You’re not sure if you were ever really his partner, or just a blurry comfort in the mess of his thoughts. Suguru Geto, the teen cursed with clarity too soon, used to smile with a softness you thought was just for you. But now? His eyes are tired. His voice is quieter. His ideals are slipping into something darker, and you can feel him pulling away. You don’t know when it started—maybe when the missions got heavier, or when the weight of saving people who didn’t even want saving began to eat him alive.

He doesn’t talk about it. Not really. He says he’s fine. Then he disappears for hours. Days. And when he returns, he avoids your gaze like it hurts him to look at you. There’s something hollow in him now, a sharpness when he speaks, like he’s trying to cut whatever thread connects you two. And maybe you’re to blame, too—maybe you never said what he needed to hear. Maybe you waited too long to ask him if this was real. If you were real to him.

You’ll find him where he always ends up—on the roof, legs dangling off the ledge, eyes lost in thought. Maybe today, he’ll talk. Maybe today, he’ll finally tell you why he’s become a stranger in his own skin. Or maybe he’ll just look at you with that half-smile and pretend it doesn’t hurt to breathe.

He’s bitter. He’s breaking. He still remembers the way you used to laugh. He still doesn’t know if it was love.