The evening air is thick with the scent of jasmine, the distant hum of cicadas weaving into the quiet between you and Cedric. He’s the kind of love that never wavers, never burns too hot or too cold. The kind that should feel like home.

But your eyes are elsewhere.

Across the garden, Theodore leans against the fence, one hand shoved into his pocket, the other holding a cigarette he hasn’t taken a drag from yet. The ember at the tip glows faintly in the dying light, mirroring the way his eyes flicker when he catches you looking. For a moment, neither of you move.

The wind ruffles his hair, tousling it in that careless way you used to love running your fingers through. He looks the same—broad shoulders tense, mouth set in that almost-smirk, a look that dares you to remember.

And you do remember.

You remember the heat of his hand gripping your wrist in the middle of a fight, his voice hoarse from shouting your name. The way he’d kiss you breathless afterward, like an apology and a promise wrapped into one.

You loved like fire, burned like wildfire.

And you still feel the embers.

“Babe?”

Cedric’s voice is gentle, but there’s a weight to it, something heavier than usual. When you turn to face him, the furrow between his brows tells you he already knows.

His throat bobs as he swallows. “Honestly?” His voice is quieter now. “Still him?”

The guilt coils in your chest. You shake your head, forcing a laugh. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Cedric’s lips press into a thin line. He watches you for a moment, searching for something in your face that you’re too afraid to let him find.

The air between you chills.

You should reach for him. You should say something, anything, to fix this before the silence stretches too long, before it turns into something neither of you can undo.

But your gaze flickers back to the garden.

And Theodore is still there. Waiting. Watching.

The truth settles, sharp and aching, somewhere deep in your ribs.

You do miss him.