Before he left for the second time that year, I had gotten to know Harry very well. We had shared dinner, coffee, lunch, more coffee. We had spent a few drunken nights together, opening up to each other.

Harry shared everything when he was drunk. He talked about his mom, his dad, his sister, war. He talked about his past, his lovers, his pain. He told me that he had flings with a few girls in high school, but once college came around he only liked fucking guys.

Then he said he was over that stage of his life. He didn't want to have any more one night stands. He wanted to settle down. He wanted to meet the right guy and just be with them the rest of his life.

I admit, I had hoped that by that he meant me. I hoped that he was hinting at something. I hoped that I was the person that he wanted to settle down with and it was a childish thing to ever imagine. It was ridiculous.

People don't like broken things. They don't like taking the time to fix them and they don't like paying money to either so there was no doubt that Harry would ever want me. I was nothing more than a broken toy that everyone would set to the side. Harry would never try to fix me.

Maybe it wasn't so much my worry about him fixing me, but me being able to fix him. I wanted to. I wanted to sit there and sew back together every broken piece of his heart. I wanted to sit there and heal his wounds. I wanted to be there for him and fix him and help him get better.

But broken toys don't fix each other. They sit there together simply broken until someone comes to repair the both of them.

The night he told me that he was being deployed yet again, I had already known for a week because Zayn told me he had read that on Harry's papers. I cried. But I didn't cry in front of Harry. I smiled weakly and told him that I'd be waiting. I joked and said that I would be expecting a letter at least every week and then he kissed me.

That kiss was indescribable. It was soft, warm, perfect. It was delicate. It was an expression of every unsaid word he had ever told me. I felt complete in that moment. I felt like nothing could pull me away from Harry and that it was just him and me, conquering the world, killing the bad guys; a perfect pair, the most dynamic duo of the decade.

Then the kiss lead to more; far, far more. I woke up the next morning sore all over with drool coming out of my mouth. I looked around to see that Harry had packed up his things. In just a few hours, my first lover would be leaving and I would be constantly waiting.

That day was the worst day.

Goodbyes are always complicating. You never know what to say and you never say what you want, but what more can you do? It's as difficult as you make it, which is why I try to avoid sad goodbyes. I like the happier ones; the friendlier ones. They're sweeter, less dramatic and keep me from bawling like a baby.

But with Harry, I couldn't just say good bye. I needed to express every feel I had for him, every thought I had about him, every dream with him in it. I needed to show him just how much I loved him. However, that was the hardest thing to do in a good bye.

He was downstairs cooking breakfast for the two of us, dressed in his uniform when I walked down in one of the shirts he had left for me. It was big, but I liked it.

"Hi," I said quietly, "how are you?"

Harry gave me a quick peck on the cheek before turning back to the eggs, "nervous," he paused, phrasing his words the right way, "I'm always nervous around you."

"You're leaving today?"

Harry nodded and hummed, "I am."

"Will you miss me?"

"How can you ask such a ridiculous question? Of course I'll miss you. I like you."

I had mentally slapped myself. Like. He only liked me. Those weren't the three words I wanted to hear. They didn't have a deeper meaning, they were simply placed on the surface.

"Will you think about me?"

"Everyday and every night in my slumber."

"Will you send me letters?"

"Every chance I get."

"Will you fight for me?"

"Every goddamn day."

Harry stayed true to his word. He had left later that morning, having to get to the airport a few hours before his flight. I stayed home in my small housing complex. I tried to get my mind off of Harry's departure, but it was proved to be nearly impossible. But the next day, I got a letter in the mail from Harry and I'd be lying if I said I didn't cry when  I read it.

Three words.

It was only three words long and there I was a complete mess underneath the covers of my bed.

"I love you."