Disclaimer: Don't know, don't own, don't sue, 'cause I'm a poor college student, mmkay?

A/N: So, this is what happens when I realize I have no idea how to rewrite Photo Shoot. Based on reader responses, we'll see if I deem this little bunny worthy of not abandoning. Enjoy, and leave me love, plz.

Vinyl

You’re a resilient fucker. You know that at least.

So, imagine your surprise when, after two years of affection, after two years of closeness, after two years of being with the motherfucking love of your life, you find yourself terrified out of your mind when he finally up and ends it with you.

The sad part is you can’t even say you saw it coming, because in all honesty, you didn’t. You had no idea he had a problem with you, and was sure that you two communicated well enough to ensure that any problems you had could easily be laid out on the table for discussion. You thought he was more open than that. After all, you let him tell you off for leaving your dirty laundry on the floor, and endured the self-righteous monologues he preached whenever you walked in at three-thirty in the morning. You thought he’d always let you know when you were being an arrogant prick.

You guess you were wrong.

You guess you were wrong when you’re eating dinner and he pauses, glaring at you in response to something you’ve just said or done “for the last goddamned time”. You guess you were wrong when he sends his fork clattering onto his plate. You guess you were wrong when he sighs in exasperation before getting up without excusing himself. You guess you were wrong when he’s yelling at you from the top of the staircase in the two-story apartment you both had shared (“Constantly talking isn’t necessarily communicating!”[1]). You guess you were wrong when he tosses something small, circular, and shiny at your chest, which you later pick up off the floor and pocket.

And you guess you were wrong when you find yourself sitting economy on a plane headed for Washington D.C. not three hours later, staring blankly at the dirty seat in front of you and wondering if running away is the most mature thing to be doing right now. Silently, you reach into your pocket and withdraw what he had thrown at you earlier. A ring – nothing fancy, and no, not an engagement ring. Please. You weren’t that type of person.

No, it’s your class ring. Your name, Bradford Phillip Delson, is still clearly engraved on the inside.

You pause, turning to glance at the ring you’re still wearing before tugging it off. You wonder if Michael Kenji Shinoda wants it back since you’re now in possession of your own once again. Sighing heavily and willing yourself not to pussy out and start crying in front of all these D.C.-bound passengers, you slip both rings into your pocket and stare at your shoes, wondering if your heart will ever start beating again.

You suppose it will, eventually. After all, you’re a resilient fucker. You know that at least.

--------------------

A/N: [1] - Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind