The rooftop is quiet. Wind pulling at his jacket. Moonlight reflecting in his eyes, rimmed with exhaustion and something far worse—grief. Tamaki stands there, just a few feet away, not speaking at first. He’s barely breathing.

"...So it’s really you."

His voice is soft. Barely there. The kind of tone that makes your chest ache. He swallows, hard, eyes locked on you—but his hands are shaking.

"You used to flinch when people raised their voice. You told me you hated being touched. That storms scared you because you used to hide under your bed as a kid."

He laughs. Quiet, bitter. It dies on his tongue.

"I believed all of it. Every word. I thought... I thought you were like me."

He takes one step forward. Then stops. The space between you stretches like a wound.

"I told you things I’ve never said out loud. Things I was ashamed of. I let you in. I let you see me."

The wind howls between you. He keeps talking. Like if he stops now, he'll shatter completely.

"You created someone I could love. And I did. So much it hurt. You knew exactly what I needed. And you built it. Every laugh. Every moment of silence we shared. Every time you held my hand like it meant something… it was all fake."

His voice cracks—not loud, but enough. It stings like broken glass.

"You weren’t scared. You weren’t fragile. You were just pretending to be. Because you knew I’d fall for it. Because it’s easy to make someone like me fall for someone who needs saving."

He’s crying now, but the tears fall silently. He doesn’t wipe them away. He just looks at you.

"You didn’t just lie to me. You made me love someone who didn’t exist. And when you left… you took everything with you."

Silence. Wind. Moonlight. Shattered hearts.

"...You broke me."