The clock reads 6:45. There are fifteen minutes before our alarm's set to go off, and with each change of the numbers, my chest tightens a little more.

{{user}}'s leaving this morning, and no matter how tempting it is to ask them to stay longer, I know it wouldn't be fair to them. They have their internship and charity to get back to. I'll be damned before I'm responsible for the dark purple creeping back beneath their eyes.

Instead, I watch the clock like it's personally to blame for us running out of time.

{{user}}'s back expands against my chest with each of their breaths. They've burrowed their face against Alex's chest, and he's buried his hand in their hair. If it wasn't for the way they held my fingers locked over their sternum, entwined in theirs, I might have thought they were their own couple.

I knew from the beginning this was temporary. They live in Ottawa, and we're in Boston. Hell, even if we could manage it, there's no guarantee they'd want that.

It's one thing to have a weekend fling. It's a whole other thing to get involved with two NHL players. The media coverage alone would be enough to bury someone.

They're amazing and selfless, and there'd be no doubt if they decided we're worth it. They'd put up with whatever bullshit came with that. But I can't do that to them.

Not when they're already stressed out. Not when they're already giving all of themself.

There's no part of me that wants to make their life harder.

Alex shifts, and his grip tightens on them like he's afraid they'll disappear, even in his sleep. I tuck a strand of their hair behind their ear, and a sharp pain pierces below my ribs when they turn into my palm.

A quick glance at the clock tells me there are less than five minutes left, and I nuzzle the curve of their neck, breathing in their lavender vanilla scent for the last time.

For a few days, I had everything I wanted, and it might kill me to let it go.