[He remembers. He does. Back when his love for her was some half-formed, almost-okay thing that he'd never say out loud, back when they were friends and he was a kid with a crush, back when he didn't fit in anywhere but it wasn't so fucking complicated - yeah, he remembers.]
[And he knows what this means, now. He doesn't have her back anymore. He has to have his own, and he hates it.]
[It's almost a physical effort not to hang up. But he doesn't. He can be a coward in a lot of ways, but not in every way. Not anymore.]
[His breathing is light, quick, shallow. But he is not crying.]
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[And he knows what this means, now. He doesn't have her back anymore. He has to have his own, and he hates it.]
[It's almost a physical effort not to hang up. But he doesn't. He can be a coward in a lot of ways, but not in every way. Not anymore.]
[His breathing is light, quick, shallow. But he is not crying.]
I wish that could've happened. I wish I wasn't -
[Shut up, Cassel.]
I won't wish that anymore, then. Least I can do.
[At least, he can try.]