He didn’t even give Owen a glance as he
walked up the steps into the bungalow, a-
lready listing what he needed to be pack-
ed first. Wandering towards the back of t-
he home—soon to be ex-home—he pulle-
d the boxes he had used to move into the
bungalow out and back into the room. As
he made his way back through the house,
picking and choosing at things that belon-
ged to him, he set them into the now
separated cardboard containers. The plan-
ts would have to go last—much to his dis-
may—as he didn’t want to damage them
or lose soil along the way.
Lowery didn’t think much on it, but his min-
d had fallen into autopilot, distracting hims-
elf from the fact that the best thing in his lif-
e was ending. And it was entirely his fault.
But…he knew that at the end of the day thi-
s was for the best. Owen would be free from
his needy grasp and he’d move on to someo-
ne that didn’t need constant babying. This di-
dn’t occur to him until he heard a familiar sho-
ut from the yard. Making an internal excuse,
he moved to the windows to see what had ha-
ppened, but telling himself he was just there t-
o take his mug from the sill.
Though when he saw the handler take his frus-
teration, he couldn’t help but stand and watch
for a few moments. But the moment he collaps-
ed against the tree, Lowery cleared his throat q-
uietly, only noticing now that tears had welled u-
p in the corners of his eyes, he quickly pushed
himself off and back further into the bungalow.
Body shaking with over use, it was nearly too m-
uch for him again as he was already emotionally
exhausted and he just wanted to go to bed. A sm-
all part of him wanting to do so and wake up and
have this all just been a bad dream. But no. No no.
He couldn’t keep using Owen. This was what was
best for them.
Using the heel of his palm, he pushed away his tea-
rs before he felt more fall down his cheeks, pushing
himself further to get back to work. He would need
to spend tomorrow on getting some of the larger st-
uff moved…a sigh left him as he leaned against one
of the counters, eyes falling onto one of the framed
pictures of the both of them. And for some reason h-
e was compelled to shove it off and onto the ground,
glass shattering on the floor. It looked like it was moc-
king him. And he wasn’t having it. But before he felt
guilted into picking it up, he pushed himself to turn a-
way and he went back to the room with the slowly fil-
ling boxes.
Once everything was put away, Owen walked back out to the yard, feeling slightly nauseous. He stopped just short of the staircase, and looked at the contraptions he’d built around the outside from when Lowery was still in his wheel chair. Fresh pain flashed through him and he took the stairs quickly, only to stop again, suddenly with his hand on the knob.
Lowery was still packing in the living room. He had planned on passing out on the couch, but he couldn’t do that . Seeing Lowery removing himself from Owen’s life rekindled the anger inside of him, and he ripped the door open, letting it slam shut behind him. He made straight for Lowery, taking the mug he was packing out of his hands, setting it down in the box. Gripping Lowery’s arm a little tighter than he meant to, he started leading the smaller man to the bedroom, ignoring any protests the brunette might utter.
