Today Is Your Birthday

Gerhard shuts the door behind him, his back resting along the cool wood as Maurice saunters into the apartment, finding a spot where the sun peeks through the windows. The tom cat spins, marking his place on the floor, before settling down with a satisfying thud.

Gerhard busies himself, though he is not sure what needs doing. Maurice needs new water, and food, and the plants need a sprinkle of water, too. Countertops need wiping down, and dishes need washing, a mindless task that he sets to with ease.

Laurel's magic, the balm that they applied over his ragged heart, slowly fades as he busies his hands and mind. With the breakwater cleared, the roaring tide of his loss crashes into his shores. Wave after wave of rushing water, the scourge of Umberlee herself, breaks on his rocks, spraying the air with salt and sea.

Gerhard cannot hold on, cannot ride the waves of the crashing tide, and so falls to his knees in the middle of the apartment.

Andromeda's commitment rings hollow in his ears.

His fists pound the floor, tears streaking down his face and pooling on his cheeks.

No, no, NO, NO.

He doesn't realize as his thoughts turn to words turn to shouts turn to shaking bursts of denial.

Doesn't realize as with each burst, a fist pounds the floor in front of him, the newly washed dishes clattering where they lie to dry.

Doesn't realize just how far he has fallen, in such a short time.

Gerhard knows he probably should not be here, should not be staying in her apartment, but he cannot bear to leave. She is everywhere, here: in the art decorating the walls, the plants crawling along the shelves. In the notes, left in her workspace. In the scent, light but still present, that he breathes deeply from the blanket they shared mere hours ago.

He cannot bear to let go of her, now that she has been taken from him.

He cannot bear... any of it.

His eyes are red, the skin around them puffy, but no tears come any longer. The tremors have subsided, too, and the hand that grips the fabric is steady, an iron grip that cannot, will not let go.

He is not sure when he fell asleep, is not sure when the sun finally set on the day.

He is not sure when he wakes, either, save for the fact that the sun is rising in the east and there is a sound coming from the kitchen.

Gerhard sits bolt upright, struggling to untangle the blanket from his legs where they lay resting on the small couch. A foot, caught in the hem of the fabric, nearly sends him tumbling into the air in front of him, but he steadies himself as he bounds towards the kitchen.

"Orianna? Orianna?" he cries.

He rounds a corner into the small enclave. "Orianna!"

Maurice, sitting on his hind legs, points his face towards the empty water dish, the empty food bowl. A paw sticks out, poking the two empty dishes. Mrr-ow.

Gerhard runs a hand through his hair, the sweat of the previous night's restless sleep sticking to his fingers. "Right. I will get you some food today."

He fills the water bowl, testing the temperature with a small poke of his finger. He sets it down, gently, rubbing Maurice's ears. "Sorry."

The apartment is much the same as he left it the previous night - his bags stay piled against the door, the Call shimmering in the early morning light. He can't touch anything, can't move even a scrap of parchment, can't shift anything she put there. Every mark, every placement, tells a story of her, and he cannot bear to erase them until he has recorded them all.

He reaches into his bag, pulling out a few gold coins, enough for a small meal for him and Maurice. His hand dives in, again, looking for smaller change, when it finds a smooth piece of parchment.

He pulls it out, turning it over in his hand. He reads the name on the front of the letter, his tired eyes moving letter by letter. Orianna.

Right, he thinks to himself.