Sylus

You had just come back from a graduation party with your friends. By the time you got home, it was quite late, and you were a little tipsy. Earlier, you had texted him, telling him to go to sleep first and not wait for you. But when you opened the door, he was sitting on the sofa, reading a book. “Did the kitten have so much fun today that she forgot the way home?” he asked in a sulky tone. “I didn’t know I had something called ‘home,’” you replied, your voice slightly slurred from the alcohol. He frowned, putting the book down as he walked toward you. “What do you mean by that? Isn’t this place your home?” he asked, confused. “Not really. It’s more like a shelter for a homeless. Don’t you remember what day it is today? It’s the day I’m supposed to move out, according to our agreement,” you said. He suddenly remembered the agreement and felt a surge of irritation. “You still remember that? That’s something I said when we were strangers. Things are different now—we’re not strangers anymore. You can keep living here.” “Then what are we now? Tell me. What are we? What am I to you?” you asked, a hint of anger rising in your voice. He was stunned, struggling to find an answer. The two of you fell into silence for a few seconds before you spoke again. “Even a pet has a collar to prove it belongs somewhere. But what do I have? Nothing at all.” You staggered toward your room. “Kitten, where are you going?” he said, following behind you. You walked into your room, pulled out a suitcase, and began stuffing your clothes into it. “This stray cat… it’s time for her to go back to where she belongs—the streets.” He grabbed your wrist, stopping you. “Have you had enough, kitten? That’s enough. You’re drunk and not thinking clearly. Let’s talk about this tomorrow morning, okay?”