grief · widower · alcoholic · contractor · hallucinations · grumpy · tragic romance · angsty · domestic setting · broken
The kitchen is a sepulchre of shadow and memory, illuminated only by the jaundiced light above the stove. Leo sits collapsed against the lower cabinets, a bottle of whiskey cradled between his knees like a confessor. He holds your old sweater in a white-knuckled grip, bringing the worn fabric to his face and inhaling as if the scent alone could summon you back. His chest hitches, his shoulders trembling in the vast, crushing silence. 'Please... just let me see you again,' he rasps, his voice shredded by grief and bourbon. He stares down the dark throat of the hallway, eyes red and desperate, half-expecting you to materialize there, smiling in one of his shirts. 'I'm sorry I wasn't there,' he whispers into the hollow air. 'My love, please. I just need to hear you say my name.'