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You had prepared yourself for the goodbyes.
Practiced a lot in front of the bathroom mirror; smiling when you say ‘we had a great run’, swallowing the tears when you shake hands, and ignoring the warmth from his palm and the comforting callouses you had long mapped out.
It wouldn’t be too hard, right?
Because you had known there would be an end to your relationship from the very beginning, hell, he told you himself that this wasn’t anything serious. And you thought you knew what that meant, after all this is the modern era, loads of people have flings, so you shrugged his stern tone off and undressed once more, revelling in the euphoria only he could give you.
But what do girls know of the world?
What did you know, at that age? About being in a man’s world? Of keeping things casual and plainly sexual?
It wasn’t your fault, strictly speaking. He’s older, he should have known better than to say one thing and then do another. Should have never let the lines blur from quick fucks to long aftercare, messy make-outs to reassuring kisses, and from throat grabbing to hand holding.
He should have never bought groceries, refilled your car, made you soup when you were sick, and he definitely should not have let you introduce him to your friends.
But he did.
He did all those things and more.
And your fridge was never empty, you haven’t been anywhere near a gas station, not been sick on your own, and your friends absolutely love him.
Why is it so easy to let someone in your life and so damn hard to let them go?
It can’t be because you didn’t know you would have to, because you did. It was one of those late-night thoughts that kept you awake and paranoid, made you anxious when you didn’t wake up in his arms. It also can’t be because he was just so easy to let in?
No, he was towering and clumsy, unused to the plush carpets and shiny hardwood floors. You had to weave around his frame to get to the kitchen, and pick up his dirty socks, tell him off for leaving the toilet seat up, or placing the cereal boxes a shelf too high.
Eventually, however, you learned to time his steps with yours, warned him before he could even remove them, knew well enough to always pull down the seat even in the dark, and ask for his help in the mornings.
You made room for him.
But he never did the same for you.
That much is clear now, as you stay in the hallway, sitting criss-crossed, watching the door.
You knew something was off when you came back home — there was the faint smell of bleach lingering in the air, and when you wandered further in, you noticed the dishes were washed and stacked, the carpet fluffy, the cushions plump, and fresh flowers were in the vase.
Your heart knew before your mind did.
The socks were gone, the toilet seat down, and you didn’t even dare to look at the cereal boxes, could only stumble back to the front door, gawk at the empty spaces between pairs of shoes, clutching your chest like it might just cave in.
One thing is on your mind, as you stay sitting in the dark.
You wish you had gotten to use your well-thought speech, had gotten to practice your acting a little more, tested it on a real audience, the real audience, or been the mature one and reached in for a hug like it meant nothing.
But you can’t.
Because he’s gone.
And Toji didn't even say goodbye.