I don't know how to love broken things.

In the months leading to their imminent separation, Yamato spent more and more time on his own. But what upset her, truly, was that he thought she did not notice. But the more she leaned into him, the more forcefully did he pull away. This was not new. This was the way their whole relationship had been – Yamato pulling away and Mimi chasing after him, forcing him to make the choices he was afraid to make.

He sat on the floor, his back resting against the padded wall behind him. Mimi looked at him from the door, eyes hard but shining with tears. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I never thought that by trying to be with you I was hurting you so much – I never knew, Yama."

"You think you did this to me?" he asked, his voice more callous than he'd intended to make it sound. He was pointing at himself, his hands gesturing towards his body. "No, Mimi. This started way before you even came along. Don't try to take all the credit."

"Is this about your parents?" she asked, lips pursed and hands balled into fists on her sides.

"No. And shut up about them, we're not discussing that, ever."

"And why not?" she demanded, ignoring the sting in her chest at being treated thus. "We never talk about them, Yamato. Maybe we should've because clearly, you're not over it."

"I'm not having this conversation," he croaked. "If you want to leave, then leave. But don't throw that type of thing to my face."

"How did it end, hm? Did they cut you loose? Tragic Yamato, hurt one too many times. You just can't stop feeling bad for yourself. You can't stop being the victim." She angrily rubbed her eyes, voice trembling with anger and hurt and something else she could not quite name. "I am so tired of this, so … tired."

Yamato had his head bowed between his knees, eyes closed and ears ringing against her words. She was trying to wound him, he knew. She was succeeding, too, and she knew that as well as he did. "Don't pretend you're so untouched," he said, his voice ringing loudly around them. "I'm not the one who's a fucking tragedy. At least I decided to do this. You, on the other hand—," he raised his head, "you don't even know what the fuck you want. Not with me, not with anyone."

"It's a good thing you make your own decisions, then," she retorted. "Pushing me away when I'm the only one who's come to find out what's become of you is a really fucking good one."

His eyes burned into hers, and she could feel her resolve faltering because she wanted to go over and comfort him but their words had been too callous, too venomous and there was something sick and festering between them.

"You're a coward, Mimi," he said, getting to his feet and leaning with his shoulder against the wall, sure that he'd fall on his arse if he didn't. "You came here to find out if I would blame you for this," he said, "But I don't. You could never do this to me."

Mimi took a deep breath, unable to stop the tears from leaking out of her eyes, hot and burning like scalding water. "Stop it, Yama," she begged, "please." And then, because she couldn't bear not to, Mimi closed the distance between them, taking his face between her hands and making him look down at her. "I'm so sorry," she murmured, feeling the man she had tried to love softening between her fingers, succumbing to a heartbreaking sigh as he pressed his forehead to hers. "I'm so sorry, Yama."

With trembling fingers, he pushed himself away.

"It's not your fault," he breathed. "I'm not fit for you, Mi. I'm sorry for that, too."

She wanted to kiss him. She wanted to take his hand and tell him she'd try harder, that she could handle him at his worst if he promised to try to get better, but they both knew that she would not. So she touched his cheek with a pale hand, her heart protesting when he closed his eyes and turned his face to kiss her open palm.

She would think about him later, cleaning up her flat. Her eyes were puffy and rimmed with red but she had stopped crying a while ago. And as she gathered his things, she dropped a picture frame, the glass shattering on the floor before she could try to salvage it. Mimi carefully gathered the pieces, cutting her hands many times before she could get all the pieces and dumped them unceremoniously in the wastebasket. Her hands throbbed with tiny wounds and she washed the blood away, like it was nothing at all.