The distance was getting to him. The phone calls were becoming frustrating, the texts becoming grating reminders, the Skype calls complete and utter torture.
And then there were the visits. Every other weekend, for one night, if even that, and then he was gone in the morning with a scrawled note left on the coffee pot.
Tweek crumpled the note up, frustrated tears stinging at his eyes, threatening to spill over as he turned his face up and ground his teeth, trying his best not to blink and set them free. His phone beeped twice from his bedside table and his shoulders stiffened at the sound of the message.
This wasn't working, the distance was proving too much, and the added pressure was enough to suffocate him.