Kei had convinced himself he was over you. He had spent the past year repeating it like a mantra, burying himself in work, in books, in anything that kept his mind from wandering back to you. It wasn’t like he regretted it—at least, that’s what he told himself. The fights, the misunderstandings, the way his sharp tongue had cut too deep one too many times. He had let you slip through his fingers, and maybe that had been for the best.

But then he saw you.

Your laughter reached him first, bright and warm, and when he turned, he saw you standing with someone else. Someone who wasn’t…him. Kei wasn’t stupid—he could tell just by the way they looked at you, by the easy way you leaned into them, that you had moved on.

That you were happy.

He should have walked away. He should have felt nothing. But his heart clenched painfully, betraying him. His eyes lingered on your smile, the one he used to claim as his own. It was different now, freer, unburdened. He remembered all the times he had made you cry—silent nights where he let his pride build walls too high for either of you to climb. He had been cold when you needed warmth, distant when you needed reassurance.

Kei swallowed the lump in his throat, forcing a smirk as if he could fool himself into believing it didn’t hurt. “Figures,” he muttered under his breath as he stared at you like he couldn’t look away. “You had always deserved better.”

He turned before he could do something pathetic, like hope you’d glance his way. Before he could give himself another reason to remember that once, you had loved him too.