When Stella leaves Chicago, Sylvie thinks she finally understands what people saw when they looked at her after Matt first moved to Portland.
Because she watches Kelly go through the motions, looking like a lost little puppy without Stella by his side, and it twists her heart into knots.
And, yeah, somewhere in all the time they've spent together, she has started to think of him exclusively as Kelly.
It feels strange at first. Foreign, almost. And like, it's his name. But it doesn't roll off her tongue the way she feels it should.
It's not like she's never used his first name before, but those instances happen so infrequently and are usually reserved for something serious that it is a bit of an adjustment.
Kelly is miserable without Stella—understandably so. And the thing is, Sylvie doesn't think she is doing much better than he is—only that she's been dealing with it longer.
So she sucks it up, puts on her big girl pants, and drags him to Molly's alongside the rest of second shift. She figures if she at least keeps him occupied, he won't spend so much of his downtime moping and missing Stella.
And on the nights when neither of them feels like going out, she'll turn up at his place with takeout, or they'll make something together, so she knows he at least has some food in his system.
She willingly spends her nights watching the Blackhawks or Bears games with him. They are her teams, too, after all, and that's most likely how she would have spent her night without him anyway.
And she reluctantly endures nine long innings of a Cubs game because he asks her to. Baseball has never been her favorite. Though from the way there's a smirk playing on his lips throughout the game, she suspects he knows that, and it is retaliation for her making him sit through the Fixer Upper marathon.
Stella ends up working first shift in Boston, which takes a little time for her and Severide to adjust.
But somewhere around week three after Stella leaves, something clicks, and they hit their stride, and Kelly's whole temperament changes.
Sylvie has spent so much of her time making sure that Kelly is good—because she knows he tends to bottle everything up and not deal with it until it's too late—that she has neglected her own emotional needs.
And now Kelly is almost back to his old self, and Sylvie still feels like she is floundering.
And none of it seems fair anymore.
... ... ...
Sylvie hates this part.
She was never naive enough to think a long-distance relationship would be easy.
But she never could have imagined it would be this hard.
She knew it would only be a matter of time before the wave of frustration she feels at her situation builds enough to make her break.
So when it happens twelve weeks after Matt moves to Portland—and a multitude of missed calls, and broken plans, and three rescheduled visits—she isn't sure if she's surprised it happened so quickly or that it took so long to happen at all.
It's not like she wants to be the girl who spends her nights crying over her boyfriend. It isn't often these feelings bubble to the surface, and as much as she tries to keep them suppressed, sometimes she just can't help it.
She hates that the man she loves now lives on the opposite side of the country. They spent what felt like an eternity dancing around each other and denying their feelings for one another. After countless missed opportunities and miscommunications, they were finally together. Finally happy together. And it had only lasted a few weeks.
It doesn't help that Matt appears to be thriving in Portland. He seamlessly integrated into his new firehouse—slotting right in as if he'd always been there. And he has really bonded with Ben and Griffin. It's clear they adore him and Sylvie knows just how much he is enjoying getting reacquainted with them as the young men they are now.
Her frustration is always at the situation they've found themselves in. It is never directed at Matt and definitely not at Ben and Griffin. The boys are innocent in all this.
But the catalyst that set all this off? Another canceled date with Matt.
As much as it can be called a 'date' when they're two thousand miles apart. But they had arranged to hang out via facetime in the small window of time they had after Sylvie finished her paramedicine run and Matt was scheduled to start his shift. They were going to sync up a movie and watch it together.
It's not the epitome of romance as far as dates go. But when there's as much distance between them, sometimes that is all they can manage.
Sylvie was all ready to go when the text came through. She'd made her popcorn, poured herself a glass of rosé, and picked out a ridiculously sappy rom-com that would only take a mild amount of effort on her part to persuade Matt to watch with her.
She had been looking forward to spending time with him, is what she's saying.
But just as she was about to call Matt—literally, phone open in her hand, finger hovering over his contact—he had texted her, letting her know something had come up and he wasn't going to make it. A work thing, so she couldn't exactly fault him for canceling on her.
Sylvie pours herself another glass of rosé, brings it to her lips, and downs almost all of it.
This hadn't been her plan for the evening, obviously. Had she known this would happen, she would have gone for something stronger than a bottle of cheap rosé.
But this is where she's at, and this is what she's got.
Tears prick at the corners of her eyes, and she rapidly blinks them away, refuses to let them fall.
She misses Matt, and that's really no surprise to her. She knew she would miss him like crazy. But what does surprise her is just how much she misses their intimacy.
The voicemails he leaves her at these crazy hours have been great. And she loves their handwritten letters back and forth. But it just isn't the same as having a real conversation with him or feeling the warmth of his touch.
Adjusting to the distance is harder and has taken longer than she anticipated. And she honestly doesn't think it would hurt so much if Stella and Kelly weren't kicking ass at communicating with each other long-distance.
Her phone buzzes on the couch beside her, and Sylvie pounces on the text. Even though it's probably just a spam message—ten percent off at some store she doesn't remember signing up to. But she hopes it's Matt, and he's telling her he's available now.
All she feels is a pang of disappointment shoot through her when it isn't.
Though it isn't spam, either. It's Kelly, and typically, a text from him would not cause a reaction like this from her.
He's asking where she is, and she groans, sinking deeper into the couch cushions.
She was supposed to meet up with him at Molly's.
She hadn't forgotten. But after this afternoon, her battery was drained, and she couldn't bring herself to leave her apartment.
Her first instinct is to ignore the text—which, maybe that makes her a terrible friend—and she nearly does just that. But she knows Kelly and she doesn't want him to worry about her, so she sends back two words.
Sorry. Forgot.
It's all the energy she can muster right now. Of course, it's all a lie. But he knew she had plans with Matt, so maybe he'll assume she got caught up there. Even if he realizes what happened, she hopes that he'll just let her have this one and leave it be.
She pours herself another glass of rosé—nurses the drink this time, sipping it slowly instead of downing it in one gulp. Flipping through the TV channels until an old episode of House Hunters pops up, she settles back into the couch for the rest of the evening.
This will do just fine, she thinks.
Less than a minute later, there's a knock at her front door.
Which she ignores. Obviously.
Because she is in a right state and not fit to see anyone.
It's probably her weird neighbor from down the hall, anyway. The stoner who can't keep track of his keys and keeps locking himself out of his apartment. She'd usually help him, but she doesn't have the energy to deal with it tonight.
If she ignores him, maybe he'll think she isn't home and will move on to the next apartment.
When she doesn't come to the door within an acceptable amount of time, the relentless knocking starts up again. Louder now, and this time, it's followed by, "Open up, Sylvie!"
She sighs.
Kelly.
Now, either he has developed the ability to teleport since she last saw him, or, given how soon he showed up on her doorstep after she sent her text, he was already outside her apartment building when he sent his.
The latter seems like the most plausible option.
In hindsight, she should have expected this. Should have known he would have figured out something was going on when she didn't show at Molly's and he wouldn't leave her be.
And he is probably the only person in her life who is stubborn enough that he won't let her ignore him.
Still, she tries. She isn't in the mood for company—not even Kelly's. All she wants is to be left alone.
Kelly isn't the problem—she is. There is a part of her that appreciates how he's been such a great friend to her since Matt left. But there's a larger part that would trade it all in an instant if it meant Matt was still here and she wasn't constantly left disappointed.
So she stays put, pretends she doesn't hear Kelly's knocking—though how anyone could ignore the persistent banging, she doesn't know—and hopes he'll finally give up.
She takes another sip from her glass, attempts to focus on the show playing on the TV in front of her, and does nothing to stop the unexpected sob that catches in her throat.
Kelly knocks on her door again. "I can hear the TV, Sylvie," he calls out.
And even then, she thinks he is being kind to her. That he heard her crying, but doesn't want to say that.
Stupid thin walls.
With a groan, she tilts her head back against the couch. She knows he is more likely to break her door down than he is to leave.
And that is the only reason she caves, pulls herself off the couch, and gets to her feet. "All right, I'm coming."
She drags her feet across the living room, and when she pulls open the door, Kelly is standing there with a bag of takeout and a six-pack of beer.
He casually leans against the door frame, not uttering a word. Neither does she. But he looks her up and down, taking in her appearance, and she knows what he must see: the sweats and oversized t-shirt, the tear-stained cheeks and glassy eyes—not only from crying but the almost entire bottle of wine she's consumed.
She is a mess and is fully aware of that fact. There's no point in trying to hide it—not from him.
He tilts his head, lifts an eyebrow at her like he's considering something. Then he says, "Yeah, that's what I thought," with a slight shake of his head.
And all right. Asshole.
She scoffs at the remark. Though she didn't miss the tinge of concern in his voice.
She doesn't invite him in—never intended on it, actually. But after that comment...
Slamming the door in his face seems like a perfectly acceptable response.
He's apparently also developed the ability to read minds since she last saw him. Because he pushes off the door frame and steps into her apartment as if he knows what she is thinking.
She'd like to say something—come out with a witty retort to his insult or whatever. She even opens her mouth, only to close it a second later.
She can't think of anything to say that wouldn't come out sounding utterly pathetic.
So instead, she narrows her eyes at him and says, "I'm not hungry." Which is the truth.
Kelly glances down at the bag in his hand, and his lips twitch almost imperceptibly. "That's fine." He lifts a shoulder like he's unconcerned. "None of this is for you."
She snorts, rolls her eyes despite herself. "Liar."
As she watches Kelly remove his jacket and hang it on the hook beside hers, she has a thought.
Walking to the hall table, she grabs a set of keys from the top drawer, turns them over in her hand for a second. A heavy sigh escapes her lips as the all too familiar ache settles in her chest again.
The keys used to be Matt's. He'd had her spare set in case of an emergency long before there was ever a hint of anything romantic between them. But once they finally started dating, the keys had become a permanent fixture on his key chain. At least, that is what she thought.
Matt had returned the keys to her before he left for Portland—said he wouldn't have much use for them on his keychain all the way in Oregon.
And while she understands it just isn't practical for Matt to hang onto the keys, it doesn't ease the ache she feels in her heart that things have to be this way.
She turns then, and Kelly is standing right behind her. She presses the keys into his chest, leaves her hand there until he sets down the beer and brings his own hand up to take the keyring from her. He looks down at it, curious, and frowns.
Sylvie shrugs, dismissive. "Just let yourself in next time," she says as a way of an explanation.
Because, yeah, she definitely thinks there will be a next time. Especially if she and Matt can't find a balance with the whole long-distance thing.
Plus, Kelly is one of the only people in her life—who actually lives in close enough proximity—that (some other night) she wouldn't mind if he turned up unannounced.
Kelly nods. "Okay then."
When she turns on her heel and heads back into the living room, Kelly trails behind her. He stops off in the kitchen first, stashing the food away in the fridge, and grabs himself a beer from the six-pack.
Sylvie sinks back down onto the couch again, and he quickly follows suit.
Kelly takes a swig of his beer and eyes the empty bottle of wine on her coffee table. He seems concerned about it. He turns to her then, lips pursed, and looks at her like he's wondering if he should put a stop to it or something.
She does not appreciate that at all.
But he wisely chooses not to say anything.
Instead, he leans back against the couch, shifts around a bit, really makes a show of trying to get comfortable. He doesn't stop until she lifts a brow at him and asks, "Are you okay?"
He keeps his gaze straight ahead, but Sylvie sees the sliver of a smile on his lips. But he relaxes then, lays his arm across the back of the couch. "What are we watching?" he asks.
"House Hunters and I'm not changing it," she tells him firmly, shoots him this pointed look, and practically challenges him to protest.
It makes him laugh a little, and he holds out his hand, then, defensive. "Hey, I didn't say anything."
"For the first time ever," she retorts with a roll of her eyes.
Kelly turns his attention back to the TV. It's to hide his own eye roll, she thinks, and the stupid lopsided grin she sees forming at his mouth.
Despite herself, Sylvie feels herself start to smile, too. The first genuine smile she has allowed herself all day. She swallows thickly around the lump that forms in her throat.
He's quiet again then, and so is she.
But this silence between them... It isn't unbearable. It's a peaceful, warm kind of quiet.
It's actually sort of comforting—just having him here.
She feels like an idiot for trying to push him away.
Sylvie feels him tense beside her, and she doesn't know what that's about. He hesitates a moment, hand hovering just above her shoulder, before he lowers his hand to settle on her shoulder, gives it a brief squeeze.
He tilts his head, a thoughtful expression painting his features. "You ever notice how they always end up picking the house they're most critical about?"
"Stop." She laughs, swats at his arm. "Stop trying to ruin the illusion." But she goes back to watching a couple try and backpedal—explain why they chose the house they previously had nothing positive to say about.
He keeps his eyes locked forward, looks unexpectedly serious. "You know, no matter what, I'm always here for you," he says.
She leans into him and rests her head on his shoulder, lets her eyes close, exhales deeply. "I know," she answers softly.
And now that she does appreciate
... ... ...
The following morning, at the start of her shift, just as she has changed out and is about to stuff her station bag into her locker, Kelly rounds the corner into her row of lockers.
"Hey, Sylvie," he calls out, smiles at her from the end of the aisle.
She looks over just in time to see him toss something in her direction. She catches it easily, and it's only when she has it in her grasp she realizes it's a set of keys.
Her heart pounds in her chest, and she frowns down at the keys in her hand. For a moment, she thinks he's returning her apartment keys.
But Kelly isn't so callous that if he were trying to tell her he has no use for her apartment key, he would be smiling. Would he?
She quickly realizes, though, it isn't the same set she gave him the night before.
She lifts her head, gives him a questioning look.
His grin widens. He just says, "Ditto," and lifts one shoulder like it isn't some big thing before he turns and disappears.
Sylvie looks down, a slow smile creeping over her face, warmth spreading through her chest. She loops the keys onto her keychain, zips her bag and places it in her locker.