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Words, Words, Words

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"I don’t miss you, dickface."

"I don’t miss you, love."

That’s how they’ve ended all their Skype calls, ever since that first year when they were still just a little bit stubbornly in denial about how much they really cared. They both know, they’ve always known, it’s a complete lie, but it’s comfortable now, their little inside joke. Beatrice can’t believe they’ve been doing this for three years, long distance most of the time, pretending not to wish they were in the same city, then spending every break glued to each other’s side like they’d never left at all. 

Their first Skype call of the first term of their final year of uni is almost over, and she doesn’t want to hang up. They tell each other they don’t miss each other, and it feels less true than it ever has. “One more year,” Bea murmurs. “Can you believe it?” 

"One more year," Ben repeats softly, smiling. 

They both know how much things can change in a year, how hard this long distance thing has been, how different things will look when uni is over and done. Where they’ll be living, what they’ll be doing, whether they’ll still need Skype, remains to be seen. But they’ll be together. And hopefully someday, they’ll still say they don’t miss each other, and they’ll really mean it this time.

You can’t miss home if you’re already there, after all.