Prologue:
He'd been gone four months, but it'd taken only four days (fewer, really) to realize that she'd been the sliver living under his skin. She'd been the singular thought that'd winced and ached whenever anyone or anything (a smell, a smile, an accent or a laugh) had brushed up against a reminder of her. And putting miles, landmasses, bloody big bodies of water between them... hadn't done shit to ease that niggle of pain that lived right underneath the thought of her.
That sliver'd been his fault, mainly. He knew that much - wasn't dumb enough to try and pretend any different. And he'd stepped back from the hurt and placed space between them. He'd hoped maybe open air and time would salvage something out of the wreckage he'd created.
The last fight had been beyond the worst they'd ever duked out, it'd been mean-spirited and doused cold and somewhere in the middle of it he and she, the both of them, had evolved into creatures he couldn't even recognize. Because she'd been beyond fed up with him, with his childishness - impetuous and impertinent, s'what she'd implied. Though, she'd phrased it more along the lines of "gutless and selfish son of a bitch!".
Coulda sworn he'd swung himself right back into his marriage, scrapping it up with Zoe rather than with his own dear-heart, best-friend, rainy-day-pal. Coulda sworn he hadn't meant to make her cry. But he had, actually. And scrupulously watching her watch him through hot and furious (furiously falling) tears?
That'd been the omen, hadn't it? The sign that had clearly said "Exit".
That'd been four months before, though.
That'd been ages ago... and still this little tear in his usually thicker-than-thin skin.
And she was the thing that ached on him when pressed against, even when everything else was healthy.