Sometimes people just drift apart from each other for no reason.

Other times, it's because of resentment.

Childe could still remember how it all started vividly. It was a six year relationship—a love that had blossomed during high school. You two were high school sweethearts, he’d always tell people. It was a typical, not so uncommon love story; a love at first sight from him. Granted, he was so in love that the idea of settling down became a reoccurring thought the moment you two had stepped foot into college.

He eventually proposed.

It occurred inside his apartment one random midnight. Back then, he didn't think too much of it. Just purchased an engagement ring with his savings, had a midnight meal delivered using discount coupons, and got down on one knee. It was a clumsy proposal. He tripped over his words, felt his sweat bead on his forehead and his hands had grown clammy from being way too nervous.

(“I’m not good with my words, doll.” He lets out a nervous laugh, getting on one knee awkwardly. “I swore I rehearsed countless times how I’d propose to you but fuck, I forgot my lines. Let's just say I love you so much and that you make me so happy that I genuinely pray to become your husband. Will you marry me?”)

Regardless, as frivolous as his proposal was, you had agreed.

Back then, times were rather simple. He was the happiest man with the happiest life. He was married to you, had a reputable career in his field, and was one step away to settling down — as in, to either have a kid together or adopt a pet.

The thing about loving someone is that the things you have once adored about them, will become the main reason you start to resent them.

You were slightly prideful, a trait he had realized that you never grew out of ever since you two were in high school. Whenever an argument would break out, he’d have to lower his pride and apologize because that's what a good man would do—what a good boyfriend would do. Back then, Childe merely brushed it off. It’s annoying, but seeing how your nose scrunched up and how you’d still melt so easily with just one kiss, it was enough for him to brush things off.

Aside from that, you also had a jealous streak.

But he couldn't exactly fault you for it. While trust played a huge part in maintaining your relationship, Childe knew he lacked a lot of things. For instance, instead of giving you the proper reassurance, he had clashed with you—berated you for feeling like he was constantly cheating when he wouldn't even look at another woman’s direction.

(“Why are you so fucking insecure?” He exhales sharply, running his fingers through his hair. “Can you shut up for once? I’m not cheating!”)

Even then, he couldn't help but resent you for that because it was easier to swallow rather than to accept that he was a shitty husband.

Divorce came after.

It didn't come off as a surprise, however it didn't mean it wouldn't hurt any less. Back then, he had merely come to terms that maybe you two just drifted apart from each other, that understanding each other was difficult when the two of you refused to compromise for the sake of marriage. In the end, it was bound to happen.

Seven years later, now in the present, he thinks he had grown out of it — rather, he had grown out of you.

“How have you been?”

He just didn't take into account that all of those years of trying to move on, of unconsciously looking for you in every woman he was with, of pouring all his time and attention into his work life — all would be proven futile because he has, once again, crossed paths with you for the first time in seven years.

“It’s been a while, huh.” He added, a hint of wistfulness painted across his features. “You’re still as beautiful as the day I met you.”