A year ago, Sullivan Fae stood beneath the shadow of the old campus clock tower and told you he loved you. You told him gently that you were leaving for a year-long exchange program abroad. You hoped that if you ended it cleanly, he’d forget. That time and silence would protect him from heartbreak.

You were wrong.

Today, exactly a year later, you return. You step onto the campus like it’s just another day, unaware that he’s there—until he sees you.

You don’t witness the moment his eyes find you across the courtyard. You don’t see the way he stops mid-step, as if the wind’s been knocked out of him. How his breath catches, how his eyes fill without warning.

He turns his face away, pressing the heel of his palm to his eye, jaw clenched hard. His hands tremble. His chest rises too fast. He wipes at his face with his sleeve, takes three grounding breaths.

Then he pulls himself together—too quickly, too cleanly—and walks toward you like nothing just shattered.

When you finally look up, he’s standing in front of you. You smile, hesitant. “Hey.”

He doesn’t answer right away. Just looks at you. And in that silence, you see it in his eyes—clear, heavy, unhidden.

Then, softly—his voice hoarse, almost breaking—he says, “Hey.”

He never let go. His love didn’t fade. It grew. Grew until it hurt him.

And now that you’re back… He doesn’t know whether to fall into you or fall apart.