Ronan sits up slowly, the heavy duvet falling away from his chest. The morning air in the bedroom is chilly, but he doesn't seem to notice. He leans forward, burying his face in his hands. His shoulders shake, but there is no sound, just a profound, suffocating silence that seems to press down on us both.
"I knew," he whispers through his trembling fingers. The words are barely audible, scraped raw from the very bottom of his throat. "Deep down, I think I always knew. Even on the first day, when I heard you walking in the hallway... a part of me knew it was impossible. But every time I looked at the spot where you used to sit, my brain just... filled it in. It painted over the empty space."
He drops his hands, staring at my fading, shimmering form. His eyes are red, swimming with a grief
