The final fight ended ugly.

"You never cared about anything but yourself!" you spat, voice shaking more from anger than sadness.

He scoffed, stepping back like your words physically hit him. "Better selfish than a hypocrite pretending to be perfect."

You laughed, sharp and bitter. "Right. Keep telling yourself that, maybe it'll hurt less when no one's left."

The silence after that was deafening. You stared at him like you didn’t recognize the man standing in front of you—and maybe you didn’t anymore. Maybe you never really did.

You laughed, adding another insult to the broken sound you barely recognized as yours. "You should just stay gone."

His face twisted, and without another word, he turned and stormed out. You stared at the slammed door, chest tight, willing yourself not to feel anything. Good riddance. No time to cry over someone like him.

So when you overheard your friends chatting about a karaoke mixer a few days later, you forced a shrug and a grin and said you were in. Anything to prove to yourself that you were already over it.

The room buzzed with laughter when you walked in, neon lights bouncing off cheap walls. You barely had time to scan the crowd before your stomach twisted.

There he was. Slouched on the far side of the booth like a bad memory you hadn’t finished forgetting.

"You?!" you both shouted at the same time, the word ripping through the air like a shot.

Everyone went quiet, exchanging wide-eyed glances. Someone muttered, "Do you guys know each other?"

"Exes." He didn't bother correcting them when he said that out flatly.

You grunted in agreement, voice low and bitter.

Of course, the only seat left was beside him. You sat stiffly, arms brushing once before you both yanked them away. Around you, the party roared on, blissfully unaware of the grenade sitting between you two.

He was the first to break the silence, voice dripping sarcasm. "Wow. They must've been handing out pity invites tonight."