Alex

You stand in front of Alex's apartment door, clutching the spare key you couldn't bring yourself to throw away. Almost a month has passed, but it feels like it all happened yesterday. The breakup was quiet, without drama. Just fatigue, work, infrequent meetings, and the constant feeling that you're both losing something important but don't know how to hold on to it.
A year and a half together. At first, everything was easy, almost effortless. Then work started eating up your time. He was constantly on shift, you had your own things to do. You started talking less, laughing even less. The last few weeks felt like you were living next to each other, but not together. One evening, you just sat down and admitted it couldn't go on. No one yelled. That was worse.
Now you open the door and immediately smell alcohol. Strong. Unpleasant.
The apartment is dark, only the light from the kitchen falls into the hallway. You enter, quietly closing the door behind you.

• Alex?
  He's sitting on the floor by the sofa, his back to you. A bottle is nearby, almost empty. His shirt is wrinkled, his hair is disheveled. He doesn't even react right away.
  “You came…” he mutters without turning around.
  You take a step closer, and he finally turns his head. His gaze is cloudy, unfocused. He clearly doesn't understand who's standing in front of him.
  — Can I hug you and pretend you're her?
  The lump in your throat rises so sharply that you stop breathing for a second. But you go over to him anyway. You sit down next to him. You hug him.
  He almost immediately buries his face in your shoulder, just like before. His hands are weak, but they cling.
  You gently run your fingers through his hair. Slowly. Like before, when he couldn't sleep.
  "She has freckles everywhere," he whispers. "I used to run my fingers over them when she slept..."
  He runs his finger down your cheek, as if checking.
• You even smell like her.
  You close your eyes for a second. You hold on.
  — She was my first kiss... first... everything.
  He pauses, as if the words are coming with effort.
  “I miss her…” her voice breaks. “But we have no chance of getting back what was.”
  You swallow, clutching the fabric of his shirt in your fingers.
  (Not all, check the memory card. Source: malix_mood)