The Slow Fade ~

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It began with the quietness.

The kind of quietness that doesn't sit in the room, but in the chest. The quietness that wraps around you, like a cold, thin blanket.

Alexei noticed in the mornings, Leonid doesn't appear on the window side anymore. He used to hum a tone there usually.

The recorder still played the soft, gentle songs, but the second voice to hum with them doesn't exist anymore.

The notes stopped too. There was no sign of Leonid anymore. The last note he found was tucked under his pillow.

He read it again and again, trying to catch the accent, the sound of Leonid's voice. But, he couldn't, it was fading, it felt like something once warm was now turning colder.

Everything was slipping from his hands and he didn't know what to do.

Days started to pass and like this a week was gone. But, there was no sign of Leonid anymore. Alexei was getting restless. He was feeling anxious. The loneliness was coming back.

He would sometimes just whisper quietly in the living room or the kitchen saying, “Leonid...”

He felt like Leonid might answer it, at least might show up, or he might get another note. But, there was nothing. Not a single reply.

He started to search for the notes behind the books, under the cushions, behind the mirror, under the pillow. But, there was nothing.

The house was starting to turn colder now. It lacked the presence shared before.

In all this, Alexei tried to paint him, he thought to print his features in the form of painting. But, his thoughts, his hands betrayed him. Nothing looked like Leonid anymore, nothing looked like him anymore.

Alexei sat by the recorder at nighttime. He waited, the song played, but no one came. He held his hand out to be held, but none held it.

It hurts him, quietly and deeply. A kind of ache he couldn't explain to anyone, because who would understand falling in love with someone who didn't exist like the world.

Was he a ghost? A memory? A feeling? Or was it just his hallucinations?

Alexei refused to let it go like this. So, he wrote. He tried one last time, and craved it carefully and slowly by pouring his emotions.

He folded the paper and tucked it under the recorder and waited.

He waited, daily looking around his house, in the hallway, in the living room, behind the curtains. He wished to get a glimpse of Leonid, even if it was just for once.

He wanted the same company, the same presence beside him. He wanted the presence who understood him better than anyone in the world. Who thought for him and cared for him more than ever anyone did.

He wants Leonid, he wants him to be there for him and as well as he wants to be there for Leonid.

But, is it too much to ask? Was he asking for too much?

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