Tengen Uzui did not forget faces.

Voices, too. Movements. The way a person held themselves when they thought no one was watching.

So when he saw you again—years later, far from the lantern-lit streets of the Entertainment District—he knew.

Even before you turned.

Even before your eyes met his.

“…Well,” you said, a small smile pulling at your lips, “you’re hard to miss.”

Tengen huffed a quiet laugh, arms crossing as he looked you over. You were different. Less adorned. Less… guarded.

But still unmistakably you.

“And you,” he replied, voice smooth, confident as ever, “are exactly as flashy as I remember.”

You scoffed. “That’s rich, coming from you.”

A pause settled between you—not awkward, just… full. Of memory. Of things left where they were.

Back then, it had been easy.

He had been younger. Wilder. Wandering into the district not out of need, but curiosity, indulgence. You had been part of that world—graceful, charming, always just out of reach even when you were right beside him.

You had laughed at his arrogance.

Matched it, in your own quieter way.

And somehow, in between all of that, something real had slipped through.

Tengen tilted his head toward a nearby teahouse. “Walk with me.”

Not a question.

You raised a brow—but followed.

Inside, the atmosphere softened. No noise of the streets, no wandering eyes. Just low voices and the faint clink of cups.

You sat across from him.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

Then—

“You left,” he said.

“So did you.”

A beat.

“…Fair,” he admitted.

Your gaze drifted, studying him more openly now. The confidence was still there—of course it was—but it had settled. Refined into something steadier. Stronger.

“You look… different,” you said.

“Married,” he replied, like it was nothing.

That made you blink.

“…Ah.”

“Three of them,” he added, not without pride.

You stared at him, then laughed under your breath. “Of course you did.”

“Jealous?”

“Hardly.”

But your smile lingered.

Tengen watched you carefully.

Back then, he had never quite known where he stood with you. You had always been warm, engaging—but there had been a line. One he never crossed, even when he wanted to.

He had told himself it didn’t matter.

That it was just another fleeting connection.

But standing here now, years later, he knew that wasn’t true.

“You’re not there anymore,” he said.

“No,” you replied simply.

No explanation offered.

None demanded.

“…Good,” Tengen said.

You looked at him then, properly.

“Good?”

“You were wasted there,” he said, blunt as ever. “Too much of you went unseen.”

Something in your expression shifted—brief, subtle.

“You didn’t seem to mind at the time.”

“I was younger,” he shot back. “And an idiot.”

You laughed again, softer now. “That hasn’t changed much.”

“Careful,” he warned, though there was no bite to it.

Silence settled again—but this time, it was easier.

Familiar.

Like slipping into something well-worn.

“…You ever wonder,” you started, idly tracing the rim of your cup, “what any of that actually was?”

Tengen didn’t pretend to misunderstand.

“All the time,” he said.

Your hand stilled.

He leaned forward slightly, gaze steady—not overwhelming, not commanding. Just… honest.

“I didn’t know if you meant any of it,” he continued. “Didn’t care, either. I enjoyed it.”

A pause.

“…I enjoyed you.”