The warehouse was cold, dust hanging thick in the air as you stepped inside. You hadn’t planned on running into him—not like this, not here. But there he was.

Izana Kurokawa.

Same silver hair. Same sharp, unreadable gaze. Same quiet presence that could silence an entire room with a look.

But his eyes slid right past you like you were a stranger.

“Izana,” you said quietly.

He turned, eyes narrowing slightly as if trying to place you.

“Do I know you?” he asked, voice calm but edged in that usual detachment.

You felt it then—like a punch to the chest. He really didn’t remember.

You swallowed the ache.

“We shared a room at the orphanage. You used to steal my socks because yours always had holes.”

A flicker of something crossed his face—confusion? Memory? He looked away for a second, then back at you.

“That was a long time ago,” he said flatly.

You stepped forward, careful not to let your voice shake.

“You told me you’d never forget me. That no matter where we ended up, you’d find me again.”

The silence between you stretched, brittle.

And then he laughed—soft, bitter. “I guess I lied.”

But his hand clenched at his side.

Something in him remembered.

He just wasn’t ready to face it yet.