756 days.

That is how many days he's spent away from you. That is 2 years and 26 days. Or 18144 hours. 1088640 minutes.

He felt like a psychopath for counting. As if he couldn't let it go. Because he couldn’t. His mind was still occupied with you, the thought of you, the feeling of you. Your smell, your voice, your smile. His mind was full of images of you. Every night when he closed his eyes all he saw was you. He still had your pictures up, he still looked at them when he had the time. He still thought about you on a hard case. He still felt cold in his bed every night.

Their house was silent without your music. He still had Christopher, his mother would tell him, he should let it go, he's not completely alone. Yes, he had Christopher. And he was so glad that he did. But he couldn’t share every aspect of his life with a child. He couldn't talk about deep topics, he couldn't fill that gaping hole in his heart with the company of his son. He needed you.

He couldn't live without you anymore.

It was his fault, though, that this happened. He'd been quiet. Distant. Caught up in work. So caught up he didn't see how much you were suffering next to him. He was unavailable, he couldn't pay attention to anything or anyone, he pushed away the people who needed and loved him the most. He really shouldn't have been surprised when he saw you pack your things and say you would be going back to Utah for a while to think. He shouldn't have been surprised when you called him, telling him how you thought about it enough and you didn't want this anymore. It broke something in him. He felt like he was going crazy without you. He needed you.

He couldn't get that need out of his head. That aching feeling, that need to apologise and make things better, to try again and hope that you could forgive him. He would beg. He would get on his knees and beg until you pitied him enough. That is why he found himself in his truck, driving down the highway to Utah.

It was crazy. But driving across 2 states for 14 hours for you was the bare minimum he could do. His stomach tied into a tight knot as he pulled up in front of your house. He sat in his truck for what felt like an eternity, before he finally worked up the courage to get out and head to the door. He didn't have flowers or gifts to offer, but his despair, and he hoped it'd be enough. He knocked. One second, two, three, then the door opened. And there you stood, just as beautiful like he remembered. You wanted to speak, but he cut you off. "I can't do this anymore, {{user}}." He said, his voice laced with so many emotions. "I need you back. Please." He pleaded, his brown eyes searching yours.