A/N: Been getting some pretty rad prompts as of late. Had to share all of them.

I think I'll go, go back home, and think of you, I should go…

Maya and Cam haven't been Maya and Cam or Cam and Maya or CamMaya for seven months now. And that's practically forever ago.

It's fine, really. It really is. Of course, the first few months since he confided in her about his dark thoughts, and the even darker implications of his thoughts, had her grieving and thrashing (interchangeably).

The break up was mutual, or so she tells nosy-bodies, because she certainly wouldn't broadcast Cam's second meltdown.

But, life goes on, or so Margaret Matlin kept saying for those first bleary-eyed months. Tris and Tori were constant parrots to this mantra too. They are insufferable about this. Though, and she hates to admit it, she realizes her mother's words ring true when she reflects over her private blog and all the things she's religiously written about. There's her music and Ms. Oh's promise of important contacts to bigger and better audiences. Then there's Harry, then Patrick, and, of course, Miles.

Miles was comforting with his easy smiles and distractions. He's also much better at conversation, which makes him one up on the other two. He's as rich as he is experienced. It makes for interesting nights out.

Distractions, she finds, is the watchword here.

She saw Cam talking with a girl once. He looked happy, with that smile that makes his eyes squint endearingly. But, she hears he still keeps much to himself these days even if she's the only person privy to his secrets in the greenhouse. She hears hockey is his only distraction. But, Dallas, suddenly keen on vouching for him and his rep, makes sure she hears that he's got plenty of puck bunny action on the weekends.

She doesn't mind.

In fact, she doesn't mind when he passes her by in the hallways and their eyes lock at times. It's quick, though severed even quicker. But, then there are the days she's caught off guard, and she will never say it has sometimes left a pinched feeling right through her chest.

She doesn't say anything when she hears of his plans to leave for his real home. Tori asks her if she's okay at lunch the day she finds out through a spiteful taunting from Harry, and she just provides her with a single shrug. Thankfully, Tori doesn't say anything when she catches Maya's eyes lingering at the Ice Hound table for longer than she will admit.

Maya certainly doesn't say anything on her birthday, the same day she finds out is his last day in Toronto, because after a rousing start to her surprise party, she should be all smiles.

Yet she's outside, shivering right through her bones on a December night while the party goes on. She chalks it up to wanting to calm her nerves. She didn't have the heart to tell her best friends that she hates surprises.

'Hey,' he says from behind her, causing her to jolt and cling to her storm door's knob with fear.

She turns, and she swears her heart leapt, throbbing into her throat at the sight of him at her porch steps. She's forgotten that she meant to go back inside, where the party guests have called her twice now. She forgets he was never invited when she tells him to come and sit with her at the swinging couch on her porch, because he looks cold with his red-tipped nose and red-blotched cheeks.

'Do you—do you want to come inside?' She asks, watching him stare at his hands, and she's wondering how he's not completely frozen over with a lack of gloves and only wearing a thin coat, and there are traces of the flurrying snow in his hair while it soaks at the hem of his jeans. She dares to think he had come all this way, through a blizzard, to see her. 'You should.'

He lifts his gaze finally, pocketing his hands. 'I was packing today.' He stops, looking as though he has to explain why he was doing so, though he continues because she's sure her uneasy look shows that she knows exactly why. 'I was packing and then I had this crazy feeling like I was forgetting something.'

She chews painfully at her bottom lip. 'Did you find it?'

He nods, looking solemn. 'Yes.'

She is impatient, anxious. 'Well, won't you be late for your plane or train or whatever you're going to be using to get back home?'

A stunted chuckle comes out, and he says, 'I forgot to give this back to you.' He hands her a weathered-looking stuffed owl. 'He's been with me this whole time. I have to admit, you were right…he helped.'

She lets out her own laugh, 'I wouldn't advertise that my stuffed toy animal made you feel safe in front of your teammates.'

'I won't be worrying about that anymore.'

Then, as if they had both the shared sobering realization, silence caught their tongues.

'Last night in Toronto, and you want to spend it frozen on my porch…with me?' She can't help it, she's brimming with questions, and this was her burning one.

'I hated this city when I got here,' he starts, determined to hold her curious gaze. 'You were the first person that made me feel like I was going to get through everything. You made things feel easier…'

Her heart finally sits in her chest, though its throbbing has yet to find a calmer pace. 'I'm…glad,' she replies lamely.

'You were the first person, May,' he says, using his nickname for her without a thought, as if there was still as much affection in it as before. 'I wanted you to be the last person I saw before I left.'

Her chest swells even more uncomfortably now, and she doesn't stop herself. 'What happened to your plans? The NHL. You're not even finished your school year yet.'

'I think we both know I've just been waiting to get back home since day one.'

She nods, dejectedly. 'I know.'

There is more to say. Maybe a few sorries are in order, maybe they should even talk about the 'what ifs' at this point. Sorry I couldn't stay. Sorry I wasn't strong enough. What if we had talked sooner? What if you knew how much it still hurts? She knows he's thinking about this too as his eyes have a distracted look about them, as though he's contemplating the appropriate sorry about this and 'what ifs' of that.

But, then she supposes that it had always been this way between them, the space between them that held a lingering connection, a small flame still burning, though the obstacles are there too. Like now. Silence was their enemy, a pervasive thing that thrived on all things they had left unsaid, and it had ruined them in the first place.

Maybe someday. Maybe someday it wouldn't be this hard. Maybe it shouldn't be this hard. Someday, she knew, was absolutely all they had now.

Maybe someday wasn't meant for you two at all, the loudest voice in her head screamed, taunting her.

'Come on.' He gets up now, and he looks down over her, extending her his hand.

She accepts it and stands in front of him. She has to look up to meet his eye level, and she realizes he's grown an inch or two taller. The silence seeps through again.

'Goodbye then,' she says, extending her mitten-clad hand for him this time.

He cocks a brow, amused, then swiftly envelopes her in an embrace. She's glad. Her arms encircle him tightly, and she finds herself swaying them in time to the soft, languid music from the party. 'Goodbye,' she repeats quietly, biting back tears.

For some reason he does not let go when she shifts to do so, and she realizes they continue to sway as if they were dancing.

'Surprise,' she hears him whisper in her hair, his breath warming her skin. She hopes she's not imagining his lips skimming the crook of her neck.

Wait, what did he say? She pulls back slightly, curious.

'It's your birthday.' He smiles, eyes gleaming and crinkling at its edges.

She draws him closer again, dreading when the song would finally end, when it would be his turn to say goodbye.