"What do you mean?" he's saying, but I'm not really paying attention at this point. My eyes are shut tight; I just don't want to deal with this. Honestly, doesn't he get it yet?

"I told you," and here I go, repeating myself again, as though he's a little kid who doesn't understand the concept of no. I'm always taking care of him, and I'm sick of it. "I told you, I just can't do this right now."

With a dramatic sigh, I open my eyes. He's staring right at me, his eyes boring into me. It's almost painful, really. For a moment, I feel bad. I quickly shake that away with a toss of my hair.

"No, no," his voice has gotten quiet now, "No. You can do this right now. You just... don't want to."

He breaks his gaze, concentrates on the wooden floor beneath us. The only thing we have in common right now. The fact that we're in the same place.

Maybe this was a bad decision. I mean, to take him here. Now that I think about it, it's almost cruel. This proves that he is right, at least, when he tells me that I never think things through.

"You haven't thought this through."

Right on cue. Nice. So predictable.

I really can't handle this anymore.

"Will..."

I'm actually surprised by the tone of my voice. Sympathy, maybe? I'm not sure. But it's softer now, like I'm explaining to a four-year-old that his favorite dog just got hit by a car. He's still a little kid. God.

"Will," my voice is stern again, and I'm proud of myself. I step up to him, reach up to his face. He's always been so tall. My hands rest on his cheeks, and I can feel the stubble trying to grow back in. He felt rough, nice, on my palm. I've always liked that feeling.

He's staring at me again. His eyes are an even deeper blue now that they're watering. His chin doesn't quiver beneath my touch, and his full lips stay stuck in a straight line, unmoving, stubborn. Just like him. Unlike me, however, he knows his limits. He knows when to stop and when to give up.

So why the fuck isn't he giving up yet?

Looking up at him, I've lost my capability to say something. I haven't fulfilled my objective yet. Earlier today, I was thinking it through, figuring it would be easy. Simple. You know? Explain to him that, yes, I'm leaving, and no, you can't do anything to stop me. Walk out the door. Walk out of his life. Freedom. Why isn't it that simple?

His hands are on my face now, and I have to break my gaze. Stare at the floor. Act just like him, just like the little kid he always is. Jesus.

He lifts my chin so that I have no choice. Reluctantly, I find myself looking back at him again. Except now it's different. The tears are gone, and there is no trace of them on his cheeks. His lips aren't straight. In fact, they're curved into a smile.

What. The. Hell?

His fingers push a stray hair away from my face - he always does that - and gently place it behind my ear. Even though he knows I hate my hair behind my ears. He knows it makes me smile anyway. And before I know, there's a smile resting on my lips, too. The pair that we are. Always matching in some shape or form. Too fucking predictable. God.

And then he starts to sing.

You've got to be kidding me.

Fuck.

I know what he's singing, why he's singing it. I can't believe I chose this place to do this, this place... God.

I close my eyes, and the memory comes flooding back to me before I can resist.

"Will? Will!" I shout, trying to run to keep up with him. I grab his hand and pull him to halt so I can catch my breath, and so that maybe I wouldn't fall while we were going down the hill. "Will, where are we going?"

He smiles, genuine and full, like he has a secret. And of course, he did. He knew where we were going.

"You'll see," he says, his deep, sapphire eyes bright in the moonlight. "It's really not that much farther, I promise."

I believed him. From that moment on, I put my trust in him. Something completely out of my nature.

My feet were bare, shiny and slippery from the dew beneath us, and when I looked down, my arms were covered in chill bumps. We'd left our shoes and jackets in his truck a couple of miles back.

I was obviously out of shape, as well as out of breath, when he finally stopped. His right pant leg had fallen down, from where he'd rolled them both up to his knees so as to keep them dry. He took a couple of steps ahead of me before he looked back.

He offered me his hand, and I took it.

We were standing in front of a gazebo. At the bottom of the hill, abandoned, there was a gazebo. It was older, of course, and weeds were happily spreading at the base of it, beside the stairs. I looked in to find two wooden benches on opposite sides. The bench on the left side was broken in half, laying there, pathetic and sad, with splinters scattered around it. The other was in good shape.

We walked up the two steps together, hand in hand. I noticed the hole in the roof that let the moonlight shine through. The perfect spot for it.

It seemed very antique-ish. I was startled by it, to be honest. It wasn't until we were standing beside the still-in-tact bench that I decided I should take a breath.

It was so silent out there. No cars, no trains, there weren't even airplanes flying overhead. Crickets played their soft music, the background music to what would become our relationship.

Before I knew it, he was facing me. Small smile, staring right at me. His hand tucked under my chin, forcing me to look up at him. Not that I minded. And then he started to sing.

Except his song didn't have words. It was a bunch of little syllables, put together with a tune.

One arm reached around my waist, his hand resting on the small of my back. His other hand was held out in the air, patient and waiting. Expectant.

My hands slowly crept up to his shoulders, and one quietly slid down to its reserved spot.

With our bare feet, unafraid of splinter or spiders, with his soft, silly music, we began to dance.

I feel his arm sneak around my waist, and I already know his other hand is waiting in the air expectantly. We're barefoot again, jackets and shoes in my car a couple of miles away. I can't hold back a sigh before I open my eyes.

"Will..." How many time have I repeated his name tonight?

He continues to sing his silly song, unashamed and unscathed by my tone. He is waiting and waiting, and we both know he will wait for as long as it takes.

Might as well get it over with now. God.

I let my hands rest where they belong, and we start to move.

I can't look at him. I don't understand it, but I can't look at him. Jesus. I just stare at our feet, as though I care about the possibility of splinters. We both know that I don't. I'm surprised to find that it takes such an effort just to keep my eyes glued to the wood.

We continue for a couple of minutes, dancing around in this gazebo, until his music comes to a slow stop, a ritardando. His arm remains stationary, but from the corner of my eye, I can see his hand move.

And it's under my chin again, begging me to look up at him once more. I don't have much of a choice. Damn it.

His eyes are sad again, they seem to tremble because they can't keep still. They keep scanning the landscape of my body, my face, as though he finally realizes it's his last chance to do so. To remember every little detail that he possibly can.

Now I actually feel bad about this. It was supposed to be easy! God!

He leans down so that his face is level with mine.

I close my eyes again. Big mistake. I think about it again.

The music stopped, and we sat together on the bench.

"So, what do you think?" he asked eagerly, like a little kid, his whole body seemed to bounce. He couldn't hide his emotions, especially his happiness.

"How did you find this place?" I was still in shock, in disbelief. In love.

He shrugged, satisfied with my answer. He scooted closer to me, he wrapped his arm around my shoulder. He was warm. He felt safe.

"Was I right? Was this a good idea?" For a second, a flash of worry crossed over his eyes. When he blinked, it was gone, his smile still full and genuine.

I nodded, because I felt I couldn't say anything that would truly express how right how was. My cheeks flushed red.

His hand reached my chin, and I glanced up at him. He held my gaze for a minute or so, his face slowly but surely getting closer and closer to my own.

I shut my eyes as I felt his lips on mine.

And I open them again. Feeling his lips on mine. Short but sweet.

He pulls away, silent. His smile is gone, vanished, and his stare is traced with realization.

His hands drop away from me, and he begins to walk. Down the steps. On the grass. Up the hill.

The pain is swift and unexpected. He's leaving me now. This isn't the way it was supposed to happen. Tears well up in my eyes. And then they're on my cheeks, waterfalls, and he's not doing anything about it. He's leaving me behind. It's not supposed to be like this. He keeps walking. I can't take this. Fuck! Why the fuck isn't this easy! He's supposed to be the one crushed like this!

So why the hell am I crying?