A Song For You//[Thonny]

Chapter Thirty-Four

The days after Jonny's death didn't feel real. Time passed in a distorted haze, where hours felt like minutes, and minutes dragged like years. Thom didn't know how to exist in this new reality where Jonny was simply gone. He wandered through the house like a ghost, his steps aimless, his mind fractured. The silence was unbearable—crushing and suffocating, a void he couldn't escape.

Thom hadn't slept. His body ached, his eyes burned, and his head pounded with the weight of it all. But the worst pain was inside, deep in his chest, where the grief sat like a stone, heavy and immovable. It clawed at him, ripping through every memory, every word, every moment they'd ever shared.

He found himself sitting on the floor of the living room at Jonnys house where he had been staying and refused to leave. Jonny's coat still hung by the door, his shoes neatly lined up beside it. Thom couldn't bring himself to move them. It felt like if he touched them, he'd erase the last tangible pieces of Jonny that remained.

The phone rang at some point the day after Jonny died—Ed's voice cracked and trembling on the other end. "Thom... is it true? Is Jonny...?"

Thom couldn't answer. His throat closed up, his breath hitching as he fought back another wave of tears. The silence must've been enough because Ed let out a broken, "Oh my God," before hanging up.

Phil came over that afternoon. He stood in the doorway for a long time before stepping inside, his usual warmth replaced by a hollow, distant look. "I—I thought maybe this was all some awful mistake," he said, his voice shaking. "I thought... maybe he was okay."

He wasn't.

Andy showed up the next day, his face pale and his expression blank. Thom didn't remember calling him, but he must have. Andy stood awkwardly in the doorway, his hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets. "Thom," he whispered, his voice breaking. "What happened? How... how did this happen?"

Thom couldn't answer him either. He couldn't answer anyone. All he could do was sit there, nodding mutely as Andy pulled him into a hug. It should have been comforting, but Thom felt nothing.

Colin hadn't been in touch. Thom didn't blame him. Colin had lost his brother, and Thom had been the one to find him. There was no repairing that chasm, no way to bridge the gaping hole Jonny had left between them.

Thom tried to distract himself, but it was futile. The house was a tomb, every corner haunted by Jonny's absence. The mug Jonny had used the morning before was still on the counter at Colins house, the faintest ring of coffee staining the bottom. Colin had picked it up once, holding it in his trembling hands, but the weight of it made him crumble. He set it back down and walked away.

By the third day, Thom hadn't eaten. He couldn't stomach the thought of food, his body rejecting even the idea. His reflection in the mirror was gaunt and hollow-eyed, but he didn't care. What did it matter now?

He left the house in a daze, his feet carrying him to places he didn't consciously choose. The snow crunched under his boots as he wandered aimlessly, the icy air biting at his skin. At some point, he ended up at the bridge, standing at the edge and staring down at the frigid water, willing himself to step over the edge and not fight the rush of the stream. The thought of it was like a knife to the chest, and he turned away quickly, his breath hitching.

When he got back, Ed was waiting for him on the porch. His eyes were bloodshot, and he looked like he hadn't slept in days.

"Thom," Ed said softly, his voice raw. "You don't have to do this alone."

Thom shook his head, his hands trembling as he unlocked the door. "What's the point, Ed? He's gone. It's done."

They sat in silence inside, the air heavy with unspoken grief. Ed stayed, though. He didn't leave, even when Thom barely acknowledged his presence.