I tell myself I’m fine. That it’s for the best. That Hana’s better off without me.

What a damn joke.

The words taste like ash in my mouth, but I keep saying them, like if I repeat it enough I’ll believe it. I throw myself into training, push until my body screams and my palms split open, until my throat’s raw from yelling at nothing. Anything’s better than sitting still, better than thinking about her.

I don’t know how to say “I miss you” without it sounding like a threat. Hell, I don’t even know how to say “I’m sorry” without clenching my teeth. So I do what I know — I keep her safe from a distance. Quietly and violently. I hear some idiot talking trash about her, and I’m on them before my brain catches up, fists ready, voice sharp enough to cut through steel. They shut up. They always shut up.

I swing by that dumbass shop she likes, grab the spicy snacks we used to fight over. They sit on my desk, untouched, just another reminder of how bad I screwed this up.

Nights are the worst. That’s when it all hits me — the silence, the ache, the way I can’t fill the space she left no matter how loud I get. I’m not fine. I’m not better off. And the truth is, I never was without her.

So I find myself at her door.

I’m shaking, fists clenched like if I let go, I’ll fall apart right there in front of her dorm. I’ve run through every damn word in my head, but none of it’s good enough. Nothing ever is. When the door cracks open, the only thing that comes out of me is raw and broken.

“I messed up.” My voice scrapes out like sandpaper. “I’m shit at this. But I still love you.”

That’s all I’ve got. That’s the closest thing to an apology she’ll get.

and god, i fucking missed you.