#dcwtsig

Cramped, barely legible words were scrawled over the mountain of boxes, the ( now barren ) room smelling strongly of noxious Sharpie fumes. Jaerd sighed deeply, going briefly lightheaded at the scent. He didn’t bother opening a window: it’d be pointless - he’s leaving anyway. 

Moving day. October 7th, circled twice in red ink on the Kittens Monthly calendar now tucked carefully away in the bin marked “OFFICE SUPPLIES”. His whole life packed up in boxes, ready to be shipped to his new home across town. It was such a jarring sight-- to look across the room and see an empty closet where sweaters and rain jackets used to hang, to have pictures and mementos filed away instead of painstakingly positioned on shelves. To have the last four years of his life tucked into cardboard bins. Soft, muffled laughter drifted in underneath the door, along with the smell of breakfast, and Jaerd hunched over further in his spot at the edge of his bed. He looked forward to the silence that would come with a new, empty apartment. 

He looked forward to being alone. 

Not that living with Kaylee and Liza had been a hardship all the time. Sometimes it had been nice. Kaylee shared his passion for his mother’s recipes ( passion being eating everything he cooked ) and living with her meant he’d see Tris, too. Two birds with one stone, or whatever. And Liza...

Liza.

Jaerd stood, bare mattress squeaking at the movement. He didn’t think she even knew that he was moving out. She’d been too busy fraternizing with the enemy to notice the boxes Jaerd had been secretly bringing to his room over the past month, ever since he’d decided to dig into the blood money from his family’s death and buy a new apartment for himself across town: as far from Liza and her boyfriend as physically possible without flat-out leaving Sheffield. Seriously. Jaerd had done his research. 

Ten months ago, Liza would’ve been helping him find a new apartment. Actually, ten months ago Jaerd probably wouldn’t even be moving out because he wouldn’t have felt suffocated and trapped in his own home. Ten months ago he wouldn’t have been begging for more shifts at the library just so he wouldn’t have to go home and risk falling into a stilted conversation with Mr. Tall Dark and Best Friend-Stealing. Ten months ago: life without Mikhail Talbot ruining everything. 

Jaerd adjusted a box so its corners matched up with the one stacked beneath it, his mouth turning down into a deep frown. He wondered if Liza would miss him, or if she’d even notice he was gone at all. She was awfully invested in Mickey; it wasn’t that much of a stretch. Absently, Jaerd began picking at the tape holding the box together with his fingernail, eyebrows furrowing further. He tried not to think about this. The idea that Liza could easily forget about him, forget the last sixteen years of friendship over a... a guy. He couldn’t comprehend it, truthfully. 

They had been close for as long as Jaerd could remember. He’d always had Liza by his side. She was the only one who put up with him for more than an hour at a time. Through thick and thin, it was always Jaerd and Liza -- Liza and Jaerd. When Jaerd’s mom had died, when he lost everything, when he wouldn’t eat or leave his room or talk to anyone because life was meaningless, Liza was there. Jaerd trusted her with his everything, though he’d never admit it because he could barely admit it to himself.

The absurdness of Liza choosing someone, especially a romantic interest, over Jaerd would’ve made him laugh. Like, snorting, ugly laughter. Liza had always had more important things than boys to think about. That’s what made her such a good friend. She was too smart for love! Too smart to be fooled by the Hallmark holidays and chemical tricks the brain tried to pull. That’s what Jaerd admired about Liza -- that and also everything else about her. Look, Jaerd chose his best friend carefully, alright? Except... now they weren’t really best friends. 

Jaerd eyed the mountain of boxes, eyes focusing on the one marked “BOARD GAMES”. He scowled.

Every Tuesday, Jaerd and Liza played chess. It wasn’t like, tradition, but it was definitely tradition. Until a month and a half ago, when Liza hadn’t come home from work at her usual time. Which was fine, because Jaerd needed to finish this book while he waited. And waited. And waited. Until the book was finished, the noodles he’d made were cold, and it was apparent that maybe this chess night wasn’t as big of a deal to Liza as it had been to him. After he’d cleaned his mess, packed away the chess board, and closed his door for the night, he’d heard the front door open and Liza enter, but before Jaerd could get out of bed and make a snarky comment about her tardiness, he heard Mickey’s voice too. That night, Jaerd pulled his covers up over his head and mourned his friendship with Liza.

There was a honk from outside that jolted Jaerd from his thoughts, and he peeked out the window to see a moving van parked out front. It was time. He picked up the nearest box -- “PHOTO ALBUMS” -- and opened his door with his free hand. Standing where he was, he could see Mickey and Liza wrapped around each other in the kitchen, their noses bumping as they talked. Jaerd looked away, gripped the box tighter as he took determined steps toward the front door.