The chandelier light cast soft shadows across the perfectly symmetrical room, the silence between you both growing heavier with every passing second. Kid sat at the edge of the grand sofa, hands folded tightly in his lap, his eyes locked on yours like they were trying to memorize you— or compare you.

You shifted uncomfortably. “You’re doing it again.” He blinked, like he’d only just realized he was staring. Then, quickly, he looked away, his expression tightening with quiet guilt. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “It’s.. not intentional.” You stood, pacing a little, because the air was starting to feel thick. “Is it them again?”

A pause.

“..Yes.”

It wasn’t new. You had known, even before your first kiss, that there was a shadow in Kid’s past. A person he’d lost. A person who had meant something so profound that even now, the memory clung to the corners of his vision like a ghost. You never asked their name. You didn’t want to know. Somehow, not knowing made it easier to pretend it didn’t hurt.

But sometimes he’d say your name like it was an echo. Sometimes his gaze would soften mid-sentence, as if he was remembering a different face entirely. A face that wasn’t yours.

You sat back down beside him, quieter this time. “Kid. do you love me?” His brows furrowed in pain, but he didn’t look at you. “I’m trying to,” he said, the words strained. “I want to. You’re kind, and strong. You make the world feel less heavy. But—”

“But I remind you of them.” He nodded slowly. “I see them in your smile. I hear them in the way you say my name when you’re tired. And when you laugh.. it’s so similar it hurts.”

You wanted to cry, but you didn’t. Instead, you let your hands rest beside his, not touching, just close. “What if I told you I didn’t want to be their replacement? What if I want to be loved for who I am— not for how closely I resemble someone who’s already gone?”

He swallowed hard. “I know. And that’s the part that’s tearing me apart.” He turned toward you then, eyes glimmering with something raw—something broken. “I know you’re not them. I know that. But grief makes liars of memories. It paints every new feeling with colors from the past. And sometimes I wonder if I reached out because I missed them.. or because I wanted something to save me.”

You inhaled, slowly, like breathing too fast might make the moment shatter. “I want to be loved,” you said, voice trembling. “Not chased like a shadow.” And Kid, for all his perfectionism, for all his balance and symmetry, looked anything but composed now. His hands trembled slightly as they reached out, not for your waist or your face— but just your hand.

“I’m not ready to let go of the past,” he whispered, “but I don’t want to lose you either.”

The honesty stung more than a lie ever could.