"Stick close," America had said, fixing him with a beady, ominous stare. "In case you need liberty."

It was as good a reason as any to move, and it wasn't as though he hadn't been searching for a reason. In an almost daze, Kostya had wandered to the basement, picking out room B02, as it was directly across from America's quarters. There: orders followed.

It had been five hundred and twenty three days, six hours and twelve minutes since he'd moved in with Mimsy, and he was about to snuff it out in less than an hour. It was hard to believe that so much time had already passed since his arrival at Deus: the days had slipped away from him as surely as she had.

He had been stagnant; and with that stagnation came a reliance on the status quo: being invisible, following orders, and existing as unobtrusively as possible-- And look how far that had gotten him. Yes, it was time to change, but the idea of it still felt like lead in his belly.

Mentally reviewing the inventory of what he'd accumulated in the last year, Kostya scowled.

By his calculations, all his personal items were few and far between:

- 3 pens, black.
- 2 notebooks.
- 1 phone, standard issue.
- 1 toiletry kit.
- 1 straight razor.
- His glasses.
- 1 messenger bag.


He owned next to nothing, and it definitely showed. He put the items into his messenger bag, setting it down on the ground by the door, so as to not forget it.

Next, Kostya went through all his clothes, laying them out on his bed:

- 4 short sleeve shirts, band variety.
- 2 turtlenecks, in grey.
- 1 pair of cargo pants.
- 1 pair of jeans, faded.
- 2 white undershirts.
- 1 pair of sweatpants.
- 7 pairs of boxer briefs.
- 1 pair combat boots, worn.
- 1 Standard issue coat and scarf.


All clothing articles, save for the ones he was wearing, fit neatly in a cardboard box he'd been using as an end table. (Previously, it had been full of books donated by Allan: a hundred or more copies of Pikachu, I Choose You. Those books were now all stored beneath his raised bed, never to be found again.)

The process of cataloguing physical things left Konstantin with a feeling of peace, and it was an easy distraction from the gravitas of the situation. He let mental calculations of numbers and shelf dates overtake any pensiveness, and turned a new eye to the items left on his floor. Mostly food stores, which he had divided into three categories: in case of emergency, in case of annoyance, and feeding Mimsy.

Carefully, he organized what he he would leave for Mimsy first:

- 2 dozen bottles of water.
- 1 can opener.
- 5 Jars peanut butter.
- 1 large jar trail mix.
- 4 boxes saltines.
- 3 boxes granola bars.
- 5 bags of various dried fruit.
- 10 large cans freeze dried foods, various flavors.
- 12 cans tuna.
- 3 months of women's multivitamins.
- 12 various pilfered MREs, in case of emergency.
- 6 large bags of astronaut ice cream.


Placing the items into an open cardboard box, Kostya rummaged around the room until he found one of (her) markers. In bold letters, he wrote her name on the side of it, and placed it at the foot of her bed.

Vaguely, Konstantin realised he should be writing a note to accompany it, but the act of putting his thoughts to paper made him immensely uncomfortable. If he was less of a coward, perhaps he would have spoken to her in person; but he did not want her to alter her behaviour for his sake. She was a grown woman, welcome to her prerogatives, and it was time for him to acquire some of his own.

Perhaps it was an excuse. Perhaps he was bitter. Perhaps it was all of the above; Konstantin didn't care to analyse it.

The remainder of the food got put into an old television box with a duct-tape reinforced bottom:

- 12 bottles of water.
- Various spices.
- 30 energy bars.
- 2 boxes of cereal.
- 12 cans of B&M Brown Bread, boxed.
- 4 large cans freeze dried foods, various flavors.
- 4 cans tuna.
- 3 months of men's vitamins.
- 4 bags various dried fruits.
- 2 bags powdered milk.
- 4 jars peanut butter.


It was less than what he'd allotted to Mimsy, on the whole, but if that wasn't the defining factor of the relationship, he didn't know what was. He gave without question, she took without asking, and they supported one another as best they could.

Nonehtless. The items fit comfortably into the box, which had his book collection at the bottom.

(He had already removed Mimsy's books, and had set them on her bed to do with as she pleased.)

General emergency and wilderness survival items were last:

- 2 4-person survival kits, each one the size of a duffelbag.
- 24 thermal blankets, in a box the size of a large book.
- 50 handwarmers, same size as blankets.
- 24 paracord/firestarter bracelets.
- 6 crank-powered waterproof flashlights.
- 2 crank-powered lanterns.
- 3 complex first aid kits.
- 5 containers of Potassium permanganate, 100g each.
- 6 emergency fishing kits.
- 24 butane gas cans, the size of a spray can.
- 2 pocket stoves, with 500 fuel cubes.
- 1 cast iron pan with lid.
- 5 camping utensil/plate kits.
- 1 multi-purpose knife.


There was one final box left to use, and the remaining supplies had filled it. Assessing the room, Kostya strained to think of any objects he might have forgotten, and found himself coming up empty handed.

"Heh." The scoffing laugh was thunderous in their quiet room. There was no scratching of pen against paper, no quiet muttering of hypotheses, no dutiful tapping of fingers against a phone's keypad. Shuffling to sit on his stripped bed, Kostya desperately for something else to do.

Because if everything was packed, that meant there was nothing to do but write. No longer could he ignore that he was the one doing the abandoning. That he was changing, finally outgrowing her as she already had. That Mimsy would likely not notice his absence for days.

Flopping backwards, Kostya tore his glasses off, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands.

How would she live without him? Would she remember to do her laundry? Would she remember to eat and drink-- should he text her reminders about meals? About showers? Visit sporadically to clean? He knew Mimsy, and that's what made leaving so difficult. He knew her quirks, her habits, her priorities, her positive and negative traits-- all that he had seen was filed away into his mind for analysis. With the knowledge came an implicit understanding of how Mimsy functioned. Despite the bouts of clear insanity, or near insanity, she was still a known variable. Solve for M.

He knew that. He knew all of that.

But what he didn't know was why it hurt so much, as of late. There was a knot in his chest that had taken root months ago. As the days had gone by, his doubts and worries only intensified. He could speak to her but not truly communicate, unable to find a way to talk that would make logical sense. The tangle of emotions he felt seemed to think of Kostya as the betrayer, the first to take the step away.

Kostya refused it, because she had left him first, had left him so long ago, if he was being honest with his assessment of their partnership.

He had used the term friendship, in previous months. He was no longer sure if it was an apt term, as he grew increasingly aware of the fact that friendship was something that neither of them were truly capable of.

The hurt only intensified with these thoughts, so he exhaled sharply, and decided that it was time to do what he'd been putting off since he'd walked in. Kostya had come into this partnership quietly, so it was only suiting he leave it quietly, too.

Borrowing a pen and an empty page from one of Mimsy's empty journals, he began to write.

nothing yet
Hello Mimsy.

Over past few months, things changed. Less time here, more time elsewhere. Is fine: are very busy, many experiments and boyfriend to worry about.

Am thinking, that time is good now to move. Basement open up, more rooms. Am in B02. Visit any time.

Left supplies for you in box. Remember to drink water, eat food, and shower.

Not end of anything, just change. Have give spare key to quartermaster.

- K. Bashmet


He left the note on her pillow, and carried the first of the three boxes downstairs. He repeated the process until nothing was left in Mimsy's room, and closed the door behind him.

He traded his key with the quartermaster, receiving an iron one in its stead. He dragged the boxes into his new room, After he was done, he looked at his watch, settled onto his new bed.

It had been five hundred and twenty three days, seven hours and thirty two minutes, and now he was alone.