He missed her. He had finally said it. He missed her. He missed her smile. He missed her eyes. Her hair, her smell, her everything. He missed her.

He knew that she had to leave. He thought that he had to accept it. He thought that he'd get over it. Over her. But he didn't. He couldn't. He could never forget her. He knew long ago that she would leave, knew that he should've prepared himself for it. But no amount of forwarning could have made him hurt less. She was gone. He felt cold.

She had been gone for six months. Six long months of torture. Six endless months of pure agony. The holidays were nearing, and they only made him feel her loss even more. All of the "happy couples" holding hands, strolling through the snow, kiss under mistletoe- it killed him. Everywhere he went he saw her, and he wanted to die.

He needed her.

He stood outside of some unfamiliar door, practically shaking. He was shaking from both nerves and anger at being nervous in the first place. Men like him didn't get nervous. He didn't get nervous.

He was unsure of how long he stood there, seconds or millenia, it didn't matter. He thought about knocking. He knew he should knock. It would destroy him if he didn't. It would destroy him if he did. Closing his eyes, he pulled together as many thoughts and memories of her as he could, hoping they'd give him the strength to do it. He thought of the days by the lake and their nights in the forest. He thought of everything.

His eyes opened. He knocked.