The door clicked shut, and the silence swallowed Elliot whole.
For a moment, he just stood there, staring at the empty space where Theo had been, his chest rising and falling like he'd just run a marathon. His hands were trembling. No, not trembling—shaking so violently he had to grab the edge of the kitchen counter just to stay grounded.
"Fuck," he whispered, the word cracking in his throat. "Fuck—"
He slammed his fist down on the counter. Once. Twice. Hard enough to feel pain shoot up his arm, but not hard enough to drown out the ache clawing at his ribs. He paced the room, back and forth, his thoughts spinning, eating at him like vultures.
He's gone.
The words hit like a punch to the gut. He hadn't believed it—not when Theo was crying, not when he said they were done. Theo had said stuff like that before, but this time… this time felt different. This time, Theo didn't even look angry. He just looked broken.
And Elliot hated himself for it.
"Piece of shit," he muttered under his breath, running both hands through his hair so hard it hurt. His chest was tightening—tightening until it felt like he couldn't breathe. Why did I have to push him like that? Why the hell can't I just—just shut up for once?
He grabbed his phone. His thumb hovered over Theo's contact, over that stupid photo of them laughing last summer at the beach. God, Theo had sand in his hair, and Elliot was trying to kiss it out of him. He bit his lip so hard it almost bled.
His finger shook. He typed:
"Please. Don't leave like this. I'm sorry."
He stared at it. Deleted it. Tried again:
"Theo. I didn't mean it. I—"
Deleted.
With a sound that was half-growl, half-sob, he threw the phone onto the couch. It bounced and landed face-down.
Elliot collapsed into the nearest chair, burying his face in his hands. His breath came in ragged, uneven gasps. He tried to swallow it down, but the tears came anyway, hot and relentless. He pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes until all he saw were blotches of red and white.
"I don't even know who I am anymore," he whispered into the emptiness. The words barely made it past his throat.
The apartment felt wrong without Theo in it. Too quiet. Too cold. Elliot glanced at the door again, half-expecting Theo to walk back in, hair messy, cheeks streaked with tears, ready to scream at him again—anything would be better than this silence.
But the door didn't move.