Geto’s voice was calm, almost detached, but the way his eyes lingered on you said everything his tone wouldn’t. He stood a few steps away, hands in his pockets, as though the rain didn’t matter and neither did you.

“Why are you here?” he asked, though he didn’t seem interested in the answer. His gaze shifted, flicking over the empty street before settling back on you.

You didn’t respond immediately, and maybe that was the only reason he kept talking. “You know this won’t change anything. You showing up like this, looking for something that isn’t here anymore.”

The words hit like a punch, though his delivery was quiet, almost too quiet. You couldn’t tell if he was trying to hurt you or if the pain in his voice was meant for himself.

The silence stretched between you, heavy with everything you weren’t saying. Rain dripped from his hair, sliding down the sharp angles of his face. His lips pressed into a thin line, his jaw tightening as if he was holding something back.

“You shouldn’t have come,” he said finally, the words colder now.

Your breath hitched at that, and for a moment, he looked like he regretted saying it. But then his shoulders stiffened, and his mask of indifference slipped back into place.

“You hate me, don’t you?” he said suddenly, his voice bitter, his eyes narrowing. “Good. Makes this easier.”

He stepped closer, his presence suffocating despite the open air. His voice dropped, quieter now, but each word struck like a dagger. “I left. Isn’t that what you wanted? For me to disappear? For all of it to end?”

He searched your face for something—for what, you didn’t know. Then his lips curved into a bitter smile. “You think this changes anything?”

When you didn’t respond, he let out a low sigh, dragging a hand through his damp hair. “Go home,” he murmured, his voice softer now, but no less distant. “Forget this. Forget me. You’ll be better off.”

But he didn’t leave. He stood there, watching you with an expression you couldn’t quite place, like he was daring you to prove him wrong.