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They sound just as bad as they were. I swallow through the thickness in my throat and close my eyes, gathering the will to just knock on the fucking door.

There is a very real, likely chance that he will slam the door and bolt it in my face.

“I wouldn’t want to deal with me, either,” I hear him say inside, and my heart picks up its pace.

Just knock already…

“So, now is your chance, Eleanor. Don’t disappoint yourself; I’m sure you can find the street equivalent of Fancy Feast without having to live with a gay disaster as a pseudo-parent.” I’m not ready for the door to swing open. Not prepared to get hit with the swoosh of air from the other side that smells like him. He’s wearing nothing but a massive hoodie that hits his knees, zebra print with a hood that has ears on it. Not a stitch of makeup, and no reason to have his guard up.

A cat's head is poking out of the hoodie pouch on the front, and they both blink at me.

“Hey,” I croak.

“Hi. Just giving Eleanor her nightly exit opportunity.” I can hear the rusty motor in that thing from here. Emery is acting like I’m just here…not like I’m here for him.

The longest ten seconds of silence pass before I clear my throat and try to smile, giving the pizza box a shake. Emery eyes the pink cupcake box on top of the pizza and glances over my shoulder.

“I thought maybe we could talk,” my voice comes out quiet and hangs between us. The cat looks up at Emery, like she’s also waiting to see what his response will be.

He chews on his bottom lip, still not looking at me. “What kind of pizza is it?”

“Bacon and pineapple,” I admit. His favorite—it’s what he demanded every Friday pizza night at his parents’ growing up. We were the only two who ever ate it. Emery’s left eye twitches, and a rush of relief runs through me when he jerks the door open further, stepping aside.

I had his dick in my mouth a little over an hour ago. I had him all but begging me to touch him, and now he steps cautiously back like the idea of my arm touching him as I pass is too much.

I walk to his kitchen and set the pizza box on the counter. He covered it with a peel-and-stick roll of something that sort of resembles marble. He has pictures hung up on the fridge with his brothers and friends, sticky notes . The cat, wearing a small tiara with her little snaggle tooth on display. There’s a half dead plant next to the sink, a stack of mail and a random screwdriver that I’m not sure I want to know what he was doing with. I just hope it’s me he calls to fix it.

You’re leaving in a week, dickhead.

Emery stops a full three feet away, petting Eleanor as he watches me. I want to hear him monologue every thought, and then every thought he thinks about to cover other ones. I want to see him pace and mumble about how much of an asshole he thinks I am. I’d take just about any version of him right now over this one.

The quiet is painful.

And it's my fault.

I take liberties with his cupboard, taking out two white plates from the stack inside. I can feel his eyes on my back, just fucking watching me.

“I’m sorry for walking out the way I did earlier,” I say, sliding pizza on one plate and then the other.

For a second, I think he’s going to try to deny that earlier ever happened, like he did every time I mentioned our kiss from years ago. When I turn to look at him, though, he’s aggressively rubbing at his eyes.

Like, viciously rubbing and biting his quivering bottom lip.

The same feeling I get every time Penny gets hurt swarms my entire system. I want to fix it and fix whatever the problem is immediately.

“Emery,” I set the plates down and move towards him.

“I’m fine, this is fine, everything is fine.” The last part is a watery sound, thick with tears.

He jumps when my hands wrap around his wrists, gently pulling at his hands. As soon as he can’t reach them anymore, tears track over his cheeks. Big brown eyes looking up at me with so much hurt in them. He pulls away before I can wipe them off, and keeps pulling away until he’s in the living room.

“This is embarrassing,” he hisses, hiccuping over another wave of tears. He gently takes the cat out of his hoodie and sets her on a white furry ottoman. She jumps off immediately, slightly limping away.

“Nothing is embarrassing about having feelings, Emerson. Nothing.”

“It is when they’re about you.”

His shoulders curl in, and he covers his face with his hands, sucking in a breath.