John's POV
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Ah, another morning. Huh, Stu's not in here to wake me up. Wonder where he went.
The warm sunlight shines down onto my cold face from the curtain drawn window, and the growing kitten nuzzled up into me sunbathing. My door's closed so I can't see if Stuart's still here and hasn't woken me up yet or if he had an early shift this morning. My guitar sits in the corner, untouched and the leather strap still hanging on it, matching the journal beside it. I should really get back into writing. A weight settles in my stomach as that thought sits in my brain, making it hard to collect a deep breath. Don't cry, it's what she would have wanted for you. She was always the one to believe in me. I sit up in bed and rub my face, patting my cat's glowing head. She looked up at me with her green eyes with distaste written all over it, and stretched out her neck before laying back down.
I throw on a simple grey t-shirt and carefully pick her up, cradling her like a baby and tapping her damp nose much to her dismay. "Let's go find your other daddy, shall we?" I ask, expecting no answer in return only for her to start purring when I mention her other caretaker. I roll my eyes and open the door, walking out into the living room area. I readjust her so she's more comfortable in my arms as we look together. I call for his name more at a piano level, taking a gander into the kitchen and then walking down the hall back to our rooms and the bathroom.
"Stu? You here, mate?" This time it's only a creepy echo of my voice as I open the door to his room to find it empty except for the furniture. "Here, I'll set you back on the warm bed." She gracefully jumps from my arms and begins to make circles on the blankets and embarks on the process to remove any speck of dirt I may have got on her. "There ye go, Iris. At least one of us can spend all day in bed and not get lectured by people." I joke. I walk over to my closet and grab some jeans from the shelf below my hangers and snag them on with a little bit of elbow grease. Hey, they might be tight, but it makes my stomach look flat so that's all I care about.
The guitar raises a dagger stare towards at me, even if I can barely see it through my peripheral vision. No, stop. It's not your fault. Life happens sometimes. People die all of the time. No reason to make such a big stink about it. I snap my head out of it and proceed to walk into the bathroom and reach for my contacts case. I take one out and place it on my eye, burning a little because it has been sitting in the cleaner for a bit, but it's nothing I can't handle. I've been doing this for a while. Anyway, I put the other one in and repeat the eye flinching to get the stinging to disappear. I walked past my bedroom, the stringed instrument lingering just a few feet behind me like the inevitably of death.
I looked at it, my heart slowing as it leaned against the wall lifeless. The metal strings that haven't been changed in nearly a year now, the cherry stain stroked on, my initials carved into the head by the knobs by hers. I was merely fifteen years old and wanted people to know they couldn't steal it because it was a gift I had gotten the past Christmas and was so obsessed. Not even my closest friends were allowed to touch it. Even now there's only been three people who have touched it besides me.
Her. The pure joy in her eyes when she handed the wrapped box to me, cold from the outside with pink cheeks. The warmth in that hug when I attacked her when I saw it was something I had been pining after. Her airy laugh and soft kiss she would always lay on my forehead and cheeks, leaving a lipstick mark and I would have to rub it off.
"I'm back! And I got croissants!" A muffled voice called from outside my room, blocked out by the tears pooling in my eyes and my shortening breath. A dog whistle rang in my ears, closing in on me.
".....John? I said I bought-......Oh, John." I fell into the arms of my roommate, my vocal chords letting loose and freeing the seal on my lungs and tear ducts. I screamed against his sweater, tears dampening the wool as I clung on harder. He just rubbed my back, leaning his head into my shoulder.
