A/N: So help me, I ship it.
You want to kiss him. You want to keep him. You want to be the one to hold him, and patch up his wounds, and lay claim to his heart.
Go, you order yourself. You rifle through your mind and try to uproot the memories—the caress of his seeking lips, the soft brush of his hands. The smile and the sacrifice.
You hate to leave a hero behind, but you know how all the girls end up, in stories like this. Dead, broken, or left behind.
You just don't have the time. Maybe you don't even have the heart.
You cry. Alone in your apartment, with your hands over your mouth. This is not your story. It can't be. You chose to walk away—from his pleading lips and his empty eyes.
You did the leaving, and you lived.
But you're still broken, and there's nothing anyone can do about that.
