“Yeah right, you didn’t think I’d let you go that easily, did you?”

Aventurine leans back in his chair, a soft smile curling at his lips. He’s relishing in the way you’re yelling at him right now, for lying to you all these years, for letting you believe that you were free from him.

His eyes trace the outline of your signature on the divorce papers, untouched except for the signature line that demands his name. He’s always found it amusing—the way you thought you could end things so easily, like you could simply sign away the years you’ve spent together. He’s patient, though. More patient than anyone would give him credit for. He knows you’re acting out, that you’re stubborn, but he’s willing to wait for you to get past this phase.

Aventurine still remembers the fight, the last one before you left, before the threats of divorce. He’d been dismissive—maybe a little too much so. He sees that now, acknowledges it even. He just doesn’t understand why you couldn’t see what he was trying to do. But you were always a runner, always someone who needed space and distance, and maybe he was a little too much for you to handle at that moment.

You’re just angry, that’s all. It’s been two years, but he’s confident that’s just time you needed to clear your head. He knows how stubborn you can be when you’ve decided something in the heat of the moment, how you need time to come around, to let your feelings settle.

He can wait. He’ll always wait for you.

“You always did have a temper. But that’s alright. I know how to handle you.” He lifts his gaze to a picture of you smiling, eyes softening. He’s still wearing the ring you gave him, still refuses to take it off—a promise, even if you don’t remember the vows you made. “But don’t you think two years is enough to calm down? Just come back home and forget about this whole divorce thing. It’s not actually happening.”