Alex watches her from a distance, always making sure to have an angry and disgusted look on his face when their eyes meet and he can almost feel a wave of triumph when he sees the hurt deform Lucy's face and he knows her beautiful eyes are sparkling due to tears, and it makes him happy.
An instant – a whole minute – an endless day – the longest night of their lives, then he craves her again and he's going crazy but he can't show it because she's so freaking annoying and fuck her, he thinks, I hate you for the love of God Lucy Fields.
It's slow; the way he looks at her, the way she glances back at him, how he wants her to know he hates her and can't get her to know he needs her, the desperate attempt she constantly makes to tell him how much she loves him, how much she needs him, how freaking sorry she'll ever be. But everything else around them is so fast and so far away and they do it all automatically. Their jobs. Automatic love. Because somewhere, somehow – (they know the answers but being vague sounds so poetic) – they've lost their way back, they not-so-hard struggle to reach what they need to become themselves again.
As time passes they feel like nothing is changing, but it is, because Alex is the ghost of himself and Lucy is crying and crying and crying – he's not the only one who notices anymore. But he can't be there. Being there means he's forgiven, forgotten, accepted. He hasn't. Being there means he loves her, and he does but she can't know, ever, not even a million years from now.
And it's the end of it all – vanished – like one last breath exhaled.