“Years,” he says, correcting me—again with that lopsided smile. Except this time, he nudges my leg with his own to remind me that he’s joking. I make sure to nudge back.

“Years,” I repeat. “The past few years have been amazing, Michael. Some of the best years I’ve ever had.”

“Me too,” he agrees. Slowly, he slides his hand across the space between us and intertwines his fingers with mine, squeezing them. The connection grounds me, and in that fraction of a second, everything else fades away, and only Michael sits in front of me.

I swallow the discomfort that feels like trying to swallow smoke or water, and I say the thing I’ve come here to say.

“This is the last time I can see you.”

The words, all nine of them, feel like bullets leaving my mouth. I watch as they strike Michael.

“What do you mean?” he asks. “You’re here with me right now. Are you still planning on going through with saving Dave? Even if you do, maybe we can still be with each other. Don’t you think there’s a way?”

“Maybe…but not for us.”

“Love is never simple,” he argues. “You have to fight for it, Dre. It’s not just going to present itself to you and be perfect all the time. It’s a struggle.”

“If I had a choice, I’d be with you. I need you to remember that. No matter what, even if you’re angry with me for the rest of your life, I need you to know that if it was just about how much…how much I love you, then I would stay.

“But that’s not the only factor here.” I raise my shirt a bit, showing him my scar. It’s red, and when I bring his hand over to touch it, his fingers recoil from the warmth.

“What…”

“Jumping is tearing me apart, Michael,” I admit. “I don’t know how. I don’t know why. But it is.”

Slowly, his fingers trace the jagged scar, with soft palpations. The flesh is sore, but I don’t make a sound or react. This might be the last time he touches me.

“How bad does it hurt?” he mutters.

Part of me thinks about lying, but the truth will set you free, right?

“A lot.” I don’t tell him that I don’t know what will happen when I jump back. This jump felt like I was being ripped between the past and the present. The next one…

I can’t think about that right now. It doesn’t help anyone to dwell on that. This moment is about Michael. It’s about me. It’s about saying goodbye.

“And this happens each time you jump?”