"I'm sure he'll be back. Bit of a pattern we follow." At least, that's what he'd keep telling himself for as long as he could carry on pretending to believe it.
"Which feelings are those?" Anger he was familiar with, where memories were concerned. And lately, unreasonably and unfairly, there'd been something unmistakably akin to jealousy. He could only shove it back down and ignore it. What right did he have to feel that way? It was absurd.