He knew the longer he put if off the worse it would be. He had to tell her. But he found himself physically incapable of sitting her down and telling her. Telling her of how he would leave the house while she worked late nights to go to muggle London where he knew he wouldn't be recognized. Telling her of how he dreamed of flat muscled chests and thick arms, not the rounded chest and thin arms of hers. To tell her of how he was unfaithful in the worst way.
It was a cool Sunday morning when he sat her down at their dining room table. His senses were heightened and he could feel each beat of the rain resonate in his heart. Hermione had left the kitchen window open last night and he could feel the chill of the damp air breeze make the hair on his neck rise. His eyes rose from studying the swirling patterns in the wood on the table to meet her eyes. His breath hitched as she asked what was wrong. He blinked away his tears as he stumbled over his words. His tongue was tied in knots and his face felt numb from the pent up tears and emotion. His lungs were constricted feeling when the truth finally spilled from his lips.
He watched her eyes fill with tears as she told him it's not his fault. That didn't help the hurt in his chest when he saw the pain he caused her. He listened numbly as she asked him to please leave. He packed a duffle bag in silence. He gave her one quick look and pleaded with her I'm sorry before disappearing. When he reappeared and knocked on the door in front of him, his best friend answered and pulled him inside with only a glance at the bloodshot eyes and tear stained face of Ron Weasley.