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As soon as the door opens, the butterflies that had once lived in Owen's stomach stop fluttering and that gut-wrenching feeling he's always hated comes back to torture him. Owen feels dizzy. He doesn't know how to handle this feeling. He just closes the door in front of him, gently to make sure he is able to leave unnoticed, and feels every ounce of hope he once had crumble into a pile of dust as he heads towards his own bedroom.
His mind starts to spin and his head begins to ache as the image of Conner with someone else repeats in an endless cycle. Owen knows it's over between them, it's been over between them for months. Conner didn't even have to say it. Owen could already tell from the way he looks at him; the flame he once had for him had gone out.
Now all he can do is just lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling until his wish of sleep is granted. But even then- even if he got his wish- he'd still have to wake up and remember everything all over again. The way Conner held her; how he kissed her. His hands tugging her hair the way he used to with Owen's. It was all too familiar. He knows it's wrong, but he couldn't help but blame her for losing Conner. Because no matter what, in Owen's eyes, Conner could never do wrong. How could someone he loves hurt him like this?
But it wasn't the poor girl's fault, he couldn't put all the blame on a stranger. It was his fault. If only he hadn't grabbed his hand in public, if only he hadn't argued with him about their stupid band. Maybe if he just kept his mouth shut about everything that he couldn't keep inside of him, Conner would still want him. Maybe he wouldn't have thrown himself in the arms of someone else. Or maybe, it would've been better if he was born a girl. He clings onto this final thought until he falls asleep, alone in his bed, aching for the closure and comfort he isn't sure he'll ever have again.