A/N: I'm really curious as to people's reactions to this chapter (like Spot). I wrote it after having a horrible fight with my best friend/love of my life. I had to tell myself some very painful truths, and this is the emotional mess that rose from the aftermath.

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When Spot pushed open the apartment door and trudged inside, he wasn't expecting to be greeted by a pile of cardboard boxes. "Tony?" He called warily.

There was a scuffling from the bedroom, and Race waded out, a tired look on his face. "Hey Sean," he murmured.

Spot's grey eyes flicked over the apartment quickly, and his face stilled. "You're leaving."

Race sighed, and hefted a box onto his hip, brushing a lock of hair from his eyes. "We both knew this was coming. It was time - we've been together a long time, maybe too long."

"I suppose," Spot said quietly, "that this is a pretty easy end, considering." He reached down and grabbed the nearest box. It was half full of CDs and movies – the ones Race had contributed to their collection.

Race watched sadly as Spot carried the box over to the media station and began ruthlessly culling the remaining cases. After years under the same roof, he knew his lover's moods like he knew his own, and he could physically see Spot bricking up a wall between them. But that was a wall that hadn't been built overnight, and there was nothing Race could do about it now. So instead he took his box and headed back to the bedroom.

It was hard, pulling down the painting Spot had bought him for their second anniversary, or packing away the statue he'd bought for the room at a flea market last year. The empty space screamed of painful memories – both happy and sad. Race didn't know which were worse.

He was folding the last of his shirts when Spot wordlessly set his box on the bed. His grey eyes ran over the room, lighting on each of the voids where candles or statues had sat, the bare walls where paintings had hung, the abandoned hangers gently clinking in the closet.

Avoiding those piercing eyes, Race opened Spot's box. The movie on the top was 'Stand By Me' and Race's breath stumbled to a stop in his throat. "But, Sean…" he whispered, "you love this movie…"

Spot's ink-stained hand crossed into his field of vision and closed the box. "You love it more."

Race had to take a moment to force down the lump in his throat, but Spot hadn't moved when he finally mastered himself. "Thanks." Race mumbled awkwardly, unsure what was left to say.

Spot didn't seem to know either, so they just stood there in silence. Spot stared hard at Race, as if memorizing every last detail; while Race stared hard at the floor. It had been his decision – he had chosen to take this final step. But he still couldn't meet those grey eyes.

Finally, he couldn't take it anymore, and grabbed the two boxes. "Well," he said, his voice harsh in the dead air and dying memories. "I guess this is it then."

Spot nodded, and led the way back into the foyer. "Where will you go?"

Thankful that Spot's steely gaze was focused somewhere else, Race hefted the boxes higher in his arms. "To a friend's. And then my own place, I guess. Well, once I find one."

Spot grabbed two more boxes. "Is your friend helping you transport this stuff? I can store it here until you find somewhere…" he trailed off, and looked away.

Surprised at the role reversal, Race smiled mirthlessly. "He's at work, but he loaned me his car – it's parked outside." He paused. "I'll be all right."

Spot's only answer was a brusque nod, and they ferried all the boxes to the car in silence.

When the last box was finally crammed into the back seat, Race surveyed the apartment he'd called home for the last three years. It looked… picked over, like thieves had broken in during the night. But he was slightly consoled by the fact that he felt no remorse for leaving, only a dull sort of numbness. This had been the right decision, after all.

That left only the awkward goodbye. Determined to get it over with as painlessly as possible, he turned to Spot. "I'm sorry this had to end." He said matter-of-factly. "I wouldn't take it back, and I hope you wouldn't either. When it was great…" he trailed off, watching Spot for a sign. But the other man had let his hair flop over his eyes, obscuring his expression behind a curtain of silky blond locks. Race cleared his throat. "I loved you, nothing's going to change that, all right?" he gripped Spot's by the shoulder, forcing their eyes to meet.

Behind his bangs, Spot's gaze was sterile and emotionless – he looked about as interested as he did in the waiting room at the dentist's office. "Yeah. You were right, it was coming. I'm glad we did what we did." His gaze was beaming into Race's forehead. "If you need anything…"

Race smiled wobbily. "I'll call." He went to hug Spot, one last time.

But Spot flinched away, flicking his hair back over his face. "Don't." he muttered harshly, turning to face the wall. "Let's just…" A strangled expression danced across his face before quickly disappearing again. "...don't, okay? I'm sorry."

Biting his lip, Race nodded. Hugging would be the wrong thing to do. He needed to get out before those grey eyes could pull him back in. "I understand. Goodbye, Sean."

Spot nodded, and Race headed reluctantly for the door, leaving his key on the counter as he passed.

"Tony…" Spot called – so quietly that Race almost didn't hear. But he did, and even if he didn't turn, he paused for a second, waiting for Spot to continue.

"I loved you too. Just… know that."

Feeling tears welling up in his eyes, Race took a deep breath, and continued out the door. Once it had closed behind him, he sank back against it, sliding down to the ground as he dug a handkerchief from his pocket. Eventually, he'd have to climb back to his feet, trudge down the stairs, and drive away. But right now it was all he could do to keep from crying. Letting his head drop back against the wood, Race closed his eyes.

Inside the apartment, Spot stared at the door for a long time. Then he took a deep breath and headed for the bathroom, wiping his face surreptitiously. He turned the shower on as hot as it would go and climbed in, not even bothering to strip off his clothes until they were already soaked from the spray. He let the shower wash over him with its torrent of scalding tears.

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A/N: Well? This is the most personal chapter I've written, even if the translation isn't literal. It's the emotion that I was trying to convey here. Any commentary would be greatly appreciated. And I think it was rather theraputic. It's the first time I'd really tried something like this.

And I know the gravitas was entirely ruined by the fact that the stupid 'line' button wasn't working, so I had to improvise. How retarded.

To last chapter's lovely reviewers: xoborogrlxo (nice to hear from you again! Thanks especially for the feedback!), -0'EmeraldEyes'0'- (I seriously love you. I'm glad that you liked last chapter, it was certainly a different view of the relationship! Thanks!), and Tess (even though you didn't officially review, thanks anyway!). You guys are the best!