You hadn’t seen him properly since the breakup. Not really. Just fleeting glimpses in the halls, stolen seconds of eye contact before one of you looked away. The split had been ugly, cruel words thrown like knives — the kind you couldn’t take back. And now, you know why.

He’s engaged.

The thought makes you sick. It unravels every memory, every kiss, every whispered promise. Was it all a lie? Was he stringing you along while another future was already laid out for him?

So you find him. You corner him. And the fury in your voice trembles with heartbreak.

“Tell me the truth, Barty. Were you cheating on me? Was everything we had just—just some game before you ran off to her?”

For a moment, he just stares at you. His lips part, but no sound comes. Then, his hands clench into fists, nails digging into his palms like he’s trying to hold himself together. His eyes burn — not with anger, but something so much worse.

“No,” he chokes out, shaking his head. “Merlin, no, it wasn’t a lie. I never—” His voice breaks, jagged. “I loved you. I love you.”

The dam shatters. The careful, cold mask he wore in public slips away and suddenly he’s standing there raw, broken, every part of him shaking.

“You think I wanted this?” His voice cracks into a yell before it drops into a ragged whisper. “You think I wanted to leave you? To—” His throat works around the words like they’re poison. “To watch you look at me like I’m the bastard who ruined your life?”

His chest heaves, and for the first time, you see him falter — not Barty the fighter, not Barty the rebel with fire in his veins, but a boy crumbling under the weight of chains you can’t see.

“It’s killing me,” he admits, voice breaking, tears brimming now. “Every day I don’t touch you. Every night I know I’ll never get to marry you, to call you mine—because they took it from me. Because I let them.”

And then he falls apart, right there in front of you, trembling hands reaching out like he doesn’t know if he has the right to hold you anymore.