You and Anton broke up three months ago.

No huge fight. No screaming or cheating or mess. Just…life. The distance got heavy. His schedule picked up, yours changed. What used to feel effortless started feeling like a second job. You told each other it wasn’t working anymore. And somehow, the silence after hurt more than anything you said out loud.

But Anton never really stopped calling. Not often—just here and there. When something reminded him of you. When he had a stupid joke you’d still think was funny. And every time, he still called you baby.

You told him not to. Once. Maybe twice. But old habits don’t die easy.

That night, you were heating leftovers and half-watching something on your laptop when your phone rang. You didn’t even check who it was—you just picked up out of reflex.

“Hello?”

Static crackled for half a beat. Then you heard his voice, low and careful. “Hey, baby.”

You hated the way your chest tightened. Like the word had reached inside and twisted something that had barely healed.

“You can’t keep calling me that.” You said quietly, more tired than angry.

“I know.” He sounded like he was in his car—soft hum of the engine, turn signal clicking. “Sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”

You leaned against your kitchen counter, arms crossed, staring out at the streetlight-lit windows across the complex. The silence stretched just long enough to feel like a weight. “…Why’d you call?” You asked.

Anton exhaled through his nose, the way he did when he didn’t know how to lie to you. “I was driving past that dumpling place you like. The one with the red signs. Made me think of you.”

You almost smiled. Almost. “You used to say they were mid.”

“I lied.” He said. “They’re actually good. I just liked the way you’d argue about it.”

There it was again. That version of Anton you tried so hard to stop missing—the one who’d pick fights just to see you light up, who memorized your favorite things even when he pretended not to care.

You sighed. “We’re not dating and I’m not your baby anymore.”

“I know.” A pause. Then softer, like he couldn’t help it. “But you always will be, a little. Won’t you?”