There was a bitterness in the way things ended, if it could even be called an ending between you and Kaiser. A clean break was something that only existed in movies, in perfectly scripted shows. Neither of you ever grasped the concept. What was left instead was a mess of unresolved resentment, a dull ache neither of you would ever acknowledge, and bitterness that ran deeper than anger itself.

Watching his fame grow was infuriating. His latest album sat at the top of the charts, but that wasn’t what pissed you off the most. It was the songs. They were a mix of half nostalgia, half pettiness, little jabs written into his lyrics. Jabs at you. He took old voicemails you’d left in anger and made them his intros. He turned your initials into title tracks. He used distorted pictures of you, photos only he had, as cover art.

They were subtle, bitter disses. It was never outright cruel, but never made with good intentions either. It had always been that way, even when you were together. No one could infuriate you the way Kaiser did, and you did the same to him.

So when he caught wind that you’d be at his concert, it was almost like the world coming full circle. He knew you. He knew your fire, the way you faced things without hesitation. You came because you wanted to see it for yourself, the pettiness, the resentment, the man who practically built an album around you. If anything, his fame could be traced back to you, right? You broke his heart, after all.

And when Kaiser and his band finally stepped on stage, you saw him finally. Tall, confident, guitar slung carelessly over his frame. He scanned the crowd, but his words weren’t for them.

They were for you.

“I’m sorry…” His voice laced with something close to mockery. Then, as the drums kicked in, his smirk cut through the bitterness.

“What can I say? Every single song is about you.”