[Author's Note/Disclaimer: I was trying to get some stuff done on Snow Day, but then I ended up on Imagine Your OTP (tumblr blog) and this just hit me out of nowhere. So, here you go, I guess. Hope you enjoy! This is my first non-Mojo thing, so I'm kind of nervous, actually… I do not own RENT, nor do I own these characters. Just borrowing. All credit goes to the great Mr. Larson.]
She always loved tea. She drank the cheapest, most awful tea I've ever tasted, but she never got tired of it. There were always at least two boxes of the stuff somewhere in the kitchen, no matter what. She used to try to get me to drink it, even though she knew I would refuse every time; I always preferred coffee.
Every morning, I would get up and make a cup of coffee for myself, and a cup of tea for her.
And still, every morning, I get up and make a cup of coffee for myself, and a cup of tea for her.
I set the tea on the table in front of her chair, and I sit across from it- from where she's supposed to be. I sip the coffee and think about her. In the past, I would often read in the mornings. Sometimes she would, too. But sometimes she would just watch me. I never really understood why she liked to do it, but she said that she liked seeing me so relaxed and content. She liked seeing me when the day hadn't really started yet, and we were still the only two who existed. She said I was different then.
I no longer wonder if I'm different in the morning than I am at other times. I am different in the morning because these first few minutes of the day are the only time I allow myself to indulge in all my thoughts of her: the rest of the day is spent trying- however feebly- to put her from my mind and carry on in life. I no longer spend the mornings reading over coffee. I sit in silence and think about her. Sometimes I can hear her voice.
After I finish my coffee, I wash out the cup. Then I come back to the table and pick up her cup of tea. It's still full, of course. Some days I take a sip, knowing she wouldn't mind. Some days I just pour it all down the drain. I wash this cup, too.
I thought that when the boxes of tea that were still left in the kitchen after she was gone ran out, I would be done with this. But as soon as I was down to just one remaining box, I went out and bought another. She would've hated to run out.
I've learned to live without her, I suppose. I don't cry for her as often as I used to. I can both talk about her and listen to other people do so without choking up. But I never stop thinking about her, not really. She's always in the back of my mind, waiting patiently. She waits for the right moment claim my full attention. But, still, there isn't a thought that crosses my mind that doesn't somehow lead me back to her.
I guess that's the best thing about having an Angel: she's never really gone.