we depend (I depend) on you • jayvik

Jayce - Year Sixteen

Welcome home, Viktor.

I'm so glad you're home.

It's been a while since you've been here, so I apologize for the dust on the tables and the state of the carpet. Steb did his best to keep them clean, but sometimes we both forgot with everything going on. And everything that wasn't. And I hate to tell you this, but most of the beautiful bundles of flowers people sent you wilted in the windowsill. We had to throw them out, but they were nice to look at while they lasted.

Your boss sent a card in your absence. Sky sent a few. I know you read them – Steb brought them all home in a little canvas bag after you got through with them. They're on the bookshelf if you want to reread them, though I would advise that you threw them away.

You look small, Viktor. Frail. Steb wasn't wrong about that. It's most noticeable around your wrists and ankles, and where the sharpness of your bones peeks out from under your sleeves. Your face, too – it's thinner, and your eyes don't have the same golden shimmer that they used to... Your hair is longer now. And darker. If you'd like, I can arrange for a trim.

But even so, you're still beautiful. Despite everything you've been through since we've been apart.

That light in your eyes will return soon, my friend. I know it will.

I hate to admit it, but a lot has changed since you've been away.

Sky married a kind man from the academy. He's tall and has broad hands. We received an invitation to the wedding – both of us, and Steb. It came in a simple, cream-colored envelope sealed with violet wax. Steb stuck it to the fridge if you care to take a look at the sweet photograph that she had tucked inside for you.

You were still away when the ceremony was held. Apparently it was beautiful. Like a dream. She would have given anything for you to have been there.

The day after the ceremony, she came over around the middle of the morning and tucked a slice of cake into the freezer for you. It's strawberry-flavored, so I'm not sure you'll like it, but it's covered in heaps and heaps of cream frosting. You love frosting.

Sky didn't say much when she came in that day. She just said a quiet hello to me before her bottom lip started to wobble and her eyes turned glossy. She placed the key to our apartment that you'd given her onto the kitchen table where it could be found. Then she paced the kitchen tiles for a moment, picking up your things and putting them back down, and swallowing whatever words she wanted to say. Then she opened her mouth and her voice hitched. She choked on her voice. And then she apologized and said goodbye. I don't know why she was sorry, I wish she would have stayed. I would have loved to have stolen just an hour more of her day.

Steb says she brought her bouquet to the hospital for you. He says it was a stunning arrangement of golden flowers and fern. I think he also mentioned it sitting by your bed until it turned brown, withered, and died. I would have loved to see it.

Sky is a wonderful woman, Viktor. A greater friend. Her husband is a lucky man.

I'm not sure if Steb remembered to mention it to you, but we have new neighbors. Whoever used to live above us must have moved out because the afternoons are noticeably quieter. Especially around dusk. The relentless stomping that we used to hear overhead has seemed to cease, and the slamming of their doors no longer rattles the dishes in the cabinets. The elderly woman with the little cat-like creatures has gone as well - the kind one who used to bring over jars of homemade jam and loaves of bread. I don't know where she went, but she stopped by to say goodbye and stuck her wrinkled fingers through the mail slot. Her manicure was bright pink. She asked about you through the little crack, and I had to tell her you weren't here. She seemed disappointed, and slightly worried, and I think she understood what had happened. She didn't ask for anything else, and I was glad she didn't.

But she did offer to leave some perishables for you at the door, she said they'd be a nice treat for when you returned, but I wasn't sure when that would be, so I politely declined. She didn't linger after that. Just gave me a kind smile and let the flap squeak closed. Then she left. That was the last time I saw her. And her pets.

It hasn't been long since she moved out, but her apartment has already been filled. Two younger women live there now. I hear their laughter sometimes through the walls, light and musical, and it reminds me of happier times when we used to listen to music and laugh. I haven't learned their names yet, but they seem pleasant enough. Maybe when you're feeling up to it, we can introduce ourselves properly. I would love to go with you. In fact, I look forward to it.

Now for the uncomfortable part...

Viktor, I didn't want to be the one to tell you, but I think you should know – your job let you go.

The letter arrived through the mail slot three months and a week ago and unfurled itself onto the floor, as if it wanted to be read. They said they couldn't afford to keep you on with the uncertainty of your health and the amount of expensive projects piling up on your workspace.

You'd missed too many days. It was costing them too much money.

They gave you fifteen days to return, but when you didn't, a heavy envelope of bills and a bag of coin came tumbling through the slot the very next day. The coins went everywhere, and I spent the rest of the day pushing them into a pile.

I'm sorry, Viktor. I wish I could tell you it wasn't so.

Still, with everything continuing to feel so uncertain, I'm happy to see you home, despite how fragile you appear to be. You're still you. And I'm still me. And even though you have changed so much, I have stayed the exact same. It's strange, isn't it? It makes me sad.

But we've been through this kind of thing before, Viktor. We will get through this. Again. And again , if that is what it takes.

I love you, Viktor. You make me so happy.

Love, your bestest friend, Jayce.

∘ ∘ ∘