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Reaching for a clean shirt, Major kicked the box again. He scowled down at it. Not that it was the box's fault that he'd left it on the floor of his closet where he would trip over it regularly. No, that was all him, and his inability to decide whether he wanted to keep it all to pretend a little bit longer that Liv might come back some day or whether he wanted to take it to her to give himself an excuse to see her and hope seeing him reminded her what a mistake it had been to break up with him.

Either way, though, he really couldn't leave it there any longer—the constant kicking was making a dent in the box. And, after all, there was Corinne. Who wasn't Liv, but she was nice, and she wasn't constantly upset by his presence, and she seemed … normal. Like maybe he could have a normal life even if his fiance had left him to deal with her trauma.

Yeah. It was enough. He picked up the box and set it in front of his bedroom door so that he couldn't accidentally—or not so accidentally—forget it when he left.

Later, he waited in front of their door, the box in his arms, bracing himself for Peyton to open the door, trying to prepare for Liv to open the door. He could be her friend, right? After all this time, he was used to not being her partner and he could be her friend. At least, so he told himself, until Liv opened the door in her shorts and a hoodie hastily pulled on over a tank top.

In order to keep his eyes off her, keep from remembering the time when he had the right to peel those off her and lock the door behind them and … he dropped his gaze to the box and immediately started babbling. "I was gonna rename this 'Major's excuse to come over', but … I'm tryin' to maintain an air of mystery." As babbles went, that was a little too close to the truth. When Liv didn't respond, he walked into the room. "No, but seriously, I figured after six months, you were kind of really missing your tiny face sander thing, and that magnifying mirror that makes your pores look like manholes." No, that wasn't passive aggressive at all. Shut up, Major. He could have slapped himself for letting his mouth run off with itself like that. "Thanks for leaving that behind, by the way." He grinned at her over his shoulder, hoping she couldn't tell how nervous he was. He hated being nervous around Liv. They never had been nervous with each other. From the first moment, they'd just—gotten one another, conversation and quips flowing so easily between them. He missed that so much.

He put the box down on the dining table, glad and sorry to be rid of it.

"You didn't need to do this," Liv said when he finally took a breath.

God, she was blunt. She'd always been blunt, but since the boat party she really seemed to be missing her filter. And sometimes she said the weirdest things, like she wasn't even Liv anymore, and then she'd be right back to brooding and running from him, and everyone, again.

"No, it's mostly just hair products, lingerie …" Really, Major? Lingerie? Shut up! "But there's some books," he added hastily, to keep either one of them from thinking too much about the lingerie. "Oh. And this." He pulled out the T-shirt, holding it up to his chest, hoping … what? That she would be so overcome by memories she'd throw herself into his arms? It said "I left my heart in San Francisco", with the word "heart" replaced by the image of one. And he couldn't help being a little snarky. "Which might explain some things." Yeah, she wasn't going to throw herself into his arms. Not today.

Liv just stared at him, no response. No smile, no frown, no 'shut up, Major', which he probably richly deserved, nothing. He hated seeing her like this.

But he tried one more time, because here he was and here she was and he couldn't not try one more time. "I'm thinkin' maybe this calls for a road trip." He gave her his best smile. She loved his lopsided smile, she'd told him so more times than he could count. But then, these days he wasn't sure if she remembered what love felt like. Or any other emotion, for that matter.

Still nothing. He felt bad for trying, and mad at himself for feeling bad, and mad at her for making him feel bad, and—really awful that he hadn't been able to help. All this time, all his training, all the love he felt for her, and he hadn't been able to help her heal, even a little bit. Major folded the shirt again, and said apologetically, "I'm just—I'm just kiddin'."

"I know." Two hoarse, emotionless words. He was over here twisted into knots from everything he felt, and she had … nothing.

They stared at each other until Major couldn't take it any longer. "Yeah, well, I didn't—I didn't know what to do with this stuff, and it just felt weird to throw it out."

Liv nodded.

"I mean … what if you had an emotional attachment to …" He reached into the box and pulled out the first thing he touched. "This textbook. On rare skin diseases."

"Well, thanks for bringing it by," she said, as if he hadn't spoken. So much for thinking she had any emotional attachments at all, he thought sourly.

Peyton came in just then, complaining about her parking spot, and Major had never been so happy to see Liv's best friend. He and Liv shared a look, a ghost of thousands of other looks between them when being interrupted by Peyton, whose timing had often been scarily apt.

Dry cleaning slung over her shoulder, Peyton came toward them, frowning as she tried to parse the situation. "Should I not be here?"

"No, I, uh—I was just headin' out," Major said, wishing it wasn't true, but glad it was. He gave Peyton a quick hug, and walked past Liv without a touch, which was harder to do than he would have thought possible. Before he left, though, he also had to deal with the other unpleasant task, the one he had been putting off for so long. He stopped to look down at her. "I, uh, I also have an entire closet full of engagement gifts, so let me know if you want anything." Let me know if you want me, he meant, but she didn't, and he couldn't stand being told that any more. Hastily, he kept talking, hoping she had missed the subtext, angry that she definitely had missed the subtext. "Other than the panini press, which I've already used," and what crappy paninis those had been, eating them thinking how much better they would have tasted if Liv had been there to make them with him, "and broken … and repurchased."

"We'll take a juicer," Peyton said.

Liv glanced at her, if possible even paler than usual, and turned to Major ready to argue.

But Major saw an attempt by Peyton to give him another excuse to come by, and he had to hope Peyton knew something he didn't know. Or he had to hope there was something to know. Or he had to keep torturing himself because this was his life now. Whatever way you looked at it, Corinne or no Corinne, any excuse to come over to Liv's was one he couldn't pass up. "I'll, uh, I'll drop it by this weekend."

He heard furious whispers behind him when he closed the doors, and was perversely glad that at least something had made Liv furious. He couldn't help contrasting this pale, emotionless woman with the colorful, vibrant girl he loved. If there was any chance of getting that Liv back, any chance of getting back on track with her, then he had to try, didn't he? Which wasn't fair to Corinne. But then, Liv wasn't coming back—the last six months had made that abundantly clear, and Corinne was his chance to start over. Which wasn't fair to Liv or to Corinne. But nothing about this situation was fair to him, either, and he was fumbling through it as best he could.