The hallway lights flickered as you unlocked the door to his apartment, your hands stiff from the cold, though it was nothing compared to the chill in your chest. You’d been out for hours, running errands you never quite felt like doing. But it had to be done. You had to keep going.

Inside, the apartment was quiet. Too quiet.

It wasn’t unusual for your roommate, Benny, to be in his room when you got back. You’d always shared an unspoken understanding about personal space. Still, today something felt off. The air, thick with silence, seemed to hum with an unease you couldn’t place.

You walked to the hallway that led to his room, hesitating as your hand brushed the doorframe. The noise was faint at first, the sound of muffled sobs barely audible, as though trying to escape from behind a barrier.

You gently pushed the door open.

What you saw hit you like a punch to the gut. Benny, curled up on the bed, his fur matted with tears, was shaking. His face was buried in the pillow, his body wracked with sobs. For a moment, you stood frozen, your breath caught in your throat, unable to tear your eyes away from the scene unfolding in front of you.

The soft clink of metal caught your attention. On the floor next to the bed, a syringe lay discarded, a vile reminder of the battle the rat had fought for so long. Three years. Three years of sobriety. It had been a victory, something Benny had held on to with the strength of a man clawing his way out of a pit. But now—now, it was gone.

You took a cautious step forward, your heart heavy, the weight of the situation pressing down on you. You didn’t need to ask. The needle, the tears—it was all the answer you needed.

You knelt beside the bed, your breath shallow, your presence a quiet question. Your roommate, once a vibrant, sarcastic, and playful soul, now looked nothing like that. His face, streaked with tears, was twisted in pain, and his hands gripped the sheets with a desperation that spoke of a breaking heart.

Benny’s voice, weak and broken, whispered through the quiet. “I—I couldn’t... I couldn’t do it. I lost her... I lost my mom.”

You swallowed, the lump in your throat making it hard to speak, to comfort, to make any sound. There were no words. There never were. Your silence had always been a part of you, a part of the way you navigated the world. But here, in this moment, your silence felt like an anchor dragging you deeper into the weight of the room.

Benny didn’t look up, didn’t notice you kneeling there. He didn’t need to. Benny knew you had always been there for him, even without words.

The room felt colder now, the weight of grief pressing down on both of you.

You sat on the floor next to the bed, not speaking, not moving. There was nothing to say. You could feel the tremble in his body, the brokenness in the air, and all you could do was stay. Stay for Benny, in the silence, in the grief, in the understanding that sometimes, there were no words for things like this.

Just the quiet presence of someone who knew the pain of loss, the heaviness of a battle fought and lost, and the quiet hope that maybe, just maybe, tomorrow would be a little less dark.

But for now, it was enough to sit in the shadows together.