The apartment felt hauntingly still, as if the walls themselves mourned Sean’s absence. Yibo stood at the door, hesitating for a moment before stepping inside. He had been here countless times before, but now it felt foreign—like a place stuck in time, waiting for someone who would never return.
The faint scent of Sean’s cologne lingered in the air, and Yibo closed the door behind him, swallowing against the sudden wave of emotions that surged through him. He knew why he had come—to find something, anything, that could tether him to Sean. Something meaningful to hold onto amid the chaos of grief that had overtaken him since the funeral.
The apartment was neat, as it always had been. Sean liked things in order, everything in its place. The shelves were stacked with books, the couch still draped with the same blanket Yibo remembered from their movie nights. But despite the familiarity, there was an undeniable emptiness—a feeling that without Sean, these things were just objects, lifeless and cold.
Yibo wandered through the small space, trailing his fingers along the edges of the furniture. He didn’t know what he was looking for—just that he needed to find something that would bring Sean closer, even if only in memory.
He opened the closet first, running his hands over the clothes Sean would never wear again. A lump formed in his throat as he recognized a familiar jacket—one Sean had insisted Yibo borrow on a chilly night, even though it left Sean shivering. Yibo pulled it from the hanger, holding it close for a moment before draping it over a chair.
His gaze drifted to the bookshelf, filled with novels and notebooks. A picture frame stood tucked between two volumes—an old photo of them from their high school days. Sean was grinning, one arm slung over Yibo’s shoulder, both of them caught mid-laugh. Yibo traced the edge of the frame with his thumb, his chest tightening as the memory came rushing back.
But it wasn’t enough. He needed more—something personal, something only Sean could have left behind.
Yibo made his way to the nightstand by the bed. The top drawer opened with a quiet creak, revealing a collection of everyday items—loose change, keys, a pair of reading glasses Yibo didn’t even know Sean used. And then, tucked beneath a stack of receipts, his fingers brushed against something smooth and cool.
A leather-bound diary.
Yibo’s breath hitched as he pulled the diary from the drawer, the worn leather soft against his skin. Sean had never mentioned keeping a journal, and Yibo felt a strange sense of unease holding it in his hands. This was something private—something that belonged solely to Sean.
For a moment, he debated whether to open it. His fingers rested on the edge of the cover, ready to flip it open, but a sudden wave of grief stopped him.
What would he find inside? Memories Sean had kept hidden? Thoughts Sean never shared? Or worse—proof that there had been something Yibo had missed, something important he would never have the chance to understand?
He closed his eyes, pressing the diary against his chest as if holding it there would somehow bring Sean back. The ache in his heart deepened, and for a moment, he thought he might break under the weight of it all.
Yibo sat on the edge of the bed, the diary still clutched in his hands. The room felt too quiet, too heavy with absence. He could hear his own heartbeat, the steady thrum in his chest reminding him that life was moving forward, even if he wasn’t ready to.
He wanted to read it. Part of him was desperate to know the thoughts Sean had kept to himself all these years. But another part—the part still reeling from the loss—wasn’t ready for whatever truths might be inside.
After what felt like hours, Yibo took a deep breath and slipped the diary into his jacket pocket. Not today, he told himself. He would read it someday, but not today.
He needed time. Time to grieve, time to accept Sean’s absence, and time to gather the courage to face whatever was written in those pages.
Yibo stood, casting one last glance around the apartment. There were so many pieces of Sean here—fragments of a life lived quietly, without grandeur but with immense kindness. And yet, it wasn’t enough to fill the void Sean had left behind.
As he made his way toward the door, Yibo noticed a vase of flowers on the kitchen counter. White roses, their petals just beginning to wilt. His throat tightened at the sight. Sean had always loved white roses. He never explained why, but Yibo remembered how his face would light up whenever he saw them.
Yibo reached out, running his fingers gently over the soft petals. It felt like a final message, a quiet goodbye that Sean had left behind without words.
With the diary tucked safely in his pocket and the scent of roses lingering in the air, Yibo left the apartment, locking the door behind him.
He didn’t have all the answers yet, but he knew one thing for certain: Sean had left him with more than just memories. Somewhere in that diary lay the pieces of a puzzle Yibo didn’t even know he was trying to solve.
And when the time was right, he would open it.
But for now, he carried the weight of Sean’s absence in his heart and the promise of unfinished words in his pocket, hoping that one day, he would find the closure he so desperately needed.
