My Immortal

Hanna stood in front of the apartment door and just stared. He looked at the number 306, which was now fixed so that the 6 was hanging properly in its place, and not flipped upside down any more. It didn't read the dreaded 309 that tended to cost him a bit of business, but that didn't really matter to him right now.

Not like he was in the paranormal business any longer.

He sighed and reached for the door knob before remembering that the door was still locked. He fumbled around in his pockets before remembering that he didn't have the keys.

He gave them up when he moved out of the apartment, after all.

It didn't matter much to him, though, because it wasn't the first time he'd forgotten the keys before leaving. His undead roommate always locked up after he left, or sometimes Mrs. Blaney when she wasn't harassing visitors.

It was why no one had moved into the apartment yet. That was sort of lucky…

Hanna sighed and pulled out his wallet until he fished out the overly beaten and battered (and long expired) credit card that he used in these situations. He skillfully opened the door and walked inside, closing it before turning to look at the now-barren apartment.

It was strange to see the apartment as it was now—not because it was empty, no; there was barely anything in it when he was living here to start with—but so clean. The walls had been clumsily repainted with a fresh coat—but he was still able to see the splotches and messes that were on the wall from before—and the carpet had been half-heartedly shampooed, and some of its original color was actually showing.

It looked much, much better than when he used to live there. It was almost unfair…

Without moving from his spot, his head slowly swiveled to take in the room. There was where he'd put the couch. And there was the chair that was usually his laptop's resting place, unless they needed the chair for something else, which was common.

How long has it been since he'd lived here? Ah yes, 4 months, 8 days, 17 hours, and 25 minutes…and 52 seconds.

53, now.

He had long since moved to Conrad's apartment. Or rather, was forced to move—since he refused to go back to his apartment. Veser had decided to stay with Ples in order for Hanna to have room at Conrad's apartment.

…It was now 4 months, 8 days, 17 hours, 26 minutes, and 12 seconds.

Hanna forced himself to move away from the door. Hesitantly, he took a step away from the door, which took more effort than he'd ever believed possible. The second step required less effort, and the third, even less.

He was fighting the memories with each step. Oh how much he wanted to lose…

Soon enough, he found himself standing in what used to be his bedroom. He turned his head slowly as he looked around before he shuffled to where his mattress used to lie. He sat down on that spot he would always sit down, and was a bit surprised that he wasn't sitting on the mattress. He really wasn't used to the fact that it wasn't there…

But it wasn't there. Hadn't been there for the past 4 months, 8 days, 17 hours, and 35 minutes.

He sighed and closed his eyes. He pretended that he really was sitting on the mattress, and that his laptop was in front of him. He pretended that this was a normal afternoon for them, where he would come back from work, tell his roommate all about how his job went, and then settle in front of his laptop for some recreational time.

And it was so, so easy to pretend. To go back to the good times…

It was almost 6 o'clock now, which meant that his roommate would get up to prepare dinner soon. There would be pans and pots and other utensils clanging in the kitchen, maybe the sound of something sizzling, and hopefully, the sound of the oven door slamming, signaling that a baked potato was in the works.

His food was always so, so delicious. Sure, Conrad's cooking was great, but it had nothing on his cooking. He knew what Hanna loved to eat and what he didn't and always kept that in mind…

Hanna used to sit and listen to these sounds. They would be the background music to his session of rest and relaxation. It was strange, as they always managed to lull him into a sense of security and laziness, and he usually wouldn't want to get up from the computer unless he was starving. So, when the clanking in the kitchen stopped and Hanna hadn't rushed to the dinner table, the undead would always call out—

"Hanna! Dinner!"

Hanna's eyes shot open. He was greeted with the sight of his empty room, but he didn't even see it—because, had he really just heard?...

Of course not. He was gone now. Gone to a place where he wouldn't be coming back from. He'd been gone for 4 months, 8 days, 18 hours, 3 minutes, and 27 seconds.

"H-Huh?" Hanna said aloud, eyes wide and expression one of shock. Surely, it must have been his imagination, but it sounded so real, and, if it really was real, then his roommate would call out again when he didn't hear any movement from Hanna.

"Come on, Hanna! Dinner!"

Hanna's eyes widened more, and he slowly swiveled his head towards the door of the bedroom. His breath was coming out in gasps—it couldn't be. There was no way—

Of course there wasn't.

Hanna scrambled to his feet as fast as he could before sprinting out of the room to the kitchen. If he was there—if he was there…!

He wasn't there.

Not that Hanna expected him to be.

A lie—Hanna fully expected him to be there; wearing the shabby apron as he finished setting the table. Why, why, WHY couldn't he be there?!

The familiar and overwhelming sense of loss came back to Hanna. He shuddered at the sudden return of the feeling before sinking to his knees in the doorway of the kitchen.

Why….why…why…WHY?!

He just wanted him back. Was it so much to ask for? To ask for the sense of normalcy that he had for the prior few years? To ask for the sense of comfort and security that came along with such a good friend? To ask for the delicious food and the warm glow of his eyes?

Hanna let out a loud, wretched wail that would have put a banshee to shame. He clutched at his hair and pulled as tears streamed down his face. He sobbed loudly before letting out another wail. It was just too much—much, much too much. He couldn't take it.

So he called out as loud as he could. He called out for his roommate as loud as he could. He called out with each and every name his roommate had liked before calling out the rest.

He was stuck now. So, so stuck.

"Please, just please come back…"

He wasn't coming back. Ever.

Hanna's loud cries slowly decreased in volume until he was whispering to himself. His hands had left his hair to cover his eyes, knocking his glasses to the floor.

He didn't know how long he had cried, but suddenly there were footsteps behind him; light, almost silent footsteps.

Conrad's. Not the heavy footfalls of his dear, dear friend.

Mrs. Blaney must have let him in…

The footsteps got closer and stopped next to Hanna. There were now hands on his arms—soft, slender, pale hands—trying to get him to stand up.

Conrad's hands held no gentleness to him. They weren't kind and gentle and firm the way only his dear friend's hands were.

He missed him so, so much it hurt beyond any pain Hanna ever felt.

He shook the hands off of him and cried louder. He didn't want to leave—he didn't want to leave!

He just wanted his friend back!

Conrad wouldn't let him be, however, and slowly coaxed Hanna to his feet. He then steered Hanna towards the door, helping him shuffle along as the redhead's tears made him blind. The vampire had picked up Hanna's glasses earlier, because he knew Hanna wouldn't even remember them until a long while after.

They reached the door, and the creepy land lady was waiting for them with a bored expression on her face. She let them out before locking the door behind them, tonelessly telling Conrad to make sure Hanna didn't return again.

Just like he had been doing for the past 4 months and 8 days…

And just like he would be doing tomorrow.