I'm sorry, I never meant to hurt you.
They say that there are three sides to a story.
Hers, which tells of easy-to-rise anger bubbling just beneath the surface, always ready to yell abuse. In this he expects her to scream, throw things at him, raise her tiny hands in tiny fists and try to reach him, but he is stunned by her icy silence. After months of fighting for a relationship that was falling apart at the very seams, he thinks she'd at least have something to say.
"Mi-rin," he says, and her lower lip trembles before she steels herself against his voice.
This is what he thinks happened.
His speaks of a hard-to-follow line, too many corn mazes, too many puzzles and bon lights and wayward spirits that cannot find their way back home. Her eyes are the colour of rust, dull and lifeless. This is not the person he fell in love with. He can see the tears in her eyes, how his Mimi is going to cry and though he has spent the last few weeks aching for her, seeing her so close to tears and so distraught shores him more than she could have hoped.
"You don't get to call me that."
Desperate, Yamato reaches out, holding her wrist between his long fingers, stunned once more as she rejects him with such vice.
This is what he wishes had happened.
He always imagined what it must be like, to watch Love walk away and leave the door open. The silence that follows the slam that shakes its frame, the walls and him reverberates inside his ribs.
"I'm sorry," he says, but Love is already gone.
This is the truth.