#schaltt

Schlatt blinked as the sunlight poured through the windows of your - no his- bedroom. He looked at the empty spot besides him. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he went to your shared - fuck! No his closet- and grabbed a pair of clothes. Ever since you left he couldn’t stay in the house you guys bought together, he glanced at the corner of your side of the closet, tilting his head a bit, he picked up a shirt that was near your old shoes. With moving and all he’s been finding more and more of your old stuff. He looked at it with cold eyes. It was the shirt that held so much memory for you. His mouth turned up words slightly, the memory of you telling him about the shirt, from when he picked you up to when he dropped you off reminiscing in his head. He remembered everything.

His eyes watered and he threw the shirt on your old side of the bed and walked straight to the kitchen. Opening a cabinet he didn’t even bother closing, he grabbed the whiskey that sat in the corner and poured a glass. He downed it and looked up at the cabinet. There were two mugs left. He had pretty much packed the whole house away, he was leaving tomorrow, all he had was your stuff and a few things he didn’t wanna move. The mugs sat perfectly next to each other. The thought of them being your first dishes you guys had in the house together to the last broke his heart more then it already was. He closed the cabinet and grabbed the bottle of whiskey. He had to keep packing. His mom and yours had offered to come and clean your stuff for you but he declined. He wanted to be the one to pack it up. He finished fairly quickly, all he needed to do now was label the boxes and move them near the front door so they can go wherever they will go. Most likey to his next apartment, but he didn’t mind. He started moving them and soon labeled them with a black sharpie. Your name written in his big, messy handwriting. He went to the room and laid down, setting his alarm.

He woke up to a loud ringing coming from his phone. He quickly shut it off. Today was the day. Your shared apartment was no longer his and yours, it now belonged to whoever the fuck the realtor sold it to. He didn’t bother getting their information. He got up and walked to the bathroom, splashing water on his face. He went back to the room, sitting on the edge of the bed, phone in hand. He knew the reminder that he was gonna see, “fuck it.” He grumbled, taking a full look at his phone.

You told y/n you loved her two years ago today

He removed the reminder away from his notification screen. Not only did he tell you he loved you for the first time, he told his mom that he loved you as well. He chuckled, remembering when she said he was too young to know. But he knew, and god did he show her and you that he knew. Two years. Two fucking years. He was gonna marry you. He was gonna be the fucking father to your kids. He pushed the thought away. A knock came from his door and he stood up and walked to the front door. His mother and father pulled him into a hug immediately. This was going to be a long day. When they finally finished loading all the boxes into the moving truck his mother told him she would be outside and his father gave him a firm squeeze on the shoulder.

It was time to say goodbye. He slowly closed the front door and walked around. He glanced back at the front door. He smiled and remembered how he threw you over his shoulder and walked into the house together as the official buyers. He had set you down and you looked up at him with so much love. Oh to see you look at him with that much love again. He started walking more, already feeling the tears fall. The living room where you would always decorate for the holidays. The kitchen where you both would dance to Frank Sinatra and bake or cook. The bathroom where you guys would wash each other’s hair and bodies if the other was feeling down. His gaming room, where he spent endless nights with you on his lap, editing a video. Your gaming room where you would stream or make YouTube videos and because of the way the room was set up, your webcam faced the door perfectly so he could easily interrupt you. Something he loved to do. The bedroom where you both slept together, cuddled into each other almost every night. He walked back into his gaming room. Guilt and regret filled his body. He should’ve been the one picking up dinner that night. You were supposed to go together but he had an hour left of streaming and you told him it was okay. You smiled and kissed him, telling him you would see him in twenty minutes so you guys could stream and eat and play games. You were suppose to come back. He should’ve gone. He should’ve fucking gone, made you entertain the stream. He should’ve been hit by that drunk driver, not you.