Remaining while she did this was the wrong decision, Dory realized as sounds of her rustling throughout the house echoed in his otherwise silent bedroom. There was nothing remaining for them, no friendship, no consideration, nothing, and it killed him that they had somehow got here. He had changed somewhere along the way; his dreams had shifted so drastically that they could no longer align and, as he sat statue still waiting for some signal that she was done, he wished he could have figured out a way to somehow separate their friendship from this disaster. Losing a romantic partner was a harsh enough wound without losing the person he'd always relied upon to be there.

And perhaps that was his fault, too. He'd grown too reliant on the fact that she'd remain. She was his constant, his best friend. If he'd been smart they never would have fallen into bed together at all. He would have recognized the importance of their friendship and have vowed to do any and everything possible not to lose her. But, Dory hadn't. He'd fallen prey to the ease of comfort and in the process destroyed everything he held most dear.

He almost hoped she'd just leave without announcing it. Watching her leave the first time had killed him, how was he meant to watch the second without complaint? There'd been a disbelief in his heart that colored the first time, a ridiculous hope that they'd somehow work things out in the days following. But now — now this was final. This was it. And Dory almost wished he could escape without bearing witness.

He stood unsteadily, grateful for once for the agony his leg caused, and limped his way back to the hall. There was a present for her carelessly thrown onto his dresser — a rare edition of a midwifery book she'd mentioned looking for — that he grabbed on the way. He'd purchased it weeks before she left and would have no purpose for it without her. "I uh- I already had it." The book hung in the air between them, a last parting. "It isn't much, I promise."

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