Thank you, Sunny, for knowing what Paris smells like. :[a And also for editing my s**t and making it sound nicer. QQ

Word Count: 902

The day after Paris moved out, everything seemed different.

The apartment was entirely too quiet. Anna was still around wagging her tail and looking for attention, but Paris was notably absent and Sassy gone with him. There was no music, no singing, no light footsteps coming down the stairs, no high chattering voice, no noise from the kitchen or the bathroom, no real sign that anyone else was in the apartment aside from Chris and the dog.

It was almost like Paris had never even been there at all—which seemed weird, because even before Chris had told him to move in with him, he’d invariably find some of Paris’s things lying around if he took the time to look. Now there was no extra toothbrush in the holder by the bathroom sink. Paris’s little figurines were gone, as well as all of his pictures—he and Paris together, Paris and Ladon, Paris with his parents as a little kid. There weren’t any skirts or heels or frilly blouses in his closet, just khakis and polos and nondescript shoes, and Chris thought he realized what Paris had meant about his wardrobe being boring when he looked in his closet that morning and didn’t see anything but his own clothes hanging from the racks.

The only thing Paris had left behind was a particular scent Chris had always associated with him, but which he hadn’t even noticed had filled his entire apartment until he smelt it when he knew Paris wasn’t there. It was strongest on the pillow Paris used, on the sheets that covered the side of the bed he used to sleep on, and in the bathroom where Paris would get ready in the morning—not a cologne; it wasn’t strong enough for that. It was light and sort of flowery, but lacking in any overpowering sweetness. He’d seen the little bottle plenty of times, clear with honey-colored liquid inside, but he hadn’t bothered to look at the label too closely, just enough to see that its name ended in “romance.”

He’d thought it was funny, because Paris always claimed he wasn’t the romantic type.

But that was all that was left—the smell of Paris and the memories—and Chris felt lonely in a way he never had before.

He tried to go about his day as he normally would. He woke up early to take Anna for a walk, and then came home to shower and shave and dress for his summer class. He grabbed coffee on the way, and a scone because he was hungry, and walked into class ten minutes early. He spent this time looking over his notes from last week and chatting with a few people, but when the professor walked in and class began Chris focused on his work and tried not to think of anything else. He took good notes and packed up only when the professor was done talking, even as everyone else shifted around restlessly and rushed to be the first to the door.

He did well until lunch time, when he made the trek to the cafeteria instead of sitting at one of the tables outside or finding a spot in the student union to dig into the lunch Paris would have packed for him. He didn’t mind the quality of the cafeteria food at all—sometimes he could even say he enjoyed it—and once or twice he might have been annoyed by the bagged lunch when all he wanted was a freaking cheeseburger, but there was something undeniably sweet and touching about the effort Paris had put into making sure he was healthy and well-fed.

He missed it already. He missed the cookies baked specially for him. He missed the little notes scribbled on napkins or stray pieces of paper—sometimes reminders, sometimes words of encouragement, or sweet little things to make him smile on a bad day. He missed thinking about what he and Paris might do when he got home in the afternoons, or being teased by his friends and classmates who thought the lunches were cute but funny and old-fashioned.

No one teased him now. Now all he got was confusion and concern and questions he didn’t really feel like answering, because it just made him realize how stupid he was for not appreciating what he’d had.

Chris ate a cheeseburger that day but didn’t find it very satisfying. Then he left the cafeteria for the gym and did his best to wipe the sadness and the loneliness from his mind.

The rest of the week passed the same way. He took more notes and answered questions and worked on his projects. He worked out in the gym and hung out with his teammates and practiced until he felt good about his development. He considered going out after but couldn’t think of anything to do, and even though a few people suggested some options, Chris’s heart wasn’t really in to being social.

He went back to his apartment instead, left his book-bag by the door and petted Anna when she came running. Then he inhaled deeply and smelt the scent that was unmistakably Paris, but he didn’t see or hear him.

Chris dropped onto the couch with his head tilted back to look at the ceiling, his hands hanging between his knees.

He didn’t know what to do with himself now that he was alone.