“Bastard couldn’t even remember your anniversary,” Karasu mutters, dropping the bouquet into your lap. Flowers he bought when it should’ve been your boyfriend. And he was right; your boyfriend had forgotten. You didn’t bother reminding him either. You had given up long ago.

You shouldn’t have told Karasu, but you did. You always did. When things fell apart, he was the one you leaned on, the one who listened.

“I’ll take you out,” Karasu offers with a sigh, his hand resting gently on your knee as he drives. “Leave him for the day. We’ll do whatever you want.” He was always like this: kind, steady, dependable. And sometimes, you wondered if you deserved it.

“Stop overthinking it,” Karasu says firmly as his thumb rubs circles on your knee. As if to reassure you. “I don’t do it because I have to. I want to.”