Everything in your house is the same as it ever was. All of your dishes are stacked in the sink, your mail is piled on the hall, the floors need a good polish: Sero kicks off his shoes and quietly observes it all, soaking in the familiarity.
Because the second he sees you, things will no longer be normal.
The usual was thrown out the window months ago, when you strolled up to his apartment and announced you were dying.
"Terminal," you had said. "Less than a year, probably."
Neither one of you had cried in that moment. Nothing had been tangible yet. He thinks, maybe, he had even laughed at the thought. The idea of his longest friendship ending so abruptly, so early felt impossible.
Today, as Sero walks into your living room, it's real.
From your indent on the couch, it takes a moment for you to even process he's entered the room. You full body jump, scrambling to grab the television remote.
"Oh-" you throw a hand over your heart. "You can't scare me like that."
Sero cackles as he leans against the wall. A rerun of your least favorite show is playing. Turns out, even when your time is limited, you still like hate watching things.
"Did you think I was that fox again?" Sero asks and you gasp indignantly.
"Oh my--" You toss your hands up in the air with an insulted scoff. "I swear to god that actually happened. Cross my heart!"
The animation returns to your face when you laugh. It makes Sero's heart ache to see that you haven't faded, even as your body goes.
"I told you. I literally left my front door open to take out the trash and I turn around-" Sero's heard this story at least a fozen times, but he nods along like it's new. "That fox was in my doorway! Just looking at me like-"
Your eyes widen and bulge. It's a familiar lyrics good for impression, Sero thinks. He can picture it's red eyes boring into his.
"It just watched me and I watched it watching me. Then it turned around and calmly walked away, like it was no big deal." The spike of energy in your voice is fading. You settle back into the couch with a placid look, watching him with a passive interest.
Sero strolls over and joins you on the couch. You move your legs to give him room, but he pulls them back over his lap.
"You're so full of shit," he says. "I've lived in this city my whole life and I've never seen a fox."
The smile on your face splits wider. The two of you sit with it for a long while, watching the subtitles on the television flip by. Sero keeps his hands on your ankles, squeezing them as if it's a shape he needs to remember.
What are the things he should be holding on to now? Should he be having grand conversation with you, something kind of final, impossible talk that's going to make the inevitable easier?
"When I die-" you say suddenly. "I'm coming back as a fox and I'm going to sneak into your house."
"Really?" Sero asks. He's no longer playful, just genuine. "You're gonna be a fox?"
You shrug with one shoulder, never looking away from the screen. It's getting close, he thinks. There's nothing he can truly pinpoint, but there's something about you that's slipping away.
"Yeah, why not?" you muse. "There are worse lives."
"Okay." He squeezes your ankles again. "I'll keep an eye out for you."
Sero considers saying that he loves you, or that he can't imagine the world without you, or that the grief he's already carrying feels so ridiculous because you're still here, still in reach but all of it feels unfair to say. Instead, he holds it in until the corners of his eyes burn and his breathing hiccups.
"Or maybe an oarfish," you say. "That'd be sick."
Sero palms away his tears. "You just wanna play Animal Crossing."
"Busted." You crack a smile. "Can you grab another carton of ice cream for me? The last one melted."
Yesterday's container is half full and completely melted, sitting on your coffee table, but Sero gets up anyway. He tosses you your switch, then strolls to the kitchen.
"You can't just eat garbage, you know," he calls back. "It'll kill you."
Your guffaw rings throughout the whole apartment. "I'll eat garbage all I want."
It's three weeks later when he passes your place again. A big, red sign is in the window declaring it's for sale. Your parents had placed your furniture on the curb and the neighbors had already claimed all of the pieces, including your misshapen couch. Sero knows there is no piece of you in any of those items, but it feels cathartic, like spreading your ashes across the street.
There's one trash bag on the curb, filled with things your family didn't want. He wonders if you threw out your vibrator before you died, or if it's in that black bag, fully charged, never to be used again. An animal is picking at the plastic, rustling at the plastic.
"Pst," Sero calls out to scare it away. "Scat-"
A head peeks up and he catches red eyes, wide and bulged, boring into his. A fox, with bits of garbage stuck to its muzzle. It regards him for a long while, watching him watching it.
"Hey," he says. "You're supposed to be at my apartment, not yours."
The animal doesn't blink.
"I'll-" A wave of sorrow hits all at once. Every tear he didn't shed, every joke he didn't tell or story he didn't share, every little moment that'll never happen. It hits like a train, right into his forehead. It's the calm kind of cry, the one without gasps or sobs, but an abnormal amount of tears rolling down his cheeks.
"I'll keep the door open for you, okay?" he whispers. "Just visit soon."
The fox turns and lopes off into the dusk.
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