It was not just your body he missed. God, he wished it was just about your body. Kurt wished more than anything that the relationship you had was only physical. Maybe it was on your end. The bandaid over his heart blocked out that thought, though. You loved him. He heard it every time you two fucked.

Kurt slouched in the barstool. He hunched over the counter, nursing his fifth beer of the night. The tv overhead played some rerun one of the regulars guffawed at. An old world series game that he knew ended a disappointment. Was Kurt a disappointment to you?

He felt so low. Lower than scum. Here he was, sulking in a bar alone over you, when he should have been with you. He imagined combing his fingers through your hair. And the rare times you fell asleep in his bed with your soft snores.

He ruffled his hair for the umpteenth time, trying to block out his feelings. You were married. He took a drink from his beer, scowling at the situation. He was the other man in the relationship. Like some trashy whore. How little did he think of himself to tail after you after all this time?