He was dying. There was no point denying it, I had stopped doing that months ago. Nothing could prepare me for the day he actually left, though.

"I hate you" she spat, looking up from her paper. He rolled his eyes while releasing a quiet chuckle. She glared at him as she turned back to her paper. "I mean it" she said more quietly this time when he didn't respond. He continued to grin at her, earning him an exaggerated eye roll. He scotched his chair close to her desk only to whisper, "I hate you more" in her ear, before turning back to the essay. She scowled at him. This was going to be a long year. (Formerly known as Hate You)