#tml2018

At this point, you had probably spent at least an hour each day thinking of excuses. Lots of excuses to text him, but even more excuses not to. Ever since your Vacation From Hell, your go-to ‘I don’t even have his number’ excuse had been eradicated. Now that you thought about it, you probably spent even more time thinking of all the things you could have done. It was as perfect of an opportunity as anyone was likely to get. But alas, your self-preservation instincts (or was it just glorified emotional masochism?) had taken priority over your heart.

In your defense, he hadn’t called either. Granted, you hadn’t really left him in a position to feel comfortable doing so, but you kept telling yourself if it was meant to be it would find a way to happen. Although, you had said that before The Vacation and look what happened. The irony was anything but lost on you.

It wasn’t even your best excuse. Bad days had come and gone almost as much as good days, and this particular day couldn’t really be described as one or the other. You weren’t feeling exceptionally lonely, and you didn’t miss him any more than usual. It wasn’t like you were drunk, or the night a few months ago when you had gotten high. It was a regular, normal, mind-numbingly mundane September Sunday sunset and you had come to the conclusion that you just couldn’t take it anymore.

In the past, Snapchat memories had been more of a pain in the ass than anything else. In your head, you knew that you weren’t nearly as happy as the pictures made the two of you seem. But damn, if it didn’t come in handy right about now. It had been the night before the first preseason game of 2017. On a whim, you had decided to clean out Auston’s car because, honestly, it was kind of disgusting. In the midst of sandwich wrappers and empty protein shake bottles, you had discovered a stash of mini smoke bombs that had undoubtedly been there since long before the Fourth of July. There hadn’t been anything good on tv, and the secret arsonist within Auston was more than happy to spend an hour sitting in the driveway with his legs splayed out like a kindergartener. After going through the rainbow at least twice, you had somehow ended up laying diagonally with your head resting on his upper thigh, tracing innocent circles across his lower stomach and twirling his baggy t-shirt between your fingers. The tranquility had prompted you to reach down for your phone, resulting in the very video your finger was hovering over at this moment. Every other smoke bomb had lit and been extinguished perfectly fine, with little to no complication— not including the bit of blue smoke that was still raining your vision. This specific smoke bomb, however, had done the exact opposite. The moment you had panned down from the beautiful view of the sunset, your screen had suddenly been overwhelmed with images of red and orange hue, despite the distinctly purple color of the sphere itself. It was only after Auston had yelped and begun pulling you out of your position that you realized that the object in his hand was not, in fact, smoking, but instead had lit completely on fire and was now singing both the tips of his fingers and the tips of your hair simultaneously.

It was anything but the most romantic memory you had stumbled across in the past few months, but it was here and your self-control was not, so there was really only one thing to do. Honestly, you couldn’t even imagine what had gone through his head when he had gotten the notification. You had woken up every morning, trying to remember what it looked like when his name lit up your screen. Instead, all you had awoken to was an increasing number of days since the last time the two of you had been together. You had taken that from him as well. As heartbreaking as it was for you to realize that he had been doing that to himself, you had taken up the same habit the minute you landed back home. You understood why he did it. It was equal parts a punishment and a break-your-own-heart-so-no-one-else-can situation.

It had taken him longer than usual to respond. Granted, there was a very real possibility that he had not received the notification, especially given that you knew for a fact that his Do Not Disturb was perpetually turned on. Once he did though, you were positive that your heart had skipped at least two beats. It felt even better than you had imagined. Granted, you had to sacrifice a significant amount of your pride in order to reach the point that you were at now, and you weren't entirely sure if it was worth it or not, but it was something. It was a chance. An opportunity to see what could happen if you let your guard down. Worst case scenario, you had cut him off once and, realistically, you could always do it again.

The only issue with that, of course, was that you didn’t want to. You were so fucking exhausted and so fucking tired, and so fucking numb, and so fucking sick of being all of the above. Sick of shutting everything off, and shutting everyone out. So this time, you were all in. There was no barbed wire or protective walls around your heart this time. It was what it was, and the two of you could absolutely choose to crash and burn just as you had in the past, but you’d be damned if you didn’t deserve at least a fighting chance. If you had to go through it all again, if you had to steel yourself again, you would. But you had come to terms with the fact that you would never be able to do it again. It was your last chance, and you couldn’t imagine giving it to anyone else but him.

Here goes nothing.