A month almost now, that’s how long it had been since Alexandre had shown up or answered his texts. Every time the door chimed at his store, he had hoped it might be them bringing espresso or that painting they had spoken of on New Year’s Eve. Each time he was disappointed to find it was just a regular customer and it hurt. The first few nights had been ok, it would have made sense that the other needed some time to figure out how to bring something like that over but as his texts went unanswered one after another, it was starting to settle in how he really felt and how they might have run away because of it. Now things were eating him away as he fell into his old habits.

The first week he stayed over at the shop at night, hoping they might show up after he closed up, hoping for any sort of news or even a single response to the texts he had sent asking how they were. It hurt, the feeling of being shut out by Alexandre. What hurt, even more, was the realization of how used to their visits he had gotten and how the thought of going back to the way things were before he met Alexandre seemed even less appealing than just staying curled up in the backroom each night and hoping they would respond.

Everything else still ran smoothly, even if a few of his regulars could tell something was going on with him. Rene was still just as attentive to his work but there was a lot less joy in what he did, a weariness in his eyes as he watched the door constantly hoping for one person to walk through it. Little nicks here and there where he shaved while distracted, jumping to his phone any time it pinged in hopes it was Alexandre. Every bit of him was just a little less clean and tidy, more splotches of paint left on his pants or counter as he tried working through things and painting from memory instead of the scenes he saw in his shop. Small little paintings he created of the small snow rabbits or other things that reminded him of the other but the colors weren’t as bright and vibrant as he normally would have painted. Everything was duller, less clean, and put together compared to his other paintings but he wanted to try getting the memories down either way.

His ankle was healed by now but he still rarely wandered as he had before, spending only as much time as was required at his apartment to get laundry done and pack a few things here and there to bring to his shop. One by one he went through the bottles of wine he had, trying to drown himself as he kept playing over that last night in his head. What had they said, had he said? What could he do? He didn’t even know where they lived on top of the fact they hadn’t given him any other way to contact them. It didn’t help that he still only knew a small part of the city, only what he could reasonably walk to since he really didn’t have the best knowledge of where he could park without getting towed throughout the city.

Finally, after three weeks had passed, he left just one short voicemail apologizing to them through tears and letting them know that he missed them. When nothing came from it, he could feel those last few strings slipping through his fingers. He’d messed up and who knew if they would ever come back. It ate at him so he had to try doing something different, something to fill that void again. After a few more nights spent at the shop with no visitors and updates, messages left unresponded to, he went back to what he knew he was good at. If they really were gone, did it matter if he went back to those old ruinous habits of his? If they really felt nothing for him outside of the arrangement they had before, would it matter if he went back to the way things were before? He felt hollow, lonely, and so full of doubt which were all very new and uncomfortable ways for him to feel.

Going back to the bars each night after work, he knew the company could be bought one round at a time. At first, it was just to drink, to try and not think about things but then he slid back into the flow of things he’d been doing before. More and more bills left to pay for a table’s round of drinks as he settled back into things. It didn’t make him feel any better where it mattered but it felt less lonely even as the faces and names blended together. That small little bit of him still clung to the hope that one day Alexandre would show back up in one way or another, even if nothing else would come of it. No matter how many bottles he went through or nights that he burned though, there was still that little part as he stumbled back to his shop or apartment.

Sitting at the counter, he looked over the first little painting he had done at the museum that first time they’d met. It felt horribly unfair, even though he knew he had run from his home over that arranged marriage. With it getting closer and closer to Valentine's Day as well, he felt even worse about things. Sure he could find some other lonely someone at a bar that night to have some company but it wouldn’t be who he wanted to spend it with. He couldn’t even be sure if Alexandre would pop up to rescue him again if some sort of oddity or thing cropped up again and put him down like the rabbit holes did. All manner of things could happen here in this new country but he never thought he’d fall in love and be so horribly left behind.

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