of branches under his bare feet that finally seem to reach you, penetrating your personal bubble of calm.
You just smile at the sight of him running, not saying a word and not having to. Like you knew he would be there, that he’d come looking for you.
Steven picks up his pace then, ignoring the way sharp pebbles and fallen sticks jab the padding of his feet as they pound into the ground when he breaks into a full sprint.
He hears you laugh again as you stand to greet him and Steven can't help but burst out with a fit of his own whooping laughter. The elation all too much for him to keep the hollering, joyous sounds inside his lungs.
The both of them collide like two planets falling out of their natural orbit, sparks of glittering matter shooting up into the air as they spin like sprinklers. Two forces with a magnetic pull so great it defies time and space to be reunited.
The comforting weight of you in his arms is relieving, the squeeze of your own around his shoulders like an anchor tied to the rocking boat that is his heart. The raging storm in his chest seems to settle, not unlike the flat water of the lake behind them.
The two hold onto each other like a lifeline, not knowing where one begins and the other ends, becoming whole once more. Falling into place for one final dance in the stars.
It's quiet, pure and tranquil silence as you and Steven sway with the blades of grass brushing your ankles. Now the minutes are going by like hours, just content to cradle one another in a gentle embrace as the seconds pass. Breathing in the unmistakable scents of honeysuckle and spiced tea, something that smells so distinctly of home.
Of you.
Steven begins to teeter on the precipice of his heels as he takes the leap of faith to fall backward with you in his arms, trusting the pillowy grass to catch his fall.
The giggles it pulls from you when he lands are sugary sweet like his favorite candies, almost sweeter than the kiss you place on his lips that instantly melts him like a fudgy chocolate that's been left in a hot car for too long.
The tender affection stokes the orangey embers blazing in his belly, flickering tendrils of fire through the wrought iron bars of his ribcage, begging to consume him entirely.
And it does, the fluttering murmur of three words releases the inferno from his mouth, seeping into your own as one shared breath, fueling its flames until all he can see is the gleaming of a silhouette that is you. Burning and luminous in his grasp, wrapping him in its heated glow.
It feels as though Steven is floating in a hazy beacon of light, placid in the serendipity of it all as he closes his eyes once more, just taking it in for what is.
Love.
When Steven opens his eyes he hopes with crossed fingers to see you staring back, tenderly gazing at him, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips.
But all he sees is his decrepit, dingy wooden ceiling. Glaringly cold and harsh and dark like a looming shadow of guilt above his head.
He notices he's clutching tightly to a throw pillow, the one with the gold stitching of your name embroidered across its milky cotton plains, thumb gently passing over the swooping letters in a soothing caress.
It's moments like this that Steven misses you most.
Longing for that final moment of peace.