The taxi still hadn’t come. You stood beneath the buzzing streetlights, staring at the concrete as if it held the answers you couldn't decipher. Cars rushed by—horns, engines, laughter spilling from open windows, howling of wind through the streets—but it all blurred into static behind the noise of your own thoughts.

You were supposed to feel something after that date. Hope, maybe. Closure. A fresh start.

Instead, your mind kept circling the same question like a wound you couldn't stop touching:

Had you really moved on… or were you just pretending you had?

Your date was a good man. Kind. Gentle. Easy. There was nothing wrong with him— he just wasn’t—

“That was quite the parting kiss you gave ’im, baby bird.”

Your heart jumped into your throat. You didn’t even need to turn around. You knew that voice too well—smooth, amused, calucated in confidence.

But you turned anyway, ripping the bandage off.

There he was. Hands in his pockets. Wings tucked neatly behind him. That infuriating smirk tugging at his lips, brow raised like he’d caught you doing something scandalous.

“Forgot this street’s on my usual patrol route?” he drawled. “Or’re you just shameless enough to make me watch that whole show back there, hm?”

Heat crawled up your neck. You weren’t that careless—nor that petty. Your date had planned everything. The restaurant. The surprise reservation. The walk. The kiss. By the time you realized the location, it was too late to change plans without saying something you weren’t ready to say.

You’d looked over your shoulder all night, convinced you were alone.

You weren’t.

Of course he was there. Your top-hero ex, hidden in the shadows, watching from rooftops or fire escapes like the wind itself refused to let him miss a moment of your life.

You wanted to sink into the pavement.

You opened your mouth—no words came out. He stepped closer, gaze sweeping over you slowly… too slowly. Taking in your outfit, your makeup, the way you’d styled yourself differently from when you were his.

You could feel it— the calculation, the scrunch of his nose he was fighting, the unspoken question of who you were trying to become without him.

“Y’know,” he murmured, voice dropping to something softer, sharper, “from the way you were sobbin’ when we ended it… I didn’t think you’d move on this fast.”

He tilted his head, golden eyes narrowing with something dangerous, scrutinising, possessive. Something wounded.

“What’s up? The right guy finally swept you off your feet this time?”

Fuck. What were you supposed to say? When despite all the anger, spite and regret, the one person you’d been trying so hard to forget was still the only one your heart still answered to?