“We’re just not working out,” came his response from across the dinner table. You blinked owlishly at him in confusion, because that was definitely out of left field. His eyes wouldn’t look up at you as he instead studied his plate, moving the vegetables about on it like it was his life mission. Even when the silence stretched between you-- tense and pointed-- he didn’t bring his gaze up to you.
Perhaps it was the distance? You hadn’t seen each other in weeks, mostly because your work and his kept you both apart. You would have moved to Romania-- you had even told him you would last year-- but he’d been the one to turn the idea down. You had figured he wasn’t ready for the two of you to live together again so soon after the drama of last time. Things had gotten tense, when it looked like he wasn’t going to get a job because of his last one, and there had been more fighting, but… that was settled now. He’d gotten the job in Romania, and had said he’d move there first to get settled before you’d follow.
That had never happened, at least not to this day almost a year and a half later. He kept telling you that it just wasn’t the time, but maybe he’d been putting it off because of this. “What?” you asked finally when it became apparent he wasn’t going to say anything else. You set your fork down hard against the table, but he didn’t even look up at the sound. “Don’t joke around, Charlie. This isn’t funny.”
He looked anywhere but at you: the ceiling, the floor, the table, even your hands placed firmly in front of your own food. “(Y/N),” he tried again, but you cut him off. You could tell by his expression that this wasn’t a joke in bad taste and that he was being serious.
“Charlie,” you said firmly and got to your feet. It seemed he took this as an invitation to get serious as well, because he also clambered out of his chair and his eyes finally met your own. You took a step forward as you studied his face, a frown firmly on your own lips. You reached out to gently trace your fingertips across his cheeks, but he drew away from you in a gesture akin to a wince.
“(Y/N),” Charlie said again, and this time you could hear pain in his voice. You watched him with an expression close to horror that he’d flinch away from you. “You had to have known this was coming. I mean, I’m not exactly subtle.” He attempted to make an expression of self deprecating humor at his own expense, but you just continued to stare at him blankly.
“What are you talking about?” you asked and your voice did something funny at the end. It probably had something to do with the lump that was quickly growing in your throat. How could you have seen this coming? Sure, things had been tense and awkward and plain weird lately, but you’d figured he was just stressed with work. You weren’t the best whenever your band was on tour, so you’d been willing to forgive him for his own problems. You’d both been together for three years in school, and then another three years out of it. Six years of a relationship only to watch it crumble without a real reason? This seemed more like a nightmare than real life.
“We haven’t been the same since a year ago,” Charlie told you gently and his eyes came up to look into your own again. The were glazed over to hide any pain he was feeling from you now, and all your mind could screen was that he didn’t care anymore. Something had broken between the two of you. You had to look away or else risk tears gathering in your eyes. “We’ve been drifting apart, (Nickname)--”
“Don’t call me that,” you snapped and clench your hands at your sides, anger thrumming in your veins as you look back at him again with narrowed eyes. “Don’t you dare call me that if you’re just going to take my heart and throw it back in my face.”
“(Y/N)--” He took a step forward, a hand raised as if to plead with you, but you just shake your head in response.
“No,” you told him and shook your head. “If you’re going to break up with me like this-- after we haven’t seen each other in a month, after you feed me excuse after excuse, after you try to make it seem like things are okay when you first got here earlier-- then I don’t want to hear it. If you’re just going to tell me you don’t love me anymore, after everything we’ve been through, after all the pain and heartache and--” You broke off for a moment as tears flood your eyes. You shook your head and clenched your hands tighter, letting your nails bite into the palm of your hands to ground you. “Just get out. Don’t come back.”
“Please,” he whispered, taking one last step forward, his hand clasped around your upper arm. For a moment you take comfort from the gesture and close your eyes, sucking in a breath through your nose and releasing it through your clenched teeth. You jerked it out of his grasp a moment later. Even as you felt your heart break in your chest, even as you felt like the entire world was falling away beneath your feet, you mustered a glare and jerked your chin up so you could stare him dead on in the eyes.
“Get out,” you told him and firmly placed your hands against his chest and gave him a small shove. Not hard enough to hurt him or make him fall over, but enough to let him know you were serious. “Get out!”
So he did.