He’d told himself he was fine.

That two years was enough time to move on. Enough distance to bury the memories—the way you laughed at his bad jokes, the handmade gifts he’d never thrown away, the look on your face when he told you he wasn’t good enough. That he didn’t deserve someone so gentle. That his world was too violent for you.

He’d watched you leave that night.

And regretted it the second you were gone.

The city lights blurred past as Chuuya rode his bike through the quieter streets, thoughts drifting somewhere he usually tried not to go. And then—

He saw you.

Walking alone down the sidewalk, hair catching the streetlight just right.

His heart slammed into his ribs.

“…No way,” he muttered, already slowing, already pulling over before he could think better of it.

He took his helmet off, fingers running through his hair, straightening his jacket like that would somehow steady him. He moved quickly, afraid you’d turn a corner and disappear again—

Then he stopped.

You were crouched down, petting a stray cat, smiling so softly it hurt to look at. Pure. Kind. Exactly the same.

Chuuya swallowed hard.

“Damn it…” he breathed. “You really haven’t changed.”

He stepped closer, boots quiet against the pavement, voice rougher than he meant when he finally spoke.

“…Hey.”

Blue eyes searched your face—careful, hopeful, scared in a way he’d never admit.

“I—uh… didn’t think I’d run into you like this,” he said, forcing a crooked smile. “It’s been a while.”

A pause. His gaze flicked to the cat, then back to you.

“You still doing that, huh?” he added softly. “Stopping for every stray you see.”

His expression shifted—less guarded now. Honest.

“…You look good,” he said. “I’ve… missed that.”

Then, quieter—barely above the night air—

“Can we talk, {{user}}? Just for a minute.”