You still remember the day that Connor, the real Connor, had disappeared from the face of earth.

It was the day of your fourth anniversary. The months before had taken a toll on his mental health. He had increased his working hours to get a small bonus. It had allowed the two of you to put the first down payment on a house.

It was a nice place, not huge but decent, with a backyard in a nice neighbourhood. You had eyed it for many weeks before he had surprised you with the needed money to make it yours.

A cold wind shook the tent and tore you from your restless sleep.

Blinking, you raised your head and wiped some sleep out your eyes.

The outlines of clouds danced over the ceiling of the tent.

It was dark.

The sun wasn't shining.

It smelled like it was about to rain.

"Hey, Connor?", you asked, still half asleep and rolled to the side to wrap an arm around his shoulder. "It's cold... give me some of the blanket..."

Gently, you pulled on the mountain of fabric.

He didn't move.

"Connor.", you complained a bit louder, but with a slim smile on your lips. "Come on... don't be like this..."

He still didn't move. He didn't even make a single sound.

Confused, you raised your head to throw a glance over him at the other side.

But he wasn't there.

Frowning, you sat up.

His shirt was laying next to you. It smelled like him.

"Connor?", you looked around. "Are you outside? Connor!"

His bag was unpacked. It looked messy, but not messy enough for his standards to make you feel concerned. He probably had just pulled out a few clothes to get to the ones he wanted to wear.

With a yawn, you zipped open the tent and threw a glance outside.

The sky was grey and the wind made the trees rustle and bend. The smell of dry stones mingled with the iron smell of upcoming rain.

A strange taste lay on your tongue as you took a deep, chilly breath. But you couldn't tell what it tasted like.

"Connor!", you called out and grabbed a jacket.

The fireplace was still burning. Coles and flames cracked.

Ashes danced in the air.

You checked the supplies.

He didn't even make breakfast. All the eggs and bacon was still stored. Not a single bottle of water was gone.

It was unusual for him not to eat breakfast before going out. But going out on his own had started to be a habit of his ever since the issues started to grow.

You had realised that he needed some time for himself and had gladly let him have it.

But this day was different.

It made you nervous to see that he had gone without any preparation or anything that could help him in case of a sudden weather change.

"Oh god...", you mumbled and gathered some of the ripped open stuff the two of you had left the night before.

But as you picked up a can of ravioli, you noticed a piece of paper being stuck into it.

It was all curled up and torn with smudged lines.

At first you shrugged it off as one of his many notes he started to leave behind as small tokens of love. Usually he told you but after words started to come harder he started writing notes instead to show you he still cared despite the struggles.

But it was unusual for him to just toss the notes. He almost never did that.

Unless his affectionate thoughts had turned dark from one moment to another. Then he'd try to get rid of them as to not burden you with it.

You fished the paper out of the can.

It was soaked in sauce and all sorts of nasty liquids. The smell of overcooked noodles was stuck to it.

Carefully, you managed to open it with two fingers.

The lines were smudged and almost unreadable.

But you managed to identify a few words.

"My dearest (Y/N)... the top... mountain... I... talk to you...", you read to yourself.

The rest was unreadable.

Somehow, this made you feel restless.

Yet again, he had taken you to that mountain top many times before. The first time he had given you the keys to his apartment. Another time he had asked you to move in with him and more important milestone in your relationship had been discussed up on that mountain top.

A sigh left your lips.

"Fine...", you threw the trash away. "I hope you're okay, Connor..."

The top of the mountain was a nice spot.

But that say it was cold and windy. It felt strangely icy, deserted.

"Connor?", you asked, looking around the plateau.

It was a nice little place, actually, with a view over the entire valley and the mountains so close it felt like they were just in reach.

A small fence was securing the edges of the cliff. One of the chains was strangely tangled.

"Connor?", you asked hesitantly and stepped closer. "Connor! Where are you?"

You were standing at the edge of the cliff, the chain of the fence pressing against your legs.

One more step and you'd fall into the depths.

But you couldn't.

Your entire body was frozen in shock while all you could do was look down into the bottom of the cliff.

A long, red line was covering the sand stone.

You didn't remember if you screamed that day.

You didn't even remember if you had your phone with you to call the police or if you had walked all the way down to get it from the tent.

The police arrived first. Then the ambulance.

It wasn't for Connor.

You still remembered the many questions they had asked you. You didn't remember what you answered.

Maybe you didn't even answer at all.

They brought you to the hospital for medical support.

The rescue forces later informed that it all looked like Connor had jumped on his own accord.

They gave you a box with a ring in it.

He had held it tightly wrapped in his hand. It was the last present from him to you.