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DISCLAIMER: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Beta by charming1

 

 

 

 

"By all means, no matter what happens, keep on dancing," he said, and I immediately tuned out what followed because I already knew what he was going to say.

I could tell something was off the minute I walked in and found him on the couch, staring into space and the way he lifted himself to walk to me as if the weight of the world was resting on his shoulders. Trite, I know, but accurate just the same.

I toyed with the water bottle briefly, not wanting to be at odds with him, but I knew what was coming. I had known since he gotten back from Hollywood. He wasn't satisfied with the status quo anymore, hadn't been since that no-holds-barred reunion fuck the night he asked me if the offer of a drawer still stood.

I didn't want to fight, but I wasn't prepared to give him what he wanted and I told him so. Honestly, I would have given it to him in a heartbeat if I thought he was ready for it. He was not ready to hear that either, so I offered one of my anti-normative speeches, to which he gave me a reply I knew he had been rehearsing while I was out.

He expected to hear what I said, proof positive he wasn't ready. If he really was, he would have brushed all of my bullshit aside and told me what he is going to do. Take a stand and stick to it. Instead, he was going to run.

"That's why I love you, but..." he said before I tuned him out again.

If he really understood what that meant, nothing I said would matter. He would not have been looking at me like I was a disappointment. I was who I had always been. Sure, I'd changed a bit in order to accommodate him in my life, but he was the one who had changed the most.

The problem was that he had not changed enough... yet. He was just finding his feet as an individual, as an artist, and as a man. His time in Hollywood helped with the first two, but the third was a path I couldn't walk with him. He needed to find it on his own, alone, or he would never trust it or trust me. He would always wonder what could have been had he not been attached to me.

"If we both know this isn't going to work, why are we still doing this?"

His words stabbed at my gut like an icepick, and my heart seized for a moment before returning to beating so fast and hard that I could barely catch a breath.

I tried to keep my face impassive as I said, "Damned if I know."

I did know, but it was obvious he had already made up his mind. If I was honest with myself, I knew he had to go.

He put on his jacket and retrieved his bags. I hurried to cut him off at the door, ready to offer some kind of commitment, but then he stopped in front of me and dropped his stuff with a dramatic pose. I knew nothing I said would keep him from going, his mind having been made up before I ever walked in. It was there in the half-smile that belied the sadness in his eyes.

He leaned into me, wrapping his arms around my neck and resting his chin on my shoulder as he waited for me to say the words that would keep him there. I couldn't do that. No matter how much he wanted to hear them, he would think I was just saying them to keep him from going. He would be right - I did mean them, but I would also be saying them to prevent him from going.

"Where will you go?" I asked.

As far as I knew, he would be homeless again. He was leaving the safety I had provided for God knows what, with God knows who. He would be facing the world alone, exposed, again.

I wrapped my arms a little tighter around him, wanting to beg him to be safe, to carry his mace. It all sounded so stupid and parental.

"I'll figure it out."

By the tone of his voice, I could tell he already had and didn't want me to know.

He pulled away, leaving me naked and exposed in my club finery. He turned to face me and just before he closed the door, I tried one more time.

"Let me know."

His chin pulled up, his shoulders square. It was at that moment I figured out where he was going by the defiant stance and his belligerent stare - Michael's.

The door slammed closed, and I could do nothing but stand there in shock for fuck knows how long as I processed the fact that he was gone. That day had started like any other: shower sex, work, Babylon, and then home where we should have fucked some more. Instead, I was the one that was fucked.

He was gone, and this time, he might not come back. This time, he might be strong enough to stay away for good.

I made it to the door, hands splayed on the cold metal, ready to go after him and beg him to come back. But then it hit me and I hit the floor, forehead pressed to the door.

I couldn't go after him for the same reasons I couldn't tell him what he wanted to hear - he wasn't ready. The words were churning up my insides like a typhoon, the pressure building and building until the only relief available was to say them out loud.

"I love you. Please, don't leave me again. I need you in ways that leave me gutted and raw when you're not here. Give me a chance to be enough. I will do anything to be enough. Stay with me and figure this out together. I thought we were a team. You told me we were partners and I agreed with you. I thought we were supposed to work shit out, not run away."

Even as I said the words, knowing how pathetic they sounded, I knew why he left. It had nothing to do with me, but I was the excuse. He needed to be free to grow and I had to let him.

My heart didn't care what my brain thought and the words dribbled out anyway.

"I love you. Please stay."

 

The End.
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