Of the Four Nations:

Summary: Korra fulfills her duty to the world. Mako waits by the phone.

Day: 398

He knows the city. Memorized every nook, cranny, and back alley shortcut. He's lived in and inside the city for so long, it's not a home but an integral part of his personality. It's bits and pieces that make him. It's a part he both accepts and hates. And it does nothing to surprise him when he climbs the last steps to his apartments, limbs screaming from exhaustion after hours stacked upon hours of walking aimlessly. Memorized by every sidewalk crack, every sewer grate, every loud dumpling cart.

The exhaustion eats away at his feet and knees. It snuck its way around his spine, wrapped itself around his neck, and the pain drip to every corner of his body. The soreness collapses on him, far worse than any early morning training session. He feels it resonate in his skull, pulling at his eyelids. This, like the city that coursed through his blood, was not something he could run away from. Everything feels heavy and still and different.

Even the apartment feels different. Quiet. It's unsettling. He tries to shake it off, prompting for sleep. He'll deal with the unease when he's rested. He removes his jacket and strews it on the floor of the hallway, before entering their bedroom. Her clothes from the night before are still thrown haphazardly on the unmade bed, and he needs to rub his eyes to ease the foggy memory of her body next to his, their hands intertwined, her lips on his ear whispering how much she loved him, and the resentment he feels because he doesn't trust her words.

The blanket drifts in the air, falling on the bed as he climbs under it, Her clothes are thrown on the floor but he'll pick those up later. Right now, he just wants to sleep.

The moment his head finds the pillows, he's hit full front with her scent and finds the black of unconsciousness.

The sound of the phone (a present from her) is an intrusion on his slumber.

He rouses himself from bed, feeling like he's been asleep for weeks, stumbling down the hall. He lights a small flame in his hand, to ward off the darkness, surprised that he slept through the afternoon. He uses the fire to guide him to the kitchen where the phone is rattling, shaking vulnerably. The contraption still makes him a little uneasy, but he pulls it from the cradle, silencing its shrill screams.

"Mako … " His throat tightens when he hears her sob. "Mako, I can't breathe."

She swears she's not good with words, but she always has a way of saying exactly what he feels.

She's sprawled on her cabin floor, twirling the wire of the phone while she hums thoughtlessly at his word. Being far away hurt, and hearing his voice when he's so far away hurt even more. Either way, nothing quells the fat tears that run down her face. Some pool down to her ear, others meet the end of the receiver. She presses it closer closing her eyes and pretending he's there, ignoring the dull ache that presses against her ribcage. His voice filters in and out, biting through static. Those moments where it's silent for a beat too long makes her panic, thinking he's gone. But then his voice breaks through the silence and relief washes her eardrum.

The conversation is a little mundane and not quite what she expected. He won't bring it up and she can't seem to collect enough resolve, so they don't' talk about it.

She rolls over, her back sore from staying in one position for too long. She tugs his scarf from her chin, adjusting it around her neck. He gave it to her as a parting gift. She can't stop playing with the frayed ends, fingers dancing along all the hand-sewed stitches.

"Korra?" he asks after a few beats of uneven silence.

"Hmm?"

"I asked how your trip was?" His voice is uneasy, as if doubting his question for her all together.

"It was good," she reassures him.

She brings an end of the fabric up to her nose and inhales deeply. It's all euphoria, heartbreak, smoke, and Mako between the threads. It makes her ache for and hate him.

It started with a fever.

Moments after she passed her airbending tests with literal flying colors. Tenzin told her how proud he is of her. At eighteen, she was now a fully realized Avatar. She felt pride swell up in her chest, happiness bubbled in her throat, and why was she suddenly so dizzy? The word was blurry, dotted with spots, and the last thing she remembered was hitting the ground hard.

Shortly after, she weaved into consciousness long enough to know they moved her to her old room on Air Temple Island. The healers, shuffled in to diagnose her with a fever that hit well over a hundred and ordered her to bed rest for the next three days.

"Hello, Avatar Korra."

The world was bleary and bleak. She didn't know why she's lying on the ground, but she really didn't want to gage anything with the way her brain was pounding against her skull.

She raised her head long enough to glimpse at the voice that greets her. She's not tactful enough to hide her surprise, eyebrows disappearing under her strewed bangs.

"Aang?"

Even though a fully realized Avatar, she still has a difficult time connecting with her spiritual side and every time she managed to scrape a chance at it, it never ceases to amaze her.

He offered her a hand and she took it, the pounding in her head slightly subdued.

"How are you feeling?"

"Better." She took a quick glance around; everything is foggy and unsure. "Where am I?"

Her only answer is by the sudden appearance of a sky bison, roaring loudly as it walloped onto the ground, forcing her backwards.

"Come with me." Aang was already in the saddle, hand stretched to her once again "We have a lot to talk about."

When she awoke, she still felt horrible. The headache returned full force and every part of her body screamed from pain. She felt like she'd been trampled by a stampede of moose-lion and then thrown into the pro-bending ring to do a tie breaker round with Avatar Kyoshi.

"Oh good, you're awake," a tired voice mumbled. She finds the direction of the voice, made out the voice, associated it with a body, and realized it was holding her hand.

"Korra …" He sounded so concerned. "Don't cry …"

The meditation is of course, Tenzin's idea. He sat next to her, through the meditation session, and then continued to sit with her long after it's over. He listened nodded, his eyes knitted with concern and sorrow until he reached out to set a hand on her shoulder.

"The Avatar belongs to the world."

It's what she's been told for fifteen years. But being told and realizing it – being submerged in it - were two different sides of the same spectrum. She suddenly becomes so much more aware of the earth beneath her. This world - so vast and never ceasing - it needed her.

They set the date for a month later.

Her duty is to the world.

Saying he was jealous of the world, was foolish and petty, and untrue. A part of him always knew that the world would take her from him one day; that isn't what breaks his heart. What does, is when he offers to go with her, she won't – can't accept him. He has to watch her go, brave the world without him. And it's not that he doesn't trust her ability to do it. She's one of the strongest people he knows. She's capable of anything and everything. She was the Avatar, but more so, she was Korra and he knew Korra could save the world.

What scares him is how indefinite the situation is. She'll be gone for an unnamed amount of time. He can't protect her if he' s not by her side. He can't protect the woman he loves if he's thousands of miles away.

He would have, of course, fallen in love with the world-needed Avatar, who it seemed, did not need him.

It's been years since helplessness clawed at Mako's ribcage.

He goes to lunch with Bolin the Saturday after she left. He knows he must look like shit because Bolin keeps shooting him worried looks over the steam of his porridge. But all looks are thrown aside and ignored, and it takes a ridiculous amount of self-restraint to just eat and not become fully exasperated with his younger brother.

"Hey, now that you're living by yourself again, how about I take up that empty room of yours?"

It's framed as a joke and Mako stops his spoon midway to his mouth because when did Bolin get to be so discreet? (He blames it on all that time he's been spending with Asami)

"How 'bout it big bro? The Fabulous Bending Brothers, together again! Whaddya say?"

Bolin has his palms face up, spread on either side of his body, in a half shrug, a look that is half pity and half pleading, hidden behind his plastic smile. Mako can't decide what to say, so wrapped up in trying to suppress his anger and the other part of him trying to pacify the 'Yes! When can you move in?' lodged in his throat. He makes a split second decision then and there that he needs to put himself together, if not for himself than for Bolin. He never wants to see that kind of worry in his brother's eyes.

"Eat your food."

Bolin drops his arms. A quirk of his lip hides his disappointment, as if he were expecting that answer all along. They eat in silence for the next few moments until Mako asks about the Fire Ferret's upcoming match and the previous conversation is forgotten.

Their first stop is the Northern Air Temple. She's a little nervous to meet the air acolytes, but the excitement – as always – outweighs her nerves and she's more stoked to learn their culture, history, and-

Miles from the shoreline, she sees the statue of Avatar Yangchen, and she's nervous once again.

She tightens his scarf around her neck. She feels a little guilty for wearing it, but she knows it'll keep her safe.

He feels a little silly waiting by the phone. She only calls when it's late at night or early in the morning, which is perfectly fine with him because those are the hours, far and in between that he's actually home. He's fallen back into his same robotic pace of eating, working, and sleeping. He's not content, but he isn't miserable.

The phone rings and he pulls it off the cradle faster than lightning.

"Hello?"

A thousand miles away, her heart swells in her chest. "Hi."

He's taken to sleeping on the couch, distancing himself away the place that reminds him of her the most.

He's never really lived alone before. There was always someone to come home to. And now with Bolin across town and her gone, the emptiness is all consuming. He feels it spread everywhere – from his hair down to his fingernails. It makes him ache.

He does his best to ignore it and fears the day it'll disappear.

A year passes, holding hundreds of phone calls, a handful of letters, and the rest of the world unseen.

"That's a lovely color on you."

Korra's hand goes instinctively to touch her neck, the fabric of his scarf presses against her throat.

"Thank you," she murmurs quietly, taking her purchase from the woman behind the counter.

Her boots make a hard plunking noise as she walks down the boardwalk. She can see their ship in the port. It's bigger than the rest, proudly sporting the United Forces insignia. It's been docked there for the better part of an hour, quietly awaiting its crews return to its quarters.

She casts her gaze upwards; chin tilting towards the gray sky. The air is different in the ports than it is in the ocean. It's always a little heavier, whatever buzz of excitement and undertone whispers along the planks of wood. Sometimes it just reeks of fish. Either way, it makes Korra want to heave.

Every port serves only as a reminder to what happened almost year ago. He had been so stubborn and distant since she told him about her encounter with her past lives. He understood. She's the Avatar. She can't fulfill her duty to the world if she never sees it. But he didn't offer his support. He just stayed brooding and silent. It irritated her. He irritated her.

But it happened in passing, the moment collapsed. It was her last moment – their last moment- before she was gone indefinitely. She strung the strap of her canvas bag underneath her finger. He was the forefront, placed against the backdrop of everyone she loved.

Her eyes plead with him to please just give her a hug and a kiss and a quick goodbye in front of her family (they said their goodbyes the night before, and the night before that, and the one before that ….) or she'd start crying and it would look unprofessional for the Avatar to start her world exploration in tears.

But she should have known he could be just as hardheaded, because that moment marked one of the thousand of times Mako didn't just shut up and listen to her. Instead, he stepped forward, hands fumbled with his scarf. With a swift tug of his hand, he pulled it off, the fabric flying over her head and around her neck before the heavy air settled into her lungs.

Her mouth formed a small "o" of shock. She couldn't fight the tears that prickled her eyes.

He wrapped her in his arms and leaned in close, his breath an uneven huff, hot against her ear.

She expected a "Be safe"

What she got was a "Marry me".

"My whole arm feels like it's going to fall off."

"That's what you get when you don't stretch before your workouts," he chides, not doing anything to hide the tone of scolding.

He can almost feel her roll her eyes. "Uh huh. Thanks mom."

"Who told you to challenge every United Force crew member to one on one combat?"

"What? I was rusty!"

He rolls his eyes, switching the phone to the other ear.

"And don't sound so demeaning. I totally get bragging rights for this. Next time you defeat an entire armada of people who are trained in nothing but combat, I will gladly listen to you gloat and complain about your sore everything."

He chuckles. "Duly noted."

It's quiet for a moment, and he wonders if she's fallen asleep.

"Mako?"

"Yes?"

"I'm really tired."

"Oh." He shifts awkwardly. "Do you want to hang up?"

"No. Will you keep talking to me? What did you do today?"

And he repeats his cycle of working, eating, and sleeping, it's quiet on her end except for her eventual rhythmic breaths. He's wrapped the chord around half of his hand, unwinding it slowly just savoring her light snores halfway across the world.

"I miss you," he tells the silence. "I miss you so much."

Sometimes, she dreams of their goodbye.

It was all a blur of hands tugging at hair and clothes and lips finding all the right places. They were a passionate heap of limps for those passing hours. Passion that simmered into tears that returned to passion. Kissing, biting, touching. Each time it's the best they've ever had, until the next. It's in those moments where they are the only two people in the world. Where they belong to only each other. He finds her hand somewhere in the dark and she never wants him to let go.

And in those quiet moments in between, they lay with unspoken words between them.

Please don't go.

Please don't stay.

Mako takes an early lunch, stops by one of his favorite vendors and picks up a couple of dumplings. He veers around the corner and goes to another cart that makes a decent cup of tea and takes one to go before he makes way to his destination.

He gets there with ample time to spare. He props himself against a nearby mailbox, patience settling into his skin. He eats his dumplings with caution; chewing so slowly the last two in the bag go cold. He finishes them off anyways, crumples up the empty bag, stuffs it in his jacket pocket, and sips on his cold tea.

Nobody seemed to care that he's camped out by the television store. Nobody seems to notice.

He stays well past his allotted lunch hour, (Chief will more than gladly force him to make up for it with stack upon endless stack of brutal paperwork) casually sipping on an empty cup.

She had called him last night, excitement and the slightest hint of reserve in her voice. She had spent months in Omashu, trying to set up a new trade route. After much debate and prolonged argument and Prime Minister Kuzon's hiding the key to the conference room (He truly was King Bumi's grandson) they finally settled on an agreement. The real kicker was-

There she was.

He chokes on air because his tea has been gone for an hour or so.

She's right there. She's bombarded with microphones and she fidgets, tucking a stray lock of hair that the wind blows out of place. He can't hear her, but this is the first time he's seen her in nearly two years. She looks beautiful. Standing tall with all the confidence in the world (yes, the one she belongs to).

For a moment, he forgets to be bitter and forgoes the melancholy because there she is. Doing what she's meant to do. He's so proud.

She's on the radio not than more often.

He keeps the radio tuned to the news when he patrols.

Her voice occasionally filters in and sometimes it goes in passing, other times it works as his biggest distraction.

The next time she calls, it's her birthday. There are tears on her end of the line, and she's being typical stubborn Korra, and won't bring it up. She keeps their conversation casual, static, normal. It irritates him to no end. The guilt and helplessness eating him alive on his end of the conversation.

He grips the phone with a vice-like hold, pressing it so harshly to his ear that the cartilage mashes with his head. His other hand holds the crown of his head as he listens to her hidden sobs and broken voice.

He doesn't know what to say to comfort her. He doesn't remember how to make her tears stop. He doesn't know what to do anymore.

He receives a letter from her a week later, and she's back to normal (all without his help)

Her letters are short and casual. They're always to the point, but they always end up making him feel better after a long day. He's never too excited to write back, he'd rather hear her over the phone – writing was never his favorite thing, but he does return every letter she sends him.

Mako-

You would love the Fire Nation. It's one hundred and seventy degrees all the time and the people here are just like you! They disregard me and my awesomeness. And they all seem to worship the color red and half a flare for "fashion". But they'll come around eventually.

It's just stuffy here – both the weather and people. It's more than exhausting trying to explain to these old noble sages why they're crazy when they won't listen to you. Maybe this could be settled a lot faster if I just challenged them all to an Agni Kai?

Anyways, once this settles, I hope there's something for me to fix far away from this physical inferno. Maybe I can throw my Avatar weight around and take a stop in the Northern Air Temple again? Or Ba Sing Se, is always nice in the winter. Got an inputs, City Boy?

I miss you. I love you,

Korra

He rips the paper in half, balling up the pieces, and tossing it behind him. It flew over his shoulder, sailing with a "plop" onto the linoleum, rolling slightly before it stopped, completely forgotten.

Beneath the ridges and the imperfection, the scratched out ink, and the anger, discontent, and bitterness, it read, unashamed:

Republic City.

Dear Korra,

What can I say? It's the attitude of my people. They will come around after they realize you're always just that crazy.

I hope you're doing well.

I love you too,

Mako

In her last letter, she gives him the number of her new hotel. This one has a phone in it ("Pretty snazzy huh?" He agrees.) There's a reason he doesn't call her. It's impossible to know where she and where she isn't. She's the one that does the calling (he's the one that tries to drag out the conversation.)

A man answers the phone. "Hello?"

"Oh, uh, sorry. I think I have the wrong num-"

"Is this Mako?"

"Yes?"

"Hold on. Korra's right here."

Forgotten jealousy stirs in his chest. It jolts him, and he feels strange. His grip tightens around the phone and he can feel his ears grow hot.

There is a muffled exchange of explanation and the crackle of static before he hears her voice. "Hi, Mako!"

"Hi."

"That was Iroh," she explained. "We were going over some of the notes for our meeting with the Earth King tomorrow."

"Oh yeah?"

"Uh huh. General Hothead knows a thing or two about political scandal," she chirps and the pull of irritation in his throat makes him uncomfortable.

"Right."

"So what's up?"

Mako clears his throat. "Um, I just called… I wanted to say happy anniversary."

It's quiet for a moment and when her voice waves in, it's gentle and quiet. "You remembered."

He grins. "Of course I did."

"Thank you. Happy anniversary, Mako."

He feels his jealousy rest its head calmly back to slumber.

"I'll call you back later okay? Iroh and I still have a lot of work to do."

-only to stir awake.

"Okay."

"I love you."

Without missing a beat, "Love you too."

It's a crowded, loud night at Narooks. There are screams of excitement and the clattering of bowls in the backdrop and Mako wordlessly sifts through the crowd, trying to find his brother who's probably basking in his championship victory for the third time in a row.

The place is packed and it takes him an inordinate amount of time to reach the counter.

He scouts the room and finds a splotch of white and orange uniform. Upon closer inspection, he's certain those bulky forearms are Bolin's and Mako can't help the smirk that blossoms on his face. He dives into the crowd, making way to his table.

Bolin has Asami straddling his waist, said bulky forearms wrapped around her slender frame. They're tucked away in one of the corner booths, their very intimate display going unnoticed by the other patrons.

Mako's smirk widens when he finally makes way to their table, and plops down loudly on the other side, pulling a menu from behind the sticky napkin dispenser.

"Hmm. What looks good here?" he mused in a shout, flipping the menu open. Bolin and Asami fly apart in mid attempt to lick the back of each other's throats. Bolin squeaks and Asami scowls, both sporting matching shades of red.

"Nice lipstick bro," Mako mentions offhandedly, flipping to the next page.

He teases them for the next hour or so. It's such a rare feeling for him to feel so lighthearted but the sparkle in Bolin's eyes is infectious and he's feeling giddy by the time their second round of drinks come.

He sits through the story of how Bolin and Asami have been dating for a little over three weeks now and didn't want to tell him unless it turned into something serious.

Judging by Bolin's grin and Asami's smile, it got serious.

He's happy for both of them.

Hidden in his fears and anxiety, the ones he reserves for when he's been by himself for too long, he finds the empty seat next to him cold.

She realizes, not for the first time, how she can't save everyone.

She was in one of the older towns of the Fire Nation; a fishing port that had once been overrun by a tyrannical Fire Nation factory. She had been there barely a month before havoc returned blaring hot flames.

Someone yelled in the night, "Fire!" and the world flared up, consumed in the chaos.

She bolts awake, and is out to witness the destruction, weeks of their hard work consumed in seconds. Water is drawn to her hands as she sprints down the boardwalk.

There are screams and people frantically grabbing children, wives, husbands. She forces a wave of water over her head and douses the burning fish market. Behind her, a pillar falls, a shriek of agony accompanies its collapse.

Hours – it feels like years – later, when the last of the fire is gone, and the majority of the town is up in the safety of the hills, they do a headcount. They're twenty-two people short and that's where the real pain settles. This is the suffering that Korra can't save them from, Avatar or not. The collapse of these people grieving, crying for their lost ones.

She can't save everyone.

Mako sighs, twisting the chord absentmindedly. "What's wrong?"

He pictures her drawing her knees to her chest. He feels her sigh hit his ear, making him close his eyes.

"Nothing, I'm just tired.

"Korra, please …"

He reads about it in the papers the next day and he wants to call her. He wants to comfort her, cry with her, tell her funny stories, and talk about their old pro-bending days - anything that would make her happy. He finally knows what to say.

He's already shoved a few coins in the payphone outside, before he realizes he has no idea where she is.

It happens at the most nonporous times. She'll be sitting in a counsel meeting, waiting as councilmen shuffle their papers and the noblemen take their seats.

It'll suddenly hit her, how far away from home she is. The miles are pulled under her feet, making her reel with a sickness that tugs at her throat and plummets to her stomach. The distance. It's unyielding and unforgivable. Worst of all, she feels it. It's created a welt in their relationship. The calls, the letters, and all the words in between; it's not enough. She can't reach him. She can't feel him. The distance is ruining them. She can feel the ends unraveling. She can feel him slipping away from her like earth, fire, air, and water between her fingertips. And right there, knowing that maybe the distance has damaged their relationship beyond repair, that it can't be the same after this, is why she's afraid to close the gap between them.

Her eyes glass over seeing and unseeing.

Once every wise sage is seated, and all throats are cleared, they ring in the meeting and she is propelled back to reality.

She hasn't written him in nearly a months she hasn't called for longer.

He throws himself into work. Taking more than his fair-share of twenty-four hour shifts. He quickly becomes the other officer's favorite. He tries to forget. Tries to throw his anger into protecting and persecuting and justice.

It doesn't work.

After four years, his scarf no longer smells like him.

It reeks of the ship and the country. Lately, she's taken to not wearing it.

She's in the North Pole, exhausted after a three-hour-long meeting (argument) concerning the winter's coming solstice and the lull in the economy.

When she's in the safety of her room, she flops angrily onto her bed. Her pillow hides her scream.

The phone is off its wire and thrown across the room. She can't remember the last two digits of his number.

She's made more than her fair share of promises. Broken more than she's willing to admit. But so has he. His letters come few and in between - if they come at all. Their conversations grow shorter. Neither of them know what to talk about anymore. Their daily phone calls turn into weekly phone calls as the years go by.

He counts the number of times she's come home and that's zero.

It's wedged into the things they don't say. It's hidden in every insignificant conversation they have. She gets so busy, sometimes week pass and she doesn't call. Their anger stayed bottle up. Their annoyance grew more and more with every passing day they didn't speak to one another. He was frustrated that he hasn't seen her in half a decade and she's angry that he no longer understands.

They keep it to themselves, until one day, they can't anymore.

She's screaming into her phone and he's screaming right back at her. The crew members hear her from down the hall, his neighbors pound their walls, telling him to shut up.

They argue about everything left unsaid for five years.

"This relationship isn't even important to you anymore!"

"I have a duty to the world!"

"I'm not in a relationship with the world!"

"But that's what you get when you date the Avatar! You just have to deal with it!"

He scoffs. "Like how you've been dealing with our relationship oh Great Avatar? When was the last time you fucking came home, Korra?"

He winces when he hears something smash, knowing something is definitely broken on her side of the conversation.

"Mako, I am not having this conversation with you, again."

"Oh wow, what a plot twist. News flash, Korra. We don't have conversations about anything anymore!"

"Would you just shut up?"

They continue in raised voices, yelling until they're hoarse. Coherent arguing turns into hateful personal jabs. The jabs prompt the name calling, and finally Korra slams the phone to the cradle, flopping back onto her bed, exasperated She's tired of the nonsense, tired of him.

And tired of him calling. The phone's rang twice since she hung up. She unplugs it and leaves it lifeless for the rest of the night.

When they've both had enough time to cool off, she plugs her phone back in, and slowly rings up his number.

It rings thrice and when he answers, his voice is shaky and broken and it breaks her heart.

"I miss you." He feels guilty for saying it, but he can't stop himself. "I miss you so much."

She's been silent for so long, he's afraid she's gone. He presses the phone so tightly to his ear it hurts.

"Korra," his voice is quiet. "Please talk to me. Please say something."

It's silent again and he feels her slipping away.

When she does speak again, it's distant. Her voice cracks from overuse. "I know we said we would try to make this work."

He closes his eyes, dread pooling in the bit of his stomach. He knows by her tone whatever she's going to say, it isn't pleasant and he most certainly is not going to like it. He feels the temptation of throwing the phone into the wall, but decides against it.

"But I don't know what's going on anymore. Half the time, I feel like I can't reach you. I can't feel you." Her voice breaks. He pictures tears running down her cheeks. "Sometimes I …"

His throat tightens, a hand raised to pinch the bridge of his nose. This isn't happening. This isn't something she means. But he knows Korra (or at least he did) and she saw everything in black and white. When she made up her mind about something, she usually stuck to it, no questions asked. It's what scares him about her. How, when she convinces herself it's over, it's over. The overwhelming thought of her walking away from him, out of his life, where he couldn't find her, scares him more than any fight, every scruff, every near-death-experience he's ever gone through.

"I miss you…. so much." She inhales and it's shaky and half underwater. "But … I don't think I can do this anymore."

He tries. With everything he has left, he tries. "Korra-

"I don't want this anymore."

There's a long, suffocating pause. He feels an overwhelming pressure press against the front of his features. His breath hitches and he suddenly can't breath. His vision becomes one blurred mess, and he brings his hand near them, surprised when he found wetness there. He doesn't know when he started crying, but he can't seem to stop now.

Her voice is washed in tears. "I'm so sorry. I just … want to move on."

He closes his eyes, tears slipping down his face as he nods.

"Okay."

Ten thousand miles and half a world apart, all that hangs in remains of their relationship is a dial tone.

Day 1817

A/N: Phew. That was more than exhausting. Part 2 coming in a week