It is hard to say goodbye after eight months of living together, but this is how it should be — their true home is in nature.
They are healthy, each weighing over 900 grams. They were treated for fleas and parasites, and we also carried out a “soft release.” For the next few weeks, we will continue to provide food at the release site to give them the best chance to adapt to life in the wild.
Farewell, Maja and Alex. Perhaps we will meet again during your nighttime wanderings. 🦔🌙💚
Image by @playpausephoto, who captured Hans with more truth than I ever could. Thank you for sharing him.
Further - Part V
Of What Remains
Sometimes, you know you have to go.
You changed the place.
It changed you.
—
The storm has passed.
In the quiet that follows — they have one more day.
To breathe, to remember,
and to ask, simply and out loud:
What if we didn’t go back?
Some choices are tempting.
Others, necessary.
—
They lay close together.
Because of the cold — and because it was where they felt best.
Henry, curled up, his face tucked into the crook of Hans’s arm.
Pressed into the warmth that had lingered there.
Hans behind him, quiet, present, breathing softly into his hair.
Under the cloak, sealed in completely, as if there wasn’t room for even a thought.
Henry’s arms were drawn in close.
One hand touched Hans’s arm — just the fingertips,
as if in all that silence, he needed to make sure it was real.
The other rested gently over the one that held him.
Behind them, Mutt.
Curled up against Hans’s back, warm and silent.
Sound asleep, twitching now and then, occasionally letting out a fart.
The stone beneath them had grown hard.
But between them, there was a stillness that hadn’t let the day in yet.
And maybe it didn’t need to. Not just yet.
Hans was the first to move — just slightly.
He didn’t pull away — just adjusted the arm Henry was lying on,
and the fingers beneath Henry’s hand stirred faintly.
They were stiff, but he didn’t mind.
Henry simply pulled his hand a little closer.
Without opening his eyes.
Without a word.
Hans leaned in and touched his lips to the top of Henry’s head.
Softly. Without expecting anything.
Then again.
And again, lower this time, down to the skin beneath the hairline.
“I thought you were asleep,” Henry whispered.
Hans only smiled.
They stayed like that for a while.
Then Henry turned slightly — not fully, just enough
to bend down and kiss the inside of Hans’s arm.
Gently, slowly, like a ritual.
Then he glanced over his shoulder, leaned closer, and their lips met.
It wasn’t hunger. It was warmth.
The kiss didn’t last long.
But it carried something the night had only led toward —
something that no longer needed to be said aloud.
When their lips parted, Henry stayed close,
his forehead resting near Hans’s cheek.
He looked into his eyes.
He wasn’t smiling — but his gaze was soft, calm, unguarded.
Hans reached out and brushed his brow,
as if wiping away the last trace of night.
“I could stay like this all day,” he said quietly.
“Then let’s stay,” Henry said. “Just a little longer.”
They had no sense of how much time had passed.
When Hans leaned in again, Henry tucked himself right back into his arms.
They pressed their foreheads together.
Shared breath.
Behind them, Mutt shifted softly — stretched out, and curled up again.
Three living bodies under stone.
A silence not yet ready to be broken.
Then Hans whispered,
“Next time, we bring a blanket.”
Henry smiled — barely.
“And a bed.”
Hans’s eyes were half open, his gaze a little unfocused.
Henry studied him for a moment in silence.
And then, without a breath of warning,
just quietly said:
“I love you.”
Hans didn’t look away.
He drew him in closer, forehead to forehead, and said just as quietly:
“And you know how I love you.”
Their brows touched.
After a while, Henry murmured,
“Is it morning?”
Hans said,
“Maybe. Or noon.”
Henry closed his eyes.
“Doesn’t matter.”
Hans shifted a little and hissed when the stone dug into his hip.
“I haven’t slept on ground this hard in a long time,” he muttered.
“And — I absolutely hate sleeping on the ground,” he added with a soft snort.
Henry smiled faintly, still not opening his eyes.
“Well, I have absolutely no complaints.
Sleeping on your bicep, wrapped in your arms… flawless.”
Hans leaned back just enough to see his face.
“Yes,” he said calmly. “That’s what they say about sleeping in my arms.”
Henry opened one eye, slowly.
“They? Who says that? And to whom?”
He slid closer and grabbed his arse with one hand, voice mock-sweet.
“How many people have had the pleasure of evaluating this alleged embrace, hmm? And when, exactly? And why, Hansie?
Is there something I should know?”
Hans snorted softly with laughter.
“Wait a minute,” he purred. “This was supposed to be a tender morning.
Not an inquisition.”
Henry didn’t move. Just kept holding him.
“Come on then — tell me.”
Hans drew closer again.
His voice was quiet — but absolutely certain.
“There’s only ever been one person I truly cared about being held like that.”
A pause.
“And right now, he’s in my arms.”
Henry looked at him in silence for a moment.
His eyes were calm — and there was a quiet smile on his face that didn’t fade.
Then, without looking away, he whispered:
“Never been happier.”
And kissed him.
They stayed like that a while longer.
There was silence. Just silence.
Then, all at once, Henry’s stomach growled — loud and unrepentant.
For a second, neither of them moved —
and then they both burst out laughing.
Quietly, but uncontrollably.
The kind of laughter that lets the heaviness go.
Still catching his breath, Hans flung his arms out theatrically.
“And so, my Henry’s belly declared that the time for romance was over — and that it was time to get up.”
They slowly pulled apart — stiff, sore, but still smiling.
As they sat up, cold air spilled off the cloak, and raw dampness crept up from the stone beneath them.
They sat in silence for a moment,
then Hans reached for the door and opened it.
Light slipped in — pale, diffuse, with no clear direction.
The sky itself stayed hidden, covered by a solid sheet of low grey clouds.
Henry looked outside, squinting.
He scanned the dull shadows across the yard for a moment.
“Past noon, at least,” he muttered.
The door creaked open the rest of the way.
Outside, it didn’t look like day.
More like a grey filter that had settled over the world and pressed it back into the earth.
The air was cold, damp, thick with rotting leaves, wet wood, and ash.
As if the world they’d known yesterday
had only been a kind disguise.
And today it had dropped the mask
and looked at them with its real face —
quiet, cold, and indifferent.
The yard was waterlogged, strewn with broken branches.
Some still carried leaves. Others were bare and battered.
In the puddles between them, the blurred outlines of the shelter and house reflected dimly.
The shelter’s roof sagged, collapsed in on itself.
The wood was slanted, heavy with rain.
A few boards had fallen beneath it, one half-buried in the mud.
Hans and Henry looked at it in silence.
For a moment, something caught in their throats —
the memory of lying beneath that roof just hours ago.
There was no need to say it. They both knew.
Their things were where they’d left them the day before, fleeing the storm.
The saddlebags had soaked through, doublets had grown heavy.
Scraps of cloth lay in the mud like discarded rags.
Hans stepped closer and picked up a piece of wood —
it looked like part of a support beam.
“No point fixing it now,” he said quietly.
Henry only nodded.
He looked toward the remaining part of the roof, and then across the yard.
The cold and silence of the day pressed in on everything.
“Maybe we ought to head back,” he said calmly.
“They’re probably wondering where we’ve wandered off to.”
Hans didn’t answer at once.
Then he nodded — slowly, eyes downcast.
Henry felt it somewhere deep inside.
It didn’t say “I agree,”
so much as “I know we have to.”
Henry looked toward the stables.
“I’ll go check the horses,” he said softly.
Hans nodded. He stayed where he was.
As Henry crossed the yard, Hans walked over to the tree with the shattered crown.
He stopped beneath it and looked up.
The place where the lightning had struck was split open like a wound —
bark torn away, wood bleached, charred at the edges.
He slowly ran his fingers along the broken surface.
Not like someone searching for something —
more like someone who needed to be sure that what they’d heard in the night had really happened.
Then he stood there for a while. Alone.
By the time Hans returned to the yard, Henry was already back from the stables.
The horses looked fine — a little restless, but unharmed.
Henry held a few pieces of dried meat in his hand.
He shared them with Hans, and they sat on the edge of the well,
where it was at least a little dry.
They ate in silence.
The meat took a while to soften between their teeth,
but it was salty, nourishing, familiar.
Henry glanced toward the horizon.
“No use heading out today,” he said after a while.
“We wouldn’t make it before nightfall. We should stay one more night.”
Hans nodded without hesitation.
He looked toward the cellar.
“At least we can get it set up properly.
Now that we know we don’t have to run.”
Henry smiled faintly.
Then he looked at Hans — and noticed how his expression had quieted.
Not with sadness, exactly.
More like that strange kind of presence that comes when someone is somewhere else inside.
“Something wrong?” he asked softly.
Hans didn’t answer right away.
Then he lowered his gaze to the piece of wood in his hands.
“I’d like to take a walk,” he said.
“Just… around.
I don’t know why. I just want to walk the place one more time.”
Henry looked at him.
He recognized the tone — that distance in the voice that wasn’t cold,
just calm, and turned inward.
“Do you want me to come with you?” he asked, just as softly.
Hans hesitated. Then shrugged.
“If you want. But I won’t talk.”
Henry stood without a word.
They went out without a goal.
Not following a plan — but a need.
Hans walked ahead, Henry a few steps behind.
They didn’t speak. But they weren’t far from each other.
They walked slowly, as if they wanted each step to leave something behind.
They scanned the places they’d passed these last few days —
the edge of the yard, the strip of grass behind the house,
the winding path between the trees.
Branches lay everywhere.
Water squelched underfoot.
Some places looked untouched by the storm.
Others — like they’d taken the full brunt of it.
Hans paused now and then.
He didn’t look at anything in particular.
Just stood. Breathed. Felt.
As if he needed to remember the shape of it — even changed as it was.
Henry let him.
He knew this silence was the truest thing he could offer right now.
They reached the pond.
For a while, they said nothing. Just stood by the water’s edge.
The last time they’d been here, the day had been full of warmth and light.
The surface had shimmered, and the air had smelled of summer water and distance.
Today, the water was murky, stirred up.
Bits of twig, willow leaves, and fragments of grass floated on the surface.
The ripples the wind sent across the pond vanished quickly.
The sheen was gone — what remained was dull, like a muddied mirror.
Hans crouched slightly and picked up one of the leaves caught at the edge.
He held it between his fingers for a moment, then let it fall back.
Next to him, Henry just breathed.
Hans stood still for a while, his gaze fixed on the water.
The wind paused for a breath — and suddenly, the pond was motionless.
As if it, too, was holding something in.
Then, slowly, Hans reached out toward Henry.
He calmly laced their fingers together.
Still looking ahead, he said:
“Let’s go back.”
And so they did.
Side by side, hand in hand.
Silent.
The same path — but walked a different way.
The sun stayed hidden, but the light had begun to pale.
Moisture lingered in the grass, in the ground, in the air.
When they returned to the yard, Hans picked up a few branches lying in their way.
He didn’t say anything — just cleared a path, quietly.
Then they got on with what needed doing.
They cleaned the horses — slow, careful work, their hands falling back into familiar rhythms.
Hooves, backs, bridles.
Henry held Pebbles gently under the chin with one hand,
while the other combed through her mane.
Hans quietly checked the straps, tightening anything that might’ve loosened.
Then they moved on to their gear.
They checked what had soaked through, what needed repacking.
Some things they laid out near the wall, where there was at least a bit of shelter.
They prepared the cellar so it could be used without hurry.
Laid down an old cloak, a piece of discarded canvas, a few stones to hold the corners down.
They spread out the other cloak — still only half dry, but warm enough.
Against the wall, they propped the small bundle with the blanket they hadn’t touched before.
This time, they’d go down there by choice.
Evening slowly settled over the yard.
The light dimmed, but didn’t vanish — it softened into silence.
They lit a fire.
The day had been cold and raw — the warmth touched their skin, their joints.
But the fire held something more.
Something a person needs, when the world around goes quiet.
The fire crackled softly.
Its glow flickered off the wet wood around them, casting the walls in deep russet tones.
For a while, they just sat.
Hans leaned back into Henry’s chest, his head resting on Henry’s shoulder, breathing steady.
Henry had his arms around his waist, fingers laced — and showed no intention of letting go.
Then Henry said quietly:
“Thanks for taking me on that walk.”
Hans didn’t answer at once.
“Thank you for not letting me go without you.”
His head stayed on Henry’s shoulder.
And then, almost without thinking, he reached a hand up to his face.
Ran his fingers gently through his hair.
Let his palm rest there, fingers tangled in the strands.
Then slowly, thoughtfully, began to stroke.
The fire crackled.
Light played over their faces, their hands, the damp ground around them.
Henry leaned into the touch — barely — as Hans’s fingers moved slowly through his hair.
For a while, time dissolved — it wasn’t night, or day.
Just quiet. Just this.
The fire crackled on.
Hans’s fingers lingered, slowing, until they almost stopped.
Then he said softly:
“I’m sad we’re leaving.”
Henry said nothing. Just tightened his arms a little.
“It was so beautiful here,” Hans went on.
“And now it’s gone. It won’t be again.”
Henry was quiet for a moment.
Then he gently rested his chin on Hans’s shoulder.
“But think back… when we first got here…” he began slowly.
“It wasn’t beautiful. It was a ruined place.
And two bandits who might’ve killed me — if you hadn’t been there.”
Hans gave a faint smile.
“That’s true. This place wasn’t exactly welcoming.”
Henry nodded.
“We made it beautiful, Hans.
Because we were here together.
Because we were each other’s.”
Hans stayed quiet for a while. Then lowered his head.
“So we’re not really losing it, by leaving this place.”
“No,” Henry said, shaking his head.
“What was beautiful — we’re taking with us.”
Hans was quiet again. Then nodded — just barely.
Henry’s arms around him never shifted.
The fire kept crackling — slower now.
The wind shifted.
It lifted a few leaves, curled the smoke into a loop —
and carried it away.
Hans turned his head slightly toward Henry’s face.
He didn’t need to pull back — just moved a few inches.
Henry leaned in — and kissed him.
Long.
Slow.
The way two people kiss when they know what they’ve lived through — and survived.
When they parted, Hans stayed close for a moment longer.
Then, a little softer than before — but with a note of defiance in his voice — he said:
“You know… we don’t have to go back. Not right away.”
Henry tensed — not sharply, but it was there.
He blinked into the fire, as if something had caught him off guard.
“What do you mean?” he asked quietly.
Hans didn’t look away.
He spoke calmly, with distance — but something in his eyes was very present.
“We could just keep going.
We’ll never lack a room at an inn.
We’ve got food. Horses.
And most of all, we’d be together.
Just you and me.”
Henry didn’t answer.
But the arm around Hans slackened slightly.
Hans felt it — but didn’t stop.
“I’m not saying forever. Just… what if we gave ourselves a few more days?
A few more places where we don’t have to be anyone else.
No explanations. Just ride.
Just be.”
Henry rubbed his eyes.
Then rested his forehead against Hans’s shoulder.
“You know I’d go anywhere with you,” he said softly.
“And… it scares me a little.
How much I want to.”
Hans looked over at him, surprised —
he hadn’t expected that kind of honesty.
“So why not?” he asked simply.
Henry was quiet for a moment.
He looked at him for a long time.
Then said, slowly but firmly:
„Because people are waiting for us.
And if only for Godwin.
He’d never leave us in the lurch.”
He paused.
Then added quietly:
“And I… I don’t want to be the kind of man who leaves others behind.
Or waiting.”
Hans didn’t respond right away.
He let out a long breath — soft, resigned, like letting go of something he still longed to keep.
His eyes dropped, his gaze sank into the fire.
Then he nodded. Just once.
Not sharply — more like something had just settled into place.
“I know,” Hans said.
He fell silent for a moment.
Then added softly:
“I'm sorry. I don’t mean it the wrong way. I just…
When it’s just the two of us,
and we don’t have to look back…”
He paused and looked at Henry.
“I’d trade a year without you
for a single day with you.”
Henry said nothing.
But his arms around Hans tightened just a little.
He ran his thumb along his side — just once.
Then said softly:
“You don’t have to apologize.
I know.
And maybe I’d have said the same thing —
if I had your words.”
There was silence for a while.
Then, with a faint smile in his voice, Henry added:
“Don’t worry, love.
We’ll find our way back to being just us again.
I promise you.”
The fire had nearly burned out.
Only embers remained, crumbling quietly into the dark.
Without another word, they stood.
The cellar was cold.
They lay close together, under the blanket, on a cloak that had long lost its shape.
Hans rested his head on Henry’s shoulder.
After a while, he mumbled:
“This bottom cloak’s never going to dry.”
“Well — it’s a cellar,” Henry replied.
“Tomorrow I’m taking the other one. At least that one doesn’t reek of mud.”
Henry smiled.
“You’ll miss that local mud scent one day. Just wait.”
Hans chuckled softly.
“Strange, how much this place managed to hold. In such a short time.”
Henry nodded.
They were quiet for a while.
Then he said, softly — with a smile, but meant it:
“Thanks for sending me on this expedition, my lord.”
Hans raised an eyebrow and turned his head toward him.
“I’ll give you ‘my lord’…”
He brushed the back of his fingers across Henry’s cheek — gently.
Then smiled — the kind of smile that knows it’s right.
“But it was a rather noble idea, I’ll give you that.”
He leaned in and kissed Henry’s cheek.
Lightly.
Right where cheek turns into smile.
They stayed like that for a moment, saying nothing.
Breathing quietly, close together.
The darkness had lost all shape — only warmth and quiet remained beneath the blanket.
Then Hans closed his eyes and settled more softly against him.
Henry wrapped his arms around him — easily, certainly.
And before long, their calm, synchronized breath gave them away —
sleep had come for both.
One last night in their retreat.
Tomorrow, they would ride.
But not yet.
Summary: Months after Oikawa Tooru left for Argentina, you both live separate lives under different skies — but neither of you ever truly let go. You don’t speak anymore. He never called. But in quiet rooms, on sleepless nights, you still find yourselves reaching for each other in silence — him with an unsent message, you with an old jersey folded by your bed. Some goodbyes aren’t loud. Some don’t even happen. And yet, they still echo.
Call Your Mom - Noah Kahan (very loosely based)
It had been months.
Maybe even longer — time had gone soft and slow since Tooru left. Sometimes, you marked the days by the dust that gathered on the gym doors or the way the sky looked when you passed the old vending machine outside Seijoh. It didn’t matter, not really. He was gone, and nothing could change that.
You watched his matches when you could, muted most of the time, as if keeping his voice from reaching you would somehow make the distance easier; make missing him any less difficult. He looked the best he’s ever been — stronger, faster, happier. He smiled more. Or at least, he learned to smile better.
You often told yourself that you were happy for him; that he was doing better. And most days, you were. But there were nights like tonight — quiet, unremarkable, aching — where you missed the version of him that once cried into his knees on that gym floor. The one who let you hold his hand like it meant something. The one who asked, “What if I never come back?” and looked scared of the answer. The one who was, simply, here.
He hadn’t called since he left, not even once to say he arrived safely at Argentina.
You never expected or demanded him to, really. That wasn’t the deal. You told him to go — to leave, to run, to become. And you meant it.
But still.
Still.
There was this voice in your mind that often brought you down, saying “If he really cared about you, he would have called.”
Sometimes you’d find your thumb hovering over his name. The messages still sat there — the ones he sent in the beginning: pictures of the beach, videos of the court where he was training, a photo of his first Argentine asado. The messages had slowly trickled to a hard stop after that. No fight, no goodbye. Just nothing.
You never made a move to press him for more because, deep down, you knew. You were the chapter he had to finish before he could begin again. But God, sometimes you ached to be remembered by him. Just a simple “hi” would have sufficed.
You lay down on your bed, his jersey folded beside you — old, worn, faded from being washed too much. You wondered if he still heard your voice in the back of his head before a serve. If he ever looked up from a match and searched the stands for you or have thought, She would’ve loved that play.
Staring at the ceiling , you wondered if he ever missed being that boy who lost. Because back then, at least, he knew he was loved with you reminding him every second you could get.
Across the ocean, in a too-bright apartment with white walls and a language he was still learning, Oikawa Tooru sat on the edge of his bed.
He had just won a match; he even made the winning set. And still — something in him felt empty.
He picked up his phone, scrolled to your name, stared and typed.
Hey. I watched that old match with Karasuno the other day. The one where we lost. The one where you sat beside me after. You were right. I’m better now. I just… hope you are too.
He paused, then deleted it. Instead, he locked the screen and set the phone down. Laid down on his bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to get you out of his mind as if he was yearning for something he had promised himself not to reach for.
You didn’t know he almost called and he didn’t know that you would’ve answered. But somehow, even now — you were still holding space for each other in different time zones, under different skies, but still.
Hey there! What kind of flowers or plants would work to symbolize a very bittersweet goodbye, especially any that are white or purple?
Let’s see what we can find for you. There should be something in the depths of this google sheet.
adonis (flos) – sorrowful remembrances, painful recollections, sad memories
baby’s breath – everlasting love, innocence, pure of heart
basil (sweet) – good wishes
bittersweet nightshade – truth
bittersweet – truth
carnation (pink) – I will/I’ll never forget you, woman’s love
chrysanthemum (white) – truth
clover (white) – think of me
coneflower (purple) – strength and health
daisy (michaelmas) – farewell or afterthought, farewell
heart’s ease – forget me not, think of me, thoughts, you occupy my thoughts
heart’s ease (purple) – you occupy my thoughts
heather (white) – good luck, protection, wishes will come true
myrtle – love in absence, love, joy
oak (white) – independence
periwinkle – tender recollections, sweet remembrance, pleasing remembrances, early recollections, pleasure of memories, sweet memories
periwinkle (blue) – sweet remembrance, pleasures of memory, early friendship
periwinkle (white) – pleasing remembrances, pleasures of memory
pine (spruce) – farewell!, hope in adversity
poplar (white) – time
primrose (chinese) – lasting love
rose (tea) – I’ll remember – always
rose (white and red together) – unity
scorpion grass (mouse-eared) – forget me not
white poplar – time
zinnia (mixed) – thinking of an absent friend
– Mod Jana
Disclaimer
This blog is intended as writing advice only. This blog and its mods are not responsible for accidents, injuries or other consequences of using this advice for real world situations or in any way that said advice was not intended.
Amanda and I left the boys. We talk, get to know each other a little better. I like her. But then she says, “You know that he’s dating someone, right? Her name’s Carmen.”
I should have known better. It was wishful thinking. Me and Johnny, reuniting after all this time? It was too good to be true. As much as I wanted it. And I know he did too.
But the timing is off. I’m getting divorced. He’s seeing someone new. She sounds nice.
I’ll smile, say the right things. If she’ll make him happy, I’ll let go. Goodbye, Johnny.
@itsalliepg , thank you for inspiring me to write this. your letter was beautiful.
I wrote a sad ramble a week ago, and this whole week, I’ve come to terms with the Freshman ending. I’m sad, not gonna lie, because just like Endless Summer, I won’t read Zig’s sweet encouragements, his funny banter, anymore-- I was sad when I had to let that go with Jake and the gang too. It was a bittersweet ending, then too.
The Freshman series meant a lot to me. It helped me past a tough point in my life, and it’s followed me through all of my college career. I’m always gonna be grateful to Pixelberry for introducing me to his character.
His last question, and some of the lines throughout, really spoke to me. Cheri (my MC) said that she’ll always have them in her heart. The last thing Zig said-- sob-- was “Are you ready?” No, Zig, I am not ready for the future, or the uncertainty, but thank you for accompanying me on this journey. Thank you, Zigmund Ortega, for being my saving grace during Fridays where I didn’t want to get out of bed. When the only encouragement that really set in where yours. I’m gonna miss you so so much. But ready or not, here I come. I know I’ll be okay with you in my heart.
