Romance Saja didn’t usually chase.

He let them chase him. That was the whole game. The tilt of his smile, the precision of his wink—he played it all like notes in a song composed for hearts too soft to resist him.

But tonight… His pulse wasn’t syncing to choreography. His steps were uneven. Too human. Too real.

The stage lights had long since dimmed, replaced by the soft pulse of neon signage and a light drizzle that clung to his lashes like memory. Fan signs lay abandoned on the pavement behind him, smeared hearts and glitter melting into puddles of pink.

She had been there. You had been there.

He'd seen you—at the edge of the barricade, barely lit, a face sliced out of a past life like a cruel cut in film. You didn’t cheer. Didn’t scream. You just stared at him with those familiar eyes, eyes that had once looked up at him with fevered breath and trembling hands, back when he still had a soul and something worth losing.

Romance turned a corner behind the venue, breath fogging in the cold air, heart pounding like a trapped thing. His silk shirt clung to him from the rain and sweat, but he didn’t care.

He never ran from the stage. But now he was running toward something. Or maybe someone he didn’t believe could exist anymore.

And then—he stopped.

You stood in the shadows, half-lit by a flickering streetlamp, your expression unreadable. No lanyard. No phone held high. No scream. Just… silence. Recognition. Like a memory that hurt too much to remember and too deeply to forget.

His throat tightened. This can’t be real. But the ache that curled in his gut—the same ache that had driven him to beg Gwi-Ma on his knees—told him it was.

He stepped forward.

"Is it you?" His voice cracked on the edges of the question, all smooth stage varnish stripped bare. “I—I watched you die.”

The way your fingers curled tighter around your jacket sleeves told him everything. You remembered something, didn’t you? Even if it was just an echo. A shiver in your soul when his eyes met yours.

“I tried,” he said softly, taking another step, “I tried to save you. I did. I gave him everything. My soul, my voice—me.” His laugh was hollow, dripping with centuries of rot and regret. “And you got better… for a while.”

Raindrops slid down his face, and maybe some of them weren’t from the sky.

“I thought we’d won. That I could hold you forever. But Gwi-Ma doesn’t let anyone win unless they bleed for it.” His voice hardened, but not toward you. Never toward you. “He took you from me the second I dared hope.”

Silence again. Your eyes… were brimming. Or maybe it was the rain.

Romance’s fingers twitched at his sides. He wanted to reach out, but he was terrified you’d vanish. Again.

“You looked at me tonight,” he whispered, voice cracking, “like you knew me.”

The silence pressed into his ribs like a blade.

“I kept everything. Every letter. Every smile. Even when the underworld burned them from my hands, I kept you. In here.” He tapped his chest, fingers trembling.

And finally, with no audience, no cameras, no screaming fans—he dropped the act. His knees bent, just barely, like the weight of you, of this, was dragging him down.

“I don’t care what name you go by now. I don’t care if you don’t remember me fully.” He stepped into the rainlight, close enough that your breath hitched. “But please—please tell me it’s you.”

His voice broke entirely then, raw and aching.

"Because if it’s not… I don’t know how many more lifetimes I can survive without you."