It felt good to be productive. To get something done. Not only in the small bubble of work, where even if he did something the whole day, there was nothing physical to show for. Nothing to touch afterwards, no dirt under the nails to clean out.

So it felt good to just do something.

To just put on some music and get moving.

Even if the girls disliked it greatly, when he cleaned like this. It was too loud for them. Too much happening after so much nothingness.

It still felt good. Even if he didn´t clean all rooms. Just those he used frequently.

And today it didn´t even hurt.

Maybe this was, what healing was about. Those days of lightness and productiveness. He still thought of Alex, but it didn´t hurt to lift her things up to clean. It didn´t hurt to rummage through the rooms and see her in every detail.

Maybe with enough time, those days would take over the dark ones.

Maybe he could love and embrace her and still move forward.

He wanted to try, at least today.

His hand lingered on the cupboards drawer. It was old. Very old, even antique.

Alex had loved it, brought it into their first flat and had them carry it to every new on. Had always looked mad, when he mentioned, that the old and heavy thing was annoying to move and didn’t fit right in with the rest of the flat. She had just rearranged some things quietly the next day, so it stood out less.

She always had kept her bag on top of it. Where it still stood, untouched with a slight layer of dust on it.

Inside had been a storage for a lot of things through the years. Currently it held most of her art supplies. Her acrylics. Her books on her favorite painters. Canvases, watercolors, brushes. It was an assortment of half an art store.

He balled his hand to a fist.

And opened the top drawer with a huff of determination.

Her sketchbooks. Notebooks filled with various things. Some he had been allowed to look at, some not so much. Was he allowed now?

He picked up one of them. A dark green one, thick and worn. It was heavy in Flo's hand. He could see a lot of papers looking out of it. Attached by tape, clips or just loosely squished in.

He opened it random in the middle. On the left was a drawing of Musica playing in the garden, chasing a bee. Munchkin laying in front just lazily watching her sister. On the right was a sketch of him. But not really. This sketch was him, but it seemed perfect, more perfect then he saw himself.

A sudden silence stopped him in his tracks. Then his phone, that had played music until a second ago started ringing.

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He shut the sketchbook and put it back in the drawer. And closed it, he was unsure if he could muster up the strength to look into the drawer again today.

Flo looked at his phone and hesitates. Paul, Alex brother was calling him.

“Hey Flo”, Paul's voice came through the line. His voice sounded warm, but it had that certain sadness to it, that never really left. “Just checking in. How´re you holding up?”

Flo paused, unsure what to say “I´m… managing. You?”

“Same old, same old”, Paul tried to sound nonchalant. “My Mom is celebrating her birthday. She wants you there, but doesn´t want to ask. She isn´t sure if you still want to be around. After.. you know.”

Yeah, he knew.

“Sure, I´d love to.”

“I´m gonna send you the details and hint to my mom that I talked to her. But maybe you could text her as well?”

Flo made a non committal hum. It was hard to text and interact with people that shared his grief.

The line was silent. Flo watched a bird jump around outside his window, searching for something.

“I should have called her more.”

Flo remained silent. He knew the churning guilt all too well. It mostly crept in slowly, during quit moments. Whispering reminders of what could have been, what could have been done differently.

“You are part of our family. You always were and always will be. She loved you. So we love you. I know, we haven´t exactly been best friends, but I would like to come over some time soon. Just to… I… “ It was evident, that her brother had no idea what to say.

“It´s alright. I will be around more again. I will text your mom about her party. And you know, you are always welcome to visit the girls. “, Flo took the lead. It felt productive.

“Thank you. See you around.”

After the call ended, Flo stood in the silence, mind swirling. He glanced back to the old cupboard. His assumption was right, he couldn´t bear to look at it. Again.

With a sighn he turned his back and left the room.

He tried to find his lightness from before, but it felt like he was slowly growing heavier and heavier by the minute. That´s also what healing was about.

Flo wandered into the kitchen, hoping a cup of tea might settle his nerves. The kettle rumbled to life as he leaned against the counter, staring out the window. The rain had stopped, leaving behind a shimmering garden. Musica and Munchkin were perched on the windowsill, their tails twitching in unison as they watched a brave sparrow hopping along the fence.

A faint smile tugged at his lips. “You two have it all figured out, don’t you?” he murmured. The sound of his voice felt strange in the quiet house, but the cats flicked their ears in acknowledgment.

As the kettle clicked off, Flo poured the steaming water into his mug and watched the tea bloom. He thought of Paul’s words—“She loved you. So we love you.” It was comforting, in a way, but also a stark reminder of what he’d lost.

“Maybe I should let him come over,” Flo murmured to no one in particular. Musica meowed, tilting her head as if to answer.

The thought of Paul sitting here, talking about Alex—or worse, not talking about her—made Flo's chest tighten. He didn’t know if he could handle the heaviness of shared grief. But wasn’t that what Paul had been trying to say? That they were all connected through her, even in their sorrow?

He pulled out his phone, opening the conversation with Paul that hadn’t been touched since the funeral. The last message was from Paul: “If you need anything, just say the word.” Flo stared at it, feeling the familiar sting of guilt. He typed and deleted a few messages before settling on something simple:

“You can come over next weekend if you’re free. Let me know.”

Flo hit send before he could overthink it.

He sipped his tea, letting the warmth seep into him. Maybe he could text Paul’s mom later—just a simple message. It didn’t have to be much. Small steps, he reminded himself.

The sketchbook drifted back into his thoughts. He’d opened it without thinking, but now, the weight of what it contained lingered like an ache in his chest. Maybe he’d look through it again tomorrow. Maybe not. He wasn’t sure if he was ready, but then again, would he ever be?

With the message sent, he forced himself to his feet. He wasn’t going to let the rest of the day dissolve into the shadows of what-ifs. For now, the tea was enough. The cats were enough. Tomorrow would come, and with it, another chance to try.