The door didn't move.
Elliot's eyes burned from staring at it too long, like if he willed it hard enough, Theo would come back. But the stillness only mocked him. He dragged in a shaky breath, then another, but it was like his lungs had forgotten how to work. Every inhale scraped, every exhale caught.
The clock on the wall ticked too loudly. The refrigerator hummed like it was laughing at him. Every sound in the apartment felt like it belonged to someone else, like he was trespassing in his own home.
He pushed himself up from the chair, restless, and stumbled into the hallway. Theo's jacket still hung on the hook by the door. That stupid green one he never wore anymore because Elliot once joked it made him look like a traffic light. Elliot reached out, fingers brushing the fabric, and his throat closed up.
He pressed his forehead against it, breathing in the faint scent of Theo's cologne-faded but still there, still sharp enough to cut. A low sound clawed out of his chest, halfway between a sob and a curse.
The walls felt closer now. Too close. He backed away, nearly tripping over his own feet, and ended up in the bedroom. The bed was unmade, sheets twisted from this morning, when Theo had still been there. Elliot sat on the edge of it and let himself fall back into the mess. It smelled like them, like sweat and detergent and something bitter that used to be sweet.
He turned his head toward Theo's side of the bed. The pillow was still indented where Theo's head had been. Without thinking, Elliot dragged it close and hugged it, clinging like a drowning man to a life raft.
"I'm sorry," he whispered again, softer this time, like Theo could hear him through the walls, through the distance. His voice broke in the middle of the word. "I'll do better. I swear."
But the pillow didn't answer.
And the silence swallowed him all over again.
Elliot lay there until the ceiling blurred, until his throat ached from swallowing back sobs that kept tearing out anyway. He hated the sound of himself crying. Hated how small it made him feel.
His chest burned like fire under his ribs, and the only thing he could think was make it stop. He sat up too fast, wiping at his face with the heel of his hand, breath coming in sharp, shallow gulps. His gaze landed on the nightstand.
The half-empty bottle of whiskey stared back at him.
For a long moment, he just looked at it, jaw tight, fingers twitching. He shouldn't. He knew he shouldn't. Theo hated it when he drank he said it made him mean, said it made him someone else entirely.
But Theo wasn't here anymore.
Elliot grabbed the bottle. The cap hit the floor with a hollow clink, and he tipped it back, the burn tearing down his throat, stinging his chest, numbing the edges just enough to breathe again. He coughed, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and drank again.
By the third swallow, the silence didn't feel so sharp. It dulled, blurred at the edges. He slumped against the headboard, clutching the bottle like it was the only solid thing left in the room.
His phone buzzed.
The sound jolted through him, and his heart lurched violently. He scrambled off the bed, nearly dropping the whiskey, eyes locked on the glowing screen across the room. He staggered toward it, pulse hammering.
Theo.
For a split second, his chest filled with wild, desperate hope.
But when he unlocked it, the name on the message wasn't Theo's.It wasn't Theo.
The name flashing across the screen made his stomach drop- Caleb.
Theo's brother.
Elliot's hand went cold around the phone. His thumb hovered, uncertain, while the message glared back at him:
"You need to leave him alone."
Just six words. Short. Final.
Elliot's chest tightened. He wanted to throw the phone, smash it against the wall, but his grip only tightened until his knuckles whitened. Caleb never texted him. Not unless things were really bad. And if Caleb was stepping in…
Theo must've told him everything.
The phone slipped from Elliot's fingers onto the bed. He pressed both hands into his face, digging his nails into his skin, as if the pain could anchor him.
"Jesus Christ," he whispered. "I've ruined everything."
The room tilted, hot, suffocating, and for the first time since Theo left, Elliot felt something darker creeping in- like he wasn't just grieving the breakup, but staring down a future where Theo was gone for good.
The thought hollowed him out.
A future without Theo.
The apartment suddenly felt smaller, like the walls were inching closer with every breath he took. He stood, too fast, the motion dizzying, and gripped the edge of the dresser to steady himself. His reflection in the mirror above it caught his eye-pale, red-eyed, hair sticking out in wild directions.
He almost didn't recognize himself.
Theo used to call him beautiful, even when Elliot thought he looked wrecked. Especially then. Said the mess was part of him. Said he didn't have to be perfect.
But that version of Theo- the one who forgave, who stayed- felt like a ghost now. A memory fading even as Elliot tried to cling to it.
His chest tightened, and before he knew it, he was moving- ripping open drawers, pulling out anything that smelled like Theo. A hoodie. A pair of socks. That band tee Theo always stole from him and swore fit better on his frame. Elliot clutched the bundle to his chest, burying his face in it.
It smelled faintly of detergent and warmth and the faint citrus shampoo Theo used. The scent hit him like a knife. He crumpled to the floor, knees against the carpet, rocking slightly, his breath ragged.
"Don't do this to me," he whispered, voice cracking against the fabric. "Don't- don't really leave me."
The silence offered nothing back.
He stayed there for what felt like hours, clinging to the scraps, until the sound of the city outside drifted through the window- horns, laughter, the distant thrum of music. Life was carrying on without him, without Theo, like nothing had ended.
Elliot pressed the heel of his palm hard against his sternum, as though he could dig out the ache lodged there. He was still breathing, but it didn't feel like living. It felt like being left behind.
He glanced at the phone again, still lying on the bed where he'd dropped it. Still glowing faintly, Caleb's message, stark and merciless on the screen.
Leave him alone.
The words didn't just feel like an order anymore. They felt like a prophecy.
And Elliot, for the first time in his life, didn't know how to fight it.