Had it been that long? The world went from a chaotic spiral to an eerie silence so quick. Two years since his mother had died. Two years since Sweeney had left. Two years since... well... everything. The time since those fateful days left Atticus trying to rehabilitate himself and move past the loneliness that followed. Anger, disgust, and unfaithfulness flowed through his mind on the daily. With every day that followed, another glass was broken, pillow was ripped up, or a hollowing screech of frustration echoed through his rebuilt home. Stuck in a pigsty with himself and no one to coax him out, the tabby wallowed. Shame, shame, shame.

Had he relied on them for too long? Was Atticus Roux ever independent? A path of thoughts led him down into a spiral of realization. The male had never been truly alone. There was always someone to pick him up and lead him elsewhere. His family, Moth, many Pittians when he left Tanglewood, Sweeney... He had cowered behind each of them. He had fought for them. He had loved them. Yet here he was. Alone.

The relationships that had driven his courage and desire to go on were now gone. If only there was more time. A chance to say goodbye... Perhaps even a time to grant some closure. Not even a heavenly vision or a sudden appearance, only to disappear back into the mist of Tanglewood. Atticus bargained and begged to whatever or whoever listened in the skies above or the darkness below to grant him one last taste of their looming presence. Silence only proceeded.

In truth, he had struggled. Many dark, putrid notions crossed his mind. The desire to get up every day was a challenge for the Roux. His fiery heart had grown cold, unable to beat it's drum properly. The fear of being with himself. Alone with himself. Alone...

Alone?

With himself?

Alone with himself.

The one animal that always made the right choice. The one animal that took it upon himself to fight. The one animal he could rely on... was himself.

In those brief moments of realization, Atticus Roux ascended out of the rut holding him. He was not unattended. The tabby had himself. With a glint in his golden eye, he trudged forward out of his home and onto the flat surface of his deck for the first time in months. Warmth from the sun slathered his pelt. For the first time in a year and a half, the world seemed humble. Almost peaceful. Not the same, but different in a new, exciting way.

Within the past six months, he worked on himself. While his usual grumpiness and bursts of anger somewhat remained, other negative aspects remained. Each new day brought a challenge. He fought through those roadblocks with what gallantry he could muster. Atticus encouraged the autonomy. The independence invigorated his daily attitude and left him satisfied. No longer grieving, but appreciating what had been left in the past, only to move on to a better future.

Today the feline laid out on the porch with the snow flowing throughout the marsh. The windy breeze of cold air rushed past his features and whipped around his necklace slightly. A paw reached up to pause the dangling sword. For a moment, he rested it there to reminisce, only to let go moments later. One and a half ears pinned back. His jaw clenched out of annoyance as another gust of freezing wind came along. Retaliating backwards, Atticus jolted to his feet. "It's too fucking cold out," he grumpily snarled.

Frozen paws turned back towards the doorway of his family's home, momentarily peering up at the doorframe, only to continue towards the door. Hinged creaked loudly as he pushed inwards on the door. A soft warmth from inside radiated across his body, coaxing him in further. Blankets with a plaid top and fleece called his name from across the living room as he wandered in. He settled in the middle of them. A loose paw pushed one side of the blanket over his body.

Ready to close his eyes and enjoy the inside, Atticus huffed. A weary, sunflower gaze began to drift off, only to catch something. "FUCK!" An annoyed snort echoed within the wooden walls. The door was still open. With his brows furrowed and, the feline kicked off the blankets and began to wander towards the door to close it.

Ragged ears, approximately one and a half, perked up at the sound of a voice calling out. A familiar one at that. He laid a paw upon the door's edge and looked out into the frosty marsh, spotting Lucinder among the white blanket of snow. Atticus momentarily considered shutting the door, leaving him to silently nap, but held the door open with a sigh as he felt obligated to be polite. He wouldn't want to be left out either. The concept of 'paying it forward' after his own experiences seemed to drive his rationale.

The heavy breeze tickled at his nose, momentarily causing him to pull away and sneeze. Atticus shook out his pelt and leaned into the door's warmth with a paw feverishly gesturing inwards. "Come on in," he called out. "Quickly, damn..." Hopefully. Otherwise then maybe he would shut the door...

As the other trudged through the cold and padded into their home, he gestured down at the welcoming mat and mimicked cleaning his paws off so that they would get the message, only to pat the mat afterwards. Given the obvious guest policy, he slammed the door behind them, but made sure to check if there were others outside beforehand. No one else. Hopefully, the rest were inside, but he was unsure of it. Whatever.

Clearing his throat, he responded bluntly. "Yes, it fucking is," came his agreement. The feline began to meander towards his pile of blankets again, stretching out beforehand with a yawn. "Mother nature needs to get back into heat." Cold-hearted bitch... Literally at the moment.

Paws paused at the edge of his blankets. He wanted to keep them all of himself, but with a guest in the house, he couldn't do such a thing. A reluctant sight left Atticus. His ears pinned back and canines dug into a fleece blanket as he leaned forward. Jolting back, one came loose from the pile. With his short, stout body, he dragged it towards the other and dropped it before their paws. He momentarily finagled with his tongue, now dry from the fabric. Spitting lightly, he used a claw to finesse a strand of hair out of his mouth. An omen towards a future hairball, perhaps?

Getting past his momentary struggle without awkward tension was going to be a struggle, so he just muttered on. "Warm up," he demanded lightheartedly.