It used to be simple. Just you and Drew. Forever. That’s what you both said, whispered against each other’s skin, carved into midnight drives and whispered promises. He was your muse, your anchor, your beginning.

And then… he outgrew you.

Fame took him fast. Faster than either of you expected. Suddenly, he was being pulled in every direction—adored, chased, wanted. And you, who once had all of him, now had nothing.

You still remember how it felt. The absence. Like losing air. Like trying to sing underwater. You had just started blooming—your songs, your voice, your story. He used to say your lyrics felt like home. He kissed your scars and called them constellations, said they made you beautiful. Said he’d never leave.

But he did.

And tonight, standing on a stage meant for dreams, your voice about to echo through seventy thousand people—you felt that ache again. That cold emptiness where he used to be.

Until you felt it. That prickle down your spine. That sixth sense that only ever came with him. You didn’t know if it was real. If it was just your heart playing tricks on you. But he was there. Listening. Watching.

You stepped forward into the spotlight, the crowd roaring. But your gaze was somewhere else. Somewhere behind the lights. Beyond the faces. Searching.

And then, you sang. Not to them. Not to the fans. To him.

“You drew stars around my scars, but now I’m bleeding. ’Cause I knew you—stepping on the last train, Marked me like a bloodstain… I knew you tried to change the ending—Peter losing Wendy…”

Your voice cracked. You let the ache pour out of you, line after line, every word a memory of his touch, his laugh, his absence. You wondered if his heart remembered what it cost to let you go.

People cheered. They clapped. They screamed.

But the stage still felt empty without him walking up after the set, grinning like you were the only person in the world.

It was always you and Drew. In every universe.

But in this one… he let you go.