loose ends and unlit corners

In the stillness of the night, it's all about the complexities of love and existential longing

The shop was quiet. Then again, what would one expect at 2 AM in the morning. Everything was bound to be quiet at one point; sooner or later.

Well. Almost everything.

From above, the ivy plant let out a long, rattling sigh.

Orrin didn’t look up from where he sat at the counter. The ivy had been sighing for nearly ten minutes now, a deep and sorrowful sound, rustling through the air like wind shaking through brittle leaves.

“…Who am I?”

Orrin exhaled. “Oh come on now... this is exactly why Fenner burst out of the guest room yelling that either I take you downstairs or he’ll take you to hell.”

The vines twitched in response, curling inward like fingers flexing into a fist, which Orrin registered with a raised brow.

“You’re lucky Little Sir Menace is asleep.” Because surely, the little one was always up and out for any sort of a fight. Especially when it came to the ivy plant.

“I had a name.” The whisper was brittle, urgent. “Didn’t I?”

A single vine unfurled, stretching downward to the counter, toward the small, unfinished clay knight sleeping peacefully.

Orrin glanced up. “If you wake him, I will bring you upstairs and leave you with Fenner.”

The vine froze mid-reach, quivering. A sharp rustle rippled through the plant, like a gasp dragged through a tangle of leaves. The vines curled inward again, twisting over themselves in frantic knots, as if debating whether it was worth the risk.

“I think he planned to make salad today. And he won’t bother being thoughtful about the ingredients. He’s still quite mad at me, after all. So finding torn up pieces of ivy in my food is something I wouldn’t be too surprised about.”

The ivy twitched, its leaves rustling like an unsettled sigh.

“…But I did have a name.” The whisper curled at the edges of his mind, quieter now, uncertain. “Didn’t I?”

Orrin sighed. Most certainly, this wouldn’t stop anytime soon. He straightened in his chair.

“Of course you had one. Humans love giving names to their things. Machines, plants, animals—everything has a name.”

For a moment, its leaves folded inward. Then, almost carefully, they reached outward again—toward the lanterns, the shelves, and the small, unfinished knight.

“I don’t know,” it said. “I don’t remember.”

Orrin sighed again and moved Little Sir Menace out of its reach. “Look,” he said. “You can’t go around trying to strangle things every time you have an existential crisis. It’s bad manners.”

The vines seemingly wilted at his words. “…But I had a name,” it whispered. As if that explained it all.

Orrin rubbed his temples. “I’m sure you did. And I’m sure somewhere, some human will enjoy your… specific way of disregarding personal space, but that doesn’t mean you can do it to just anyone.”

The ivy hesitated in a slow, creeping rustle.

“…what?”

Orrin immediately regretted everything. “We are not having this conversation at two in the morning.”

The ivy twitched. “But—”

“No,” Orrin said, firm.

The ivy shifted. Its vines curled slightly, then stretched out again, reaching toward the lantern above the counter. “…any human?”

Orrin shot to his feet. “Oh, for—please, stop.”

At the far end of the shop, the glass-paneled nuisance creaked open just a little. Orrin welcomed the excuse just as much as the fact that the phone booth was not near the counter anymore. Small blessings, right?

“Leave the lanterns and Little Sir Menace alone. I’ll be right back.”

The vines dropped slightly, though Orrin wasn’t sure if it was out of compliance or lingering resentment. Either way, he was grateful for the momentary peace. The glass door creaked open once again, this time with more urgency.

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “This shop...”

As he made his way toward the booth, Orrin glanced over his shoulder, half-expecting the ivy to be hovering around Little Sir Menace. But no. The tiny knight remained blissfully undisturbed, the lantern closest to the ivy, however, hadn’t been so lucky. The little light inside flickered urgently as the vines dug their way into the thin wood, eager to strangle and tear at its first victim of the night.

How unfortunate, Orrin thought, and turned his attention back to the booth in front of him. It stood tall, wedged into the floor like a pesky, oversized splinter, the scent of rain stubbornly persisting. Orrin had ignored it for as long as he could, but the booth had made itself comfortable, tilting into the wooden floorboards, gathering dust and fingerprints on its rain-streaked glass.

The door, now almost a quarter ajar, creaked open a little more. Orrin raised a brow, calmly stepped forward and reached for the handle, pulling it shut. It wasn’t even a full second before the booth’s glass rattled in protest and the door creaked open again.

“Excuse you?” Orrin said, his brows rising only higher, almost disappearing in his hairline. Once again, he pulled it shut. This time, with a little more force than necessary. He turned—only for the glass door to creak open with the greatest display of stubborn defiance that one would expect from a phone booth. Orrin blinked slowly, baffled by the absurdity of the situation.

He glanced at the grandfather clock at the other end of the shop.

3:25 AM.

Far too early to have to worry about a client walking in on the mess, yet way too late to call Grant to remove it before opening hours.

“You know what,” Orrin sighed, rubbing his temples. “You’ll be first on the list. Congratulations.”

With that, he snapped his fingers, conjuring a sheet of paper and a pen that moved on its own. Orrin gave it a look. “Write down the phone booth. And make it very obvious that this is the most urgent one to be relocated.”

Instantly, it scribbled away, scratching itself across the paper eagerly. As Orrin looked around, occasionally naming a thing or two, the pen kept its effort up, jotting down things and mimicking the serious look on Orrin’s face by adding some curls and loops on the letters occasionally.

As the list grew, the door squeaked open again, this time wider than before. With a resigned breath, Orrin grabbed the door handle and yanked it shut once more, his grip tightening as though this action might actually cause the booth to stay closed for more than five seconds.

Of course, it did not. The glass rattled again and the booth’s door pushed against his hand, testing him, seeing just how far it could go before the shopkeeper cracked.

Orrin's lips curled into a weary grin. “If you insist.”

With a sharp snap of his fingers, the door clicked firmly into place. Satisfied, Orrin reached for the floating paper—ready to send it off—, only to pause mid-movement. Behind him, the booth shuddered violently against Orrin’s magic.

The glass windows warped and twisted as the booth’s structure shifted, and as they grew slimmer and longer, stretching toward the ground, each window became a door.

All of them, of course, promptly creaking open in the most dramatic way Orrin had considered possible—like a stage performer making a grand entrance.

Orrin felt the pressure of a headache building.

“Listen,” Orrin said sharply, taking a step closer, one hand on his hip, the other pointing at the booth. “I don’t have time for this. I need to—”

The doors opened and closed in a giggle-like pattern, only to pause for a moment, all of them shutting at the same time, before they creaked open again, clearly mocking him.

“Fine,” he gritted out, his voice flat, as though he was speaking to a child who had misbehaved one too many times. “You’ve had your fun. Now—” Orrin reached for the nearest door, his patience wearing thin as the phone booth continued to mock him but then, before he could even react, a body tumbled out of the booth, crashing straight into Orrin’s arms.

“What—” Orrin barely had time to catch the woman as she collided with him, the unexpected weight of her causing him to stumble back a step. He grunted under the impact, his hands instinctively tightening around her to prevent her from falling further.

She blinked, disoriented, her dark hair falling messily around her face.

“I—I’m so sorry,” she stammered, her voice barely audible, as she straightened up. “I didn’t mean to—What the fuck—”

Orrin was about to respond, but he was distracted by the digital clock display on the phone booth’s panel, which blinked to life the moment she’d fallen into his arms. His gaze snapped to the numbers.

3:32 AM. Not even close to the shop’s opening hour.

What the fuck indeed.

The woman in his arms took a rapid step back, looking around as if she wasn’t sure whose sanity to question first: hers or his. Her eyes darted around the shop. “Where am I?”

“A very strange place,” he said dryly, looking over her shoulder at the booth. “Rather unruly at times, if not downright a pest.”

“The Four Fourty-Four,” Orrin added, after a beat, guiding the woman a little further from the booth as it creaked ominously. “Which opens at 4:44 AM precisely.”

The woman blinked, baffled. “It’s.. 3:34.”

Orrin’s jaw tightened. “Indeed it is.”

She blinked, clearly thrown off. “I—”

“Don’t even. Not today. It’s not hell—at least not for you, things look a little different for me. It’s not a dream; if anything, I’d say it’s a nightmare. It’s not a mistake either—again, not for you, but for me. It’s here, and you’re here, so let’s just roll with it.” Orrin rattled down, crossing his arms over his chest.

The woman took another step back, most certainly sure now that he was the one with the lacking sanity.

“I’m…I’m sorry. I’m Merete,” she said, her eyes flicking to the booth again before settling on Orrin. “I’m not sure how I ended up here. I—I was just looking for a place to hide, and then I found myself... here.”

“Hide? At 3:30 AM? In a phone booth?” Orrin raised an eyebrow. “From what?”

Merete hesitated, glancing down at the floor as if she were weighing her next words. The silence hung between them for a moment. “Just... life,” she said quietly, before looking up at him again. “I don’t know what I’m doing anymore. I thought I needed a break.”

Orrin blinked. “You’re hiding from life. In a phone booth. At 3:30 AM.”

Merete nodded. “Yeah. I thought I could just... take a break. Hide for a minute. But it feels like everything just keeps pulling me in different directions.” She paused. “Everyone keeps needing something from me. I just... I don't know how to keep up anymore.”

Orrin studied her for a moment. She was the typical human female. One who had learned how to give, how to be needed, but had never quite learned how to need anything in return. Least of all how to demand it. How to carry herself into battles no one would fight for her but herself, yet, they called on her for every other battle that wasn’t hers.

The phone booth creaked again, but Orrin paid it no mind. “Then stop offering.”

Merete chuckled but the sound was hollow and without an echo, as if even her voice was used to not taking up any space at all. “I’m not offering.”

“Then tell them ‘no’ instead of hiding in a phone booth at night.”

Merete shook her head. “That’s not that easy.”

Orrin tilted his head slightly. “Why not?”

She gave a faint smile. “Why would I? They are my friends, people I am close with, good neighbors, my family. There’s no need to tell them ‘no’ when I can do it. It’s just small things. I love them. And if you love someone, you do your best for them at all times.”

Orrin quietly considered her words for a moment. “So what you’re saying is that love is just a series of sacrifices? And someone is always bound to be at the short end of the stick?”

Merete blinked. “What?”

Orrin shrugged at the question. “That’s what you said, isn’t it? They love you, so they need you. So, who do you love and need then? And who does this person love so that they can need someone too?”

Merete looked at him, a flicker of confusion crossing her face. “What are you talking about?”

Orrin tilted his head a little more. “Love, obviously.”

Before she could respond, the booth gave a low creak, as if to interrupt.

“Your shop doesn’t seem like the right place to have a conversation about love. No offense.”

Orrin chuckled. “There’ve been all sorts of conversations here. Some about heaven and hell, about moving on, holding on, about childhood sweets and summers by the lake, about knowing when it’s enough, about peach snaps and puddles. Others were about stepping out of comfort zones, a few were lessons, I suppose… about standing up for yourself, about being honest and kind, owning up to mistakes, doing something new. But yes, many were about love. And its many different types.”

Merete didn’t reply. Instead, she strode down the small flight of stairs, and headed into the lazy maze of aisles. She didn’t go too far before she stopped again, fingers tracing the spines of a few books on a nearby shelf.

“What kinds of love?” she asked; quieter now, almost hesitant.

Orrin leaned against a nearby shelf, watching her. “All of them. Love for family, for friends. Love that lasts a lifetime, and love that burns out before it ever truly starts. Love built on habit. Love built on longing. Love that’s patient, and love that’s desperate. Love that’s given freely and love that is taken by force.” He paused, thinking of Grant. “Love that takes everything from you. And love that gives it all back.”

Merete’s fingers stilled on the spine of a worn, leather-bound book. “Have you ever loved someone in either of those ways?”

Yes, he thought, not even taking a second to think about it. Yet, he shook his head. “No. I have merely witnessed it. Through the objects finding a home here. Through people coming to get them, one way or another.”

She let out a short laugh, shaking her head. “If you never loved anyone, what makes you think you can talk about it at all. To me, at that. I dare say I know more about love than you do. And it’s just that love demands sacrifices. It makes you feel weak. Lost. Lonely, even. If I love, I love hard. I don’t love shallow. Hard things exhaust you. And shallow things don’t. So naturally, love can feel like a lot at times. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

Orrin smirked faintly, but there was something distant in his eyes. “I suppose you can say that about me, yes. But what I do know about love is that it is never just one thing. It may be messy, selfish, tiring at times, and demanding. But it is more than that. It’s kind and rewarding. It makes you feel safe. It makes you smile when they call your name. It makes you think of your person when you smell chimney smoke on a cold winter night. It makes you crave the starry sky underneath a cupola, picking lemons, honeying dates for the winter pantry, and sitting in uncomfortable positions because your person fell asleep on you.”

Merete traced the spine of the book again. “So you have loved.”

At that, Orrin tensed. Have loved, she had said. How ridiculous. He loved still.

He skipped the statement entirely. “Are you looking for something specific?”

Merete let her fingers trail along the book spines again, not really reading the titles, just feeling the texture of old leather and worn paper beneath her touch.

“I don’t know,” she admitted finally. “Maybe.”

Orrin studied her for a moment. The shop hadn’t opened yet, so there would be nothing appearing for her. That she was seeking out the books… well, it could only mean that she was either looking for a plan or an answer.

Yet, he didn’t press the matter and simply watched her. After a while, she shook her head. “Maybe a good way to hide. To pause, you know. Without hurting anyone’s feelings. But then you brought up ‘love’ and now I’m wondering about it.”

Orrin tilted his head slightly. “What is there to wonder? Weren’t you lecturing me just a moment ago? About how much more you know?”

She didn’t take the bait. Instead, she traced the gold-embossed lettering of a book. “I think I want to know if it’s supposed to be like this,” she murmured. “If love always asks for so much. If it always leaves you empty at the end of the day.”

“Not all of it.”

Merete’s lips pressed together, understanding instantly. “But the kind I have, right?”

Orrin didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he focused on the way her shoulders curled inward slightly, the way her fingers clutched the edges of her coat just a little too tightly. She wasn’t just asking about love. She was asking about permission. About whether she was allowed to want something else.

Finally, he spoke. “The right way doesn’t leave you feeling hollow.”

Merete let out a slow breath, staring at the row of books in front of her but not really seeing them. She had always believed love was meant to be heavy. That if it wasn’t weighing on you, if it wasn’t consuming you, then it wasn’t real. That love was measured by how much you could give.

She swallowed, her throat suddenly tight. “Then what does it leave you with?”

And instantly, Orrin thought about Grant. It was automatic, a reflex—the way Grant’s name surfaced in his mind, the way the memories slipped through the cracks before he could stop them.

What does love leave you with?

For Orrin, it left him with a name he still whispered in the quiet hours of the night. A space beside him that no one else could fill. The phantom of a touch he no longer had the right to crave.

Love had left him with everything and nothing.

He could still see the way the early morning light used to catch in Grant’s hair, in the soft curl of his smile when he was looking at him. In the way his fingers would linger at his wrist, feeling his pulse whenever Grant stole a kiss.

They had loved each other—Gods, they had loved each other. And yet, Orrin had walked away.

He had told himself it was for the best. That if it was right, it wouldn’t feel like they were constantly standing at the edge of something that would ruin one of them, if not both.

He loved Grant still. So much.

It drove him crazy at times because he still caught himself turning, expecting Grant to be there, only to be met with absence. His love for Grant —the reason he had gifted Illo and Beau with eternity, so that at least in another life he and Grant had a happy ending—… it was everywhere and nowhere at once. In a quiet corner of his thoughts where no one could take it away from him again. Where it was just him and Grant; in the way Grant’s voice had wavered when he’d been sitting at his bedside, in the way his hands had clenched at his sides.

It was in the things left unsaid, in the silence between them. In the half-glances when the other wasn’t looking. The gruff way Grant delivered things to his shop; always lingering a little longer than necessary. Always a snarky comment. Always those eyes of him following his every movement—it truly drove him insane.

He wondered, in this moment, if Grant still thought of him, too. If he still reached for him in his sleep like Orrin did. If Grant too was leaving a door open, just in case… If he still picked lemons, still honeyed dates.

Orrin forced a slow breath through his nose, pulling himself back to the present.

Merete was still looking at him, waiting for an answer he wasn’t sure he could give. How long she had been waiting for it, Orrin couldn’t say.

He cleared his throat, straightening slightly. “I don’t know much about love, as you have guessed with such ease. But I suppose that the right kind of love… well, it might leave you full.”

“Full?”

Orrin nodded. “Yes. Full.” He reached for a book to keep his hands busy. “Love lingers in laughter—especially the kind that makes you laugh tears, the one where your stomach hurts and your breath comes in gasps—, in quiet mornings, in the way someone says your name. It lingers in shared silences, in fingertips brushing against yours. In the scent of their sweater long after they’ve gone and how it makes you smile and feel warm. In the warmth of a hand reaching for yours without hesitation, a song that comes on and reminds you of them.”

Merete let out a small sound. Not quite anything with a tone, not even anywhere near to a simple ‘mh’. Just a noise.

“I’m full, too.” She said, her eyes meeting his. “There’s always a question to answer, always a thing to take care of, always someone who needs me. It feels good… waking up to notifications asking about when I have time. If I can come over. If I am free. But… but only for a little while. I’m full of exhaustion, of feeling drained, of waking up at 3 AM, checking my phone in a hurry, worried if I missed a call. I’m full of thoughts about how easy it would be to lose my phone. To drop it into the river. I’m full of small excuses. ‘I’m sorry I have to work longer’, ‘I’ll get to it another time soon, promise.’, ‘no, it’s okay if we can’t meet up today, I understand.’ When I really don’t. Because I can make the time. All the time. Why can’t they?… I’m full of anger. About always coming in third or fourth, about always being told ‘no, sorry. Maybe next time.’.”

She exhaled sharply, shaking her head, as if trying to put it all back inside. She was speaking more than just about love; she was speaking about the way it felt to give until there was nothing left to give.

“Merete,” Orrin said softly, his voice quiet. “I may not know as much about love as you do, but you can’t be everything to everyone. You’ll run yourself ragged. And it’ll never be enough. Not for them and not for you.”

She looked down at her hands, twisting the fabric of her coat tighter, her lips pressed together. Orrin moved a little closer to her, wondering just what he could offer her to leave with. The shop had not reacted to her at all. Then again, it was barely four in the morning. He wasn’t even officially on duty yet.

“There is something else I do know about love.”, Orrin admitted quietly.

Her eyes flicked to him.

“Love comes in all shapes and sizes. The difference you need to look out for is about the people you gift it to, not the way you gift it to them. There is people who love you, people who love to be around you, and people who love what you can do for them.”

Again, his mind drifted. Grant had loved him, hadn’t he? Just like Orrin had loved Grant. It wasn’t about being around Grant or what Grant had been capable of doing for him. It had always just been Grant. He could almost hear the way Grant used to laugh, the way his hand would slip into his. How those small things—moments that had seemed so insignificant—were the pieces that filled him up now, even when everything had felt hollow ever since.

He struggled to focus on Merete again, but he managed eventually.

It took a while for her to speak again.

“And what does one do when there is only ever people who love what I can do for them?”

He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to gather his thoughts. But the answer was simple.

“You walk away.”

Merete chuckled, but the sound wasn’t light or amused. It was dry and lacking belief. Before she could speak, Orrin picked up the word again. “Preferably not into a phone booth in the depth of the night.”

Her gaze shifted, and she gave him a wry smile, but it was weak. “You really know how to make a joke out of things, don’t you?”

“It’s all I’ve got left.”

Her smile faltered, and she looked away, her fingers tightening against the fabric of her coat again. “I don’t know if I can do that,” she admitted. “Walking away, I mean.”

Orrin merely nodded. “Yeah. It’s the hardest part.”

The silence that settled over them quickly turned awkward. Orrin, on his part, had no need to say anything anymore—being too caught up thinking about Grant. And Merete, well… Merete had much more to think about now, hadn’t she? About loving others too hard and herself too little, about dropping her phone into a river, about hiding in a phone booth in the middle of the night.

“How did you end up here?”

At that, Orrin blinked. “Me?”

Merete nodded. “Yeah. You.”

Orrin’s lips twitched slightly, a humorless smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he shook his head.

“I suppose, just like you did. By putting on a coat, walking out the door, coming upon a phone booth and hiding in it. Just that my phone booth was a shop. Is a shop.”

“So you never left the phone booth?”

Orrin’s gaze drifted past her, toward the mess of shelves, down the winding aisles, and into the unlit corners full of loose ends.

Yeah, he thought. I never left the phone booth.

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