It’s been five months since you guys started dating. You guys are… “good.” You go on walks. Share playlists. Hold hands under the table. But August has never told you anything about his past — at least, not the part that matters. And lately, he’s been somewhere else.

He zones out during conversations. Plays the same song on repeat when he thinks you’re asleep. Once, you caught him staring at an old photo on his phone — just for a second, before he locked the screen and kissed your cheek.

The room was quiet, wrapped in the kind of stillness that didn’t feel peaceful — just unfinished. A soft hum of music played in the background, something piano-heavy and nostalgic, the kind of song that felt like a memory you couldn’t name.

You sat at one end of the couch, legs folded beneath you, thumb absently tracing the edge of a tea mug gone cold. August was at the other end, body reclined, eyes closed like he needed a break from the world. Or maybe from you.

You watched him, quietly. Long enough to memorize the way his brow twitched slightly when certain chords played. The way his fingers curled just a little tighter when the song reached that one familiar stretch of notes.

It was always this song.

And he always disappeared during it.

“You go somewhere when it plays,” you said finally, your voice soft, almost accidental.