gt oneshots

six

     Six days.
     It had been six days since Theodore died.
     Usually by now Leya would've already made her rounds about the kitchen and gathered up everything she would need for the day and started on the route to Theodore's room, but instead she remained in the darkness of the hole in the basement floor, with nothing but a shirt to keep her company.
     It was Theodore's shirt. But now that Theodore wasn't around to wear it, she supposed it was just an ordinary shirt.
     But it still carried the smell of his cologne, a lingering scent that sent her mind reeling for the memory of his hands around her and the tender graze of his lips on her face.
     When she woke up in the morning with the familiar scent of him hanging in the air around her, for just a brief moment before she opened her eyes, she'd think that nothing had changed at all.
     But that comfort never lasted for more than a minute or two. She'd feel the eerie stillness around her and realize that there was nothing but the dust bunnies under the floor to keep her company, and they didn't talk back.
     They didn't gather her up to hold against their great broad chest. They didn't slip a thumb under her chin and lift her head to press tender kisses against her face. They didn't hold her.
     Not like Theodore had.
     But Theodore wasn't there to hold her anymore, and it was silly to think he'd come back for her.
     Theodore was gone. He wouldn't be coming back for anyone.
     So as Theodore's mother and sister came into the house to pick up his cat and pack his things into boxes, Leya stayed hidden beneath the floor boards tucked into the folds of Theodore's shirt.
     They could take the rest of his things, his Gameboy and his friendship bracelets and his guitar, but they wouldn't take that shirt. Not Theo's shirt.
     So Leya waited. She waited for the heavy footsteps overheard to retreat, the realization that none of the voices that echoed above her belonged to Theodore finally sinking in.
     She wouldn't hear Theodore's voice again.
     And why should it matter? He was only a human, after all. Her mother would've been sick to know that her child had come into such close relations with a human boy.
     So Leya repeated those harsh words to herself. He doesn't matter. Not anymore.
     But it didn't make her feel any less empty.
     It was like a piece of her was missing, a gaping, Theodore-sized piece.
     Sometimes, when she began to doze off in the soft plush material of his shirt, she'd hear his voice again, like a whisper carried by the wind.
     He'd say different things. But tonight, it was "I love you".
     She remembered the first time she'd heard those three words from him, the way her heart swelled up in her chest in a way she couldn't quite explain.
     It was right after he'd first kissed her, a gentle press of his lips against her face that made her knees weak and had her wanting more. He'd said it, leaning in close so that she could feel his breath on her neck and she'd liked the brief warmth that came with it.
    It had been six days since Theodore died.
    And she didn't know what to do without him.