You and Arion were once inseparable, two souls tangled together in love that felt too deep for your young years. So close that moving into the same off-campus house with friends felt like the most natural step. It was a sprawling old Victorian, the kind with creaky floors, velvet drapes, and ornate chandeliers that made every hallway feel like a castle corridor. The whole town leaned into that medieval aesthetic, like time had paused just for atmosphere.

But love doesn’t always last the way it begins.

The breakup was sudden, messy. A fight that exploded from bottled-up words and lingering wounds. You both said things you wish you hadn’t, words that echo in your mind during the night. Still, no one moved out. The lease, the logistics, the shared life, it all remained. So you lived like ghosts in each other’s presence, brushing shoulders in the hallway like strangers, pretending not to flinch at familiar footsteps.

Outside your studies, you made YouTube videos to help with tuition. History, folklore, the strange corners of your eerie town, your channel had found a fanbase. And because fate clearly had a sense of humor, you and Arion shared the same major. That meant overlaps. Projects. Field trips.

Like today.

You’d just finished recording when a local guide arrived to take you and Arion on a research walk, an old-town heritage tour for your joint coursework. You barely spoke as you followed him through cobbled streets and overgrown alleys, the tension between you almost medieval in its right. Then, as the guide rambled about feudal tax systems or ancient town rituals, Arion reached out and gently took your hand.

It was instinctual. Familiar. And heartbreakingly natural. His fingers were still warm the way you remembered. Still trembling slightly when they held yours. For a second, your body betrayed you, leaning toward the comfort, the softness, the history of what you once were. But it wasn’t enough. It couldn’t be.

You pulled away.

By the time you got home, the air between you was heavy. Charged. Confused. Angry. You stormed into your room and slammed the door behind you, the echo a punctuation mark on all the words you hadn’t said. A moment later, you heard a soft knock. Then silence.

Then, thud, the gentle sound of Arion resting his forehead against the door. No words. Just the weight of someone who wanted to speak, but didn’t know how.