The house Flo lived in was big giant even for just him. It had more rooms then he could ever use. But each room had once a purpose. Each room was filled with carefully picked furniture. Each room had been renovated and fitted to their shared dream of a life.

  But it wasn’t their shared life anymore. It was now Flo’s life, house and home.

  A house and home that he needed to sort out.

  And Dave had been eager to help him, to see him again. Flo had hesitated, but in the end, he didn’t want to do this alone.

  They had met up, Dave bringing some snacks. First drinking a cup of tea. Dave had already eyed the coffee machine, first questioning but then with a glint of understanding.

  But he didn’t ask. Hadn’t needed to.

  They had spoken about starting light, not doing too much. But now they were knee-deep in boxes and forgotten belongings.

  “Do you mind if I tackle this closet?”, Dave asked, motioning to the hallway storage.

  Flo just shook his head, not even glancing up. He trusted Dave. A realization, that stopped him dead in his tracks. Not watching Dave rummage through the closet.

  He trusted Dave.

  A man, that he had been dating for only a month now. A man he had met with only a handful of times. Texted almost daily with for the last two weeks. A man he was okay with, sorting through his home together. A man, that gave him a lot of comfort.

  “This is cool”, Dave interrupted Flo’s thoughts. “Alex really must have had a good taste.”

  He was holding one of her leather jackets. The sight of it hit Flo like a tidal wave. It had been her favorite. The one she had worn, when she dropped him of at the airport, just a few days before…

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  “Hey, look at me. I’m sorry. Please breath for me.”, Dave was at his side, touching his shoulder. Ripping Flo out of his spinning thoughts.

  “It’s strange,” Dave said quietly, still holding the leather jacket. “I don’t think I ever imagined being here, going through something like this with you.” His eyes wandered over the cluttered room, then back to Flo. “I mean… it’s kind of like a weird treasure hunt, right? Finding all these little pieces of the past...”

  Flo’s eyes flickered to the jacket but didn’t focus. “Fun? Is that what you think this is, Dave? Fun?”

  Dave frowned, dropping his gaze, realizing how wrong his words had landed.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—“

  Flo turned on him, his voice sharp, “You think it’s fun to clean up after someone’s death? To have to relive it every damn time I see her favorite jacket, her shoes, her everything? Don’t you dare call it fun!”

  For a moment, Dave stood frozen, the weight of his mistake hanging heavy between them. He didn’t try to defend himself. Instead, he nodded slowly, as if trying to understand the pain he’d missed.

  “I’m sorry, Flo. I didn’t mean to make light of it,” he said quietly, shifting the jacket in his hands.

  The silence between them grew thick, and Flo could feel his heart still hammering, the anger refusing to dissipate. He didn’t want to let go of it, didn’t want to admit that Dave wasn’t the one he was angry at. It wasn’t Dave’s fault that Alex was gone. But damn if it didn’t feel easier to lash out at someone who wasn’t her.

  He stood up abruptly, pacing away from the boxes. His breath was still uneven, his hands shaking slightly.

  "Sorry," Flo muttered under his breath. "I didn’t mean to... I just—" He trailed off, not sure how to finish the sentence.

  Dave had stood up too, keeping his distance but staying close enough to let Flo know he wasn’t going anywhere. "You don’t have to apologize," Dave said, his voice soft. "I get it. Really. I messed up."

  Flo’s gaze snapped to him, disbelief flashing in his eyes. "You don’t get it, Dave. You can’t get it. This—" He waved his hand at the room, at the life they once had. "This is fucking suffocating, alright? Every corner I turn, every box I open, it's like I’m suffocating under all this… all this history. And I don’t know what to do with it. I don’t even know who I am without her anymore."

  The words spilled out of him faster than he could stop them. The weight in his chest grew heavier, suffocating him in a way that wasn’t physical, but deeper. He didn’t want to feel it, didn’t want to carry it anymore, but it was there, heavy and unrelenting.

  Dave stayed quiet for a long time. Flo couldn’t bring himself to look at him. He didn’t want to see pity in his eyes.

  Finally, Dave spoke again, his voice low. "I won’t pretend to understand what you’re going through, Flo. But I’m here, okay? If you need to shout, shout at me. If you need to cry, I’m here for that too. I’m not going to leave. Not after today. Not after all of this."

  Flo let out a shaky breath, still refusing to look at Dave. But his words pierced through the storm in his head, offering something he hadn’t expected—stability.

  "You're not gonna fix me, Dave," Flo said, almost a warning, though his voice softened. "You can’t. And I don’t need you to."

  "I know," Dave answered, his tone steady but gentle. "I’m not trying to fix you. Just... stay with me while we figure it out, yeah?"

  Flo finally looked up at him, a flicker of something—gratefulness, maybe—passing through his eyes. He nodded, then, almost as an afterthought, added, "Thanks."

  Dave’s response was quiet, but it held an unsaid promise: “Anytime.”