He was walking away.
It was as simple as that, nearly every time they were together, his back would turn on her eventually, and she would be forced to stare at his fading silhouette, finding her voice incredibly difficult to summon up.
She lacked the confidence, she knew, and in so many areas. Constantly hiding the insecurity, she has even led herself to believe she has reached the peak of perfection, but deep inside, she always knew.
And this time was no different.
The blade had been returned swiftly into her sheath, and she had stood up to face him. Their gazes never met. He simply stood up and walked.
And once again, she found herself staring.
The man before her was her superior, thus he was out of reach, out of bounds for her. Yet she held onto the little thread of a promised future and allowed her feelings to soar by being with him: not by duty, for she could always overcome that, but for the first time in years—by what people called "love".
His footsteps were ever so sturdy as each stride brought him further from her, and she finally found her voice, albeit rough and coarse.
"Stay," she whispered.
He didn't stop.
"Please," she said, louder, more urgent.
There was a slight grazing of the sand of the path as his feet halted momentarily. Slowly, agonizingly slowly, he turned around.
It was the masked face she's seen so many times before—in pain, in sadness, in pleasure, in happiness—in the rain, in the snow, in the sun, in the bed. But this time, it was as if she was looking right through it, and he, through her.
There was no emotion, no flicker, nothing.
And for the first time in years, she felt her eyes water with hot, stinging tears that blurred her vision.
He stared at her blankly, eyes traveling to her lips—the bottom one captured between her teeth to bite back the pain, no doubt. Those lips…he'd remembered kissing them some point.
Her heart was pounding in her constricting chest, but her outer appearance has never looked or felt as calm as then.
But he could see through it. She was a master at deception. If it were not for years spent together, he's never have known her tenseness then was evident through the way her hips angled heavily to one side, the way her green gaze faded in and out as if looking through him, or the way her cheeks twitched slightly each time she chewed on the inside, however discreet.
She knew it was like this every time. Set aside the past, when they meet, his mask is back on—not just the cloth—and he would set himself apart. Cold, untouchable, undeterred beauty. So far away.
"Why?" She asked in a small tone, her voice finally cracking some emotion, however restrained.
"I'm sorry," he replied simply, turning around fully and walking toward her.
"Why do you always…do this?"
His eyes narrowed ever so slightly as his footsteps paused.
"Always..."
"I'm sorry."
"No, you're not."
He was silent again, but this time, he was directly in front of her, hazarding the space between them.
"It should be me leaving, hm?" She mumbled, wiping away the single trickle of tear that rolled down her cheek, plastering her face with a weak smile."It should be me walking away, right?"
"No, I started this--"
"Stop it! If you can say you started it, then end it!" For once, her voice sounded shrill. For once, there was a demand in it. And at that, the tsunami inside broke loose and rivers of tears flowed down her face with pain held back from ages of mental torture and years of restraint. "Put an end to this right now!"
He didn't say anything. He couldn't say anything.
"If you can just say that it's over," she whispered into her hands, "I'll walk away right now and never look back." But you constantly leave me hoping.
"I can't do that," he said, his voice bland and final, but with the touch of deepness and reassurance that always seemed to give her hope.
There was a momentary pause where his hands found their way to her shoulders. With a slight jerk, he pulled her in and leaned himself closer, severing the last of the space that kept their bodies apart.
"You know I can't do that," he breathed against her lips.
Then he captured them.
Like he had done so many times before, he kissed her, pressing his cloth-covered mouth over her pink petals in a sudden, smooth kiss. Eyes fluttered closed as the lock was deepened.
But something had stirred in her that she couldn't quite explain, and when he let go, taking the warmth with him, she found herself staring at his back again.
His absence was once again present.
They were back where they started.
He was walking away.