He'd been waiting for hours, now. The sun had long set, and he'd grown tired yet restless, his heart pounding with a mixture of hope and dread. She hasn't left. Yet. No, he refuses to acknowledge the fact that she's truly leaving until she says it to his face, not through some meaningless phone call. Thinking she'll even show up is delusional, yet he can't help clinging to that slim hope.

The moment he hears her familiar knocking in the distance, he stands abruptly, wondering if his ears are deceiving him. In a swift motion, he rushes to his door and pulls it open. There she is—in a hoodie he immediately recognizes as belonging to another man. A bitter taste fills his throat, sharp and acidic like unripe fruit.

"[Your Name]," he mumbles, his voice catching in his throat as she slowly enters. The pinkness of her cheeks from the outside cold stands out against her pale skin, making him feel weak in the knees despite the betrayal he's already sensing.

"Say it to my face, angel," he whispers, his voice trembling only slightly. "Say it. Tell me you're really leaving."