Alin took another large gulp at whatever the barman had handed to him and tried to process what he'd discovered, but failing.
How could Tsvetan be dead? It just wasn't possible. He had been in Alin's life for years now. He was a constant. Tsvetan was supposed to be his best friend until they were old, or at least until they were finally murdered by all the people they'd pissed off over the years. If they were gonna go, then it would've been together. Or with Alin dying to save Tsvetan. Not like this. He never wanted it like this. If he'd have known the repercussions, he'd have walked out of Tsvetan's life a long time ago. And now Tsvetan was probably dead.
And even if he was still alive, what chance did Alin have of finding him? What was even happening to him right now? Was he in unimaginable pain? Was he being tortured? Beaten? Was he even still in the city or country? Alin didn't want to think of the terrible things that could be happening to Tsvetan whilst he sat in the warm, comfy club slumped over the bar trying to drown his sorrows.
He couldn't even begin to think about how he was supposed to live without him. He just wouldn't be able to.
And what about his family? Though Alin hadn't met the people, they pretty much knew all about each other (minus Alin's dodgy activities) and were extremely fond of each other, treating him like another family member. Especially Tsvetan's mother, who had looked after Tsvetan and his siblings as children whilst their father worked, and absolutely loved him to bits. She was always sending knitted items to the pair of them and at the start of every winter the two young men always awoke to find parcels filled with woolly hats, scarves, jumpers, blankets and all sorts of things Mrs Borisovo had spent all summer knitting ever since Tsvetan had mentioned in a letter how much colder it was in America during the winter. Alin had even spoken to her on the phone, though he couldn't understand her mix of English and Bulgarian- as well as the occasional Romanian word- very well.
She must be devastated now. Of course she would! He was her oldest child. Her baby boy. She still imagined Tsvetan as the small child who followed her around smiling happily. He could just imagine her, sitting at her kitchen table with her husband, children, and grandchildren. She would probably be holding an unfinished blanket or letter for Tsvetan, one she'd never be sending.
"I suppose you saw on the news then," Ivan, the owner of the club, slid over and sat next to him.
"It's unbelievable," Alin shook his head, "how could anyone do anything like that to Tsvet. What had he done to deserve it?"
"From what I hear he was beaten up and dragged into a car," Ivan told him, "at least that's what the police are saying."
"What?" Alin whimpered, "who could do such a thing?"
"In all honestly," Ivan looked him dead in the eye, "there are rumours going around that it was you. Your fight was pretty suspicious- according to some people- and his murder was either an act of revenge or to silence him for something. Some of the staff here weren't too happy about me letting you in the club tonight."
"It's not true," gasped Alin, "you have to believe me it's not true!"
"Don't worry," Ivan winked, "I told them you were innocent. Besides, seeing you in this state, I can't believe for a second that you're a killer. That and you don't even have a car."
"Thanks," Alin sighed, "I know it's bad, being in a club like this so soon after finding out but…"
"Can't bring yourself to go home?" offered Ivan.
"That's it! How can I go there? Everything will remind me of him. Where he used to sit, all his books- where he'd folded down the pages to mark where he'd got up to- and his smell," Alin shook his head, "if only I could spend the rest of my life drunk, and not have to face the pain of losing him."
"You'll have to face it some day, my tiny friend."
"I know, but I don't know how to," Alin buried his face in his hands.
He looked up, glancing around. Ivan's nightclub was old-fashioned and classy, with small tables dotted about and a stage in the middle, which contained a grand piano and two young men, one playing, one singing. Nearby, two girls- Ivan's sisters- sat at a table, watching them perform and cheering, well, one was cheering, the other just looked bored.
"Do Toris and Ed have to play such miserable music?" he whined.
"It's not miserable, just slow," Ivan pointed out, "it's to set the mood."
"Sure…"
"Hit us again, Francis," Ivan called to the barman, who nodded and filled their glasses with a clear liquid, smiling sympathetically at Alin, who just scowled. He didn't need Francis' sympathy; Tsvetan was the one who needed sympathy, and mourning.
"Don't glare at me like that," Francis sighed, "we all miss him. Look, do you want to stay with Ivan or myself for a few days, until to get yourself together a bit. Losing someone is hard… but we'll be there for you, okay?"
"Thanks Frankie," Francis' eye twitched at the nickname, but he didn't comment on it, "I really appreciate everything but… I need some time on my own. You know, to…"
"Grieve in peace?"
"Yeah…" Alin sighed and stood up, knocking his drink back and staggering slightly, "well, no point in putting off the inevitable, I bid you both good day."
"Take care of yourself," said Ivan, "please don't do anything stupid; you know Tsvetan wouldn't want you to."
"Course…"
…
Alin sat on the steps in the darkened hall outside his apartment, not having the resolve to go inside and start a new life without Tsvetan. Instead, he just sat there, staring at the stationary front door below, wishing with all his heart that Tsvetan would just walk through it. Such a simple action, but one he'd never do again. The last time he ever saw Tsvetan, he'd left through that door, full of anger and misery, let down by the one person he trusted most. So different from the first time they'd met, in the same spot, all those years ago.
…
*One morning, several years earlier*
…
Tsvetan rang the buzzer then stood, nervously hopping from one foot to the other, straining his neck as he looked up at the building before him. It was tall, and slightly run down, but homely-looking, and Tsvetan hoped he'd be accepted. He took the ad he'd cut out of a newspaper out of his coat pocket to read over again, shifting the strap on his backpack. Yes, he definitely had the right address.
The door opened and he came face to face with a grinning young man a few years older than he was. The man was dressed casually, in a long-sleeved purple t-shirt and scruffy jeans. His hair was scruffy too, covering his ears and nearly covering his reddish-brown eyes.
"Are you Mr… Radacanu?" asked Tsvetan, reading the name from the advert.
"Yup, please call me Alin though; Al and Ali are acceptable names too," Alin grinned, "so what can I do for you?"
"Uh," Tsvetan began, "I'm here about the ad, you know… for the roommate thing."
"Ah, another contestant vying for a place by my side," Alin leaned against the doorframe, raising an eyebrow, "so tell me, what makes you think you're worthy of staying here?"
"What?" asked Tsvetan, "I don't know? Erm, well if you let me stay, I'll pay half the rent."
There was a slight pause before Alin spoke again, "fair enough; come inside."
"Thanks," Tsvetan grabbed the handle of the small, wheeled, suitcase that stood next to him and went to step inside.
"Hold on a sec," Alin held out a hand to stop him and sniffed Tsvetan.
"What was that for?" the man cried.
"Well, if there's a chance that we're gonna be living together and being around each other all the time," reasoned Alin, "then I at least want you to smell decent."
"And do I?"
"Could be better, I have to admit," Alin shrugged, "still an improvement on the last guy, though; he smelt of fried onions and processed cheese. Still, please have a shower or something if you get accepted. Oh by the way, what's your name?"
"Tsvetan Borisov."
"Well, Tsvet, shall I show you to you potential new home?" Alin offered, walking across the hall to the stairs, kicking up dust covering the dark red carpet.
"That would be nice," Tsvetan made to follow him, but tripped on the frayed welcome mat he'd not seen. He yelped and almost fell flat on his face but Alin caught him just in time, holding him almost bridal-style.
"Hey you okay mate?" he asked.
"What are you doing Alin?" a man who appeared to be in his late fifties walked in through the front door and over to an apartment on the ground floor, laughing and shaking his head, "no wonder you scare away all your applicants."
"He tripped; I caught him, Mr Vargas," Alin shrugged, setting Tsvetan down, "no harm, right Tsvet?"
"Sure," Tsvetan dusted himself down and smiled politely at Mr Vargas, who cheerily waved back before entering his own apartment.
"Ah old man Vargas is a nice man," Alin grinned, "lives with his three grandsons. If you need anything and I'm not around, feel free to ask them."
"Really?"
"Yeah, well, lets go see the place then," Alin began walking up the stairs, "try not to fall over on your way up."
"Hey it was a one time thing! Just lost my balance, been a bit tired lately," Tsvetan picked up his suitcase and began carrying it up the stairs.
"You're fucking eager," Alin raised an eyebrow, eyes on the case, "you know you're not moving in today, even if you get the place."
"Well, I kinda have to carry my stuff around now," Tsvetan averted his eyes.
"You're… homeless?"
"Yeah, been sleeping under a bridge for the past week," replied Tsvetan.
"So I just… told a homeless person to go take a shower?"
"Kinda, yeah."
Alin banged his head against the wall, "fuck! I'm so sorry mate."
"You didn't know…"
"Oh, what happened to your old place?" Alin took the suitcase and carried it up the stairs for him, "here, let me help you."
"Cheers, well, I had to leave pretty sharpish," explained Tsvetan, "my old roommate was… shall we say… unpleasant. He kept mocking me, for lots of things, and every time his friends came over they'd be horrible too and… well, I don't really want to talk about it. Let's just say things got a little scary and I thought it would be best to get the hell out."
"You poor thing," soothed Alin, "well, I promise I'll be a lovely roommate! You know, if you're accepted."
"Thanks."
"So, here it is," when they reached the top floor, Alin strode through an open doorway into a disorganized living room, setting the suitcase down by the door, "sorry 'bout the mess."
"Hey, I'm a college student; I've seen far worse," joked Tsvetan.
"You're in college? What are you studying?"
"Psychology," Tsvetan beamed proudly, "it's one of my passions."
"The others being…?"
"Singing and baking."
Alin's lips thinned, but he said nothing.
"Yeah, I know it's kinda girly sounding-"
"Not that," interrupted Alin, "it's just, we don't do cooking here. Don't touch the oven, ever."
"Why?"
"Because I said so," growled Alin, then his face softened at Tsvetan's fearful expression, "sorry, I didn't mean to come off all aggressive; I promise I'm not like that really. Look, trust me when I say it's better to order food, or eat cold stuff."
"Fine, I can live with that," Tsvetan shrugged, taking off his backpack, "so where's my room?"
"Right this way," Alin opened one of a pair of doors next to each other. Tsvetan jogged over and peered in to find a tiny room with a single bed shoved against the opposite wall with a battered wardrobe and bedside table making up the furniture. The whole room was filled with bulging bin bags and cardboard boxes.
"Ah, sorry about the clutter," Alin looked at Tsvetan apologetically, "I promise to have it cleared away before you move in, err, if your application is successful."
"'Course," Tsvetan had one last glance around the room before exploring the rest of the flat, which really was just the main room, a tiny bathroom and Alin's room, which was 'closed to the public' apparently.
"So that's about it," concluded Alin, clapping his hands, "any questions?"
"Well, I wouldn't mind knowing what you do for a living," Tsvetan shrugged, "just curious."
Alin chuckled, slapping Tsvetan on the back, "plenty of time for that later."
"I see," Tsvetan sighed, "well, I guess that's about it, right?"
"Sure, I plan to inform the successful applicant on Monday, so look out for that," Alin began showing Tsvetan to the door, "I mean, I don't have a phone and you don't have an address to write to or anything, but I'll think of something."
"Okay, well I'll await your… whatever, with great anticipation," Tsvetan grinned, picking up his backpack and suitcase, "see you then."
Alin stared at Tsvetan as he began to leave, lip quivering. The poor kid looked so pitiable it made his heart pang.
"Hey, wait!"
Tsvetan turned around and looked at him curiously.
"You got the place!" Alin threw his arms in the air, "congratulations!"
"Really? I thought you had other people coming to see it."
"Yeah, doubt it," Alin shrugged, "so what do you say, roomie?" he held out his hand, smiling hopefully.
"Why not," Tsvetan shrugged and shook his hand, "thanks for letting me stay."
…
Alin shook the memory out of his head, and stood up, stumbling slightly. Tsvetan would never walk through that door again and Alin would just have to accept that, no matter how hard that would be. He fumbled with his keys, having to attempt putting the key in the lock three times before finally succeeding.
Before opening the door, he rested his forehead against it, letting out a cry of grief before finally stumbling in.
He'd still had that tiny shred of hope, that Tsvetan and everyone else was just playing a massive prank on him and that his best friend was waiting just inside, ready to yell 'surprise!' and jokingly scold him for being an ass. Then Alin would promise to always listen to and respect him, and honestly mean it, and then they'd curl up on the couch and eat, watching movies like old times. But those hopes were crushed when he opened the door to his empty apartment, same as he'd left it, but with one small change…
Alin tried to focus his eyes on it, and when he eventually saw what it was, sobered almost immediately.
"Oh God, no, don't let it be what I think it… oh Tsvetan… I'm so sorry."
