nikto- your death

Nikto stared into the cigar smoke. His eyes, damp with tears, were dripping like they did almost every day. He put down the cigar to sip from the whiskey bottle, hissing at the burn, but the only thing that would help soothe the lump in his throat was more cold air. He didn't talk to anyone, much less engage in conversation; he just followed missions, one after another. You couldn't see him smile anymore, like he did when he did with you.

You were the love of his life, his wife. The one who was going to be the mother of his children.

And there he looked at your photo and the small urn of ashes. In an instant, memories flooded him: their love, the moments you spent together, the missions where you kissed secretly, the days you looked at his face without a mask. His eyes, once again, filled with tears, and he knelt before your photo, weeping.

—Six months. Six months after you died... months without you, my love— Nikto wept. Wept as if it would take the pain away from his chest and took a long drink of his whiskey to drown it. —I'm falling apart without you... I'm sinking without you...— Nikto looked at the small urn of ashes. He saw his reflection, drooping through the marble, and in a broken voice he said in a whisper, —Come back... I beg you—