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the porcelain mug in lyle's hand is ice cold along with the winter air that fills the apartment and the coffee inside which has been sitting there for far too long. he refuses to call it their apartment, but it's not exactly his. it's just an apartment full of mistakes and memories he'd rather forget, or at least, memories he wishes wasn't plagued with an aching sadness.

he leans forward and places the mug on the glass top of the coffee table before crossing his long legs on the sofa and slumping forward. his pale fingers comb through masses of thick, honey curls before he pushes his glasses back up his nose. he used to spend his lazy sunday mornings with kai, however its 11a.m. and he isn't even awake yet; not that they'd speak if he was anyway.

as if on cue, the slam of a door echoes through the hallways followed by heavy, rhythmic footsteps. lyle sighs to himself and pretends to look out the window, the slight drizzle of rain on the abandoned street outside occupying his gaze. as kai passes by the doorway, the split second of seeing lyle sitting there causes him to hesitate slightly as he feels a sudden emptiness inside his chest. however, kai shakes it off; the transparent burden falling from his shoulders.

back on the sofa, lyle listens to the familiar symphony of sounds of kai making a coffee. the clink of the mug on countertop, bubbling of the kettle, buzz of the milk frother and hum of the coffee machine. it's relaxing and familiar, a painful comfort, a blanket woven with nails. the sounds draw to a close and kai enters the room, mug in hand. lyle doesn't look up, however watches kai's mismatched socks make their way towards the worn armchair.

lyle slides his phone out of the pocket of his loose, grey sweatpants. he doesn't have any desire to scroll through his social media once again, his instagram feed has run dry for now until accounts refill it with memes, try hard jokes and photos obviously meant to show off a luxurious lifestyle. his own instagram page remains almost blank, only five photos survived the mass delete of his breakup - quite pathetic.

finally, lyle decides that it's time to leave the room. as he rises to his feet, the air seems to almost shift alongside him. he can feel kai's eyes following him, causing his movements to become awkward, too manual, too calculated. but he still manages to make it to the kitchen, where his hip slams into the corner of the marble counter, his right foot tripping his left.

there's a shout, a crash and then a light tinkling noise which follows as the shards of the mug that didn't pierce lyle's side collide with the tile beneath him. he lies still for a moment before pushing himself up to a seated position, wincing as he sees where pieces of porcelain pin his shirt to his flesh, each marked by a circle of red. 

the apartment is too silent as lyle tears half of his mug out of his skin. as each bloodstained piece hits the tiles, he keeps subconsciously thinking of kai. does he know that less than ten meters away, his 'best friend' is sat on the floor pulling his pieces of his bloody mug out of him? does he know that he's the main cause of the tidal wave of suppressed emotions that's flooded the apartment?

but mainly, lyle just wants to know, does he even care?

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