you told him it was over, you said you were done chasing ghosts and excuses, he laughed, not because he didn’t believe you, but because he thought you’d never really leave.

you saw him the next night, wrapped around her hands where they used to fit on you lips curved in a smirk, like your heartbreak was a joke he’d written himself,

you didn’t cry, you smiled, you turned your back and walked away, but God, you hoped he watched you go,

you wanted him to feel it, to ache, to beg, to cry for you like you cried every night while he was out playing the villain in someone else’s bed,

and maybe, just maybe, you whispered a little fuck you under your breath when you saw him watching you the next weekend, eyes darker than sin, jaw tight like regret.

you knew he missed you, and you were going to use that fact.