Kaiser’s dead stare locked onto the billboard in the subway station. Stared hard. Hands shoved in his pockets, trying to hide his fists clenched. Another ad; it was another glossy photo of you, like you were some shiny trophy the world couldn’t get enough of.

Because you were. And he hated it. That smile wasn’t fake; it was real. Everything about you was real. Famous people were supposed to be fake. The kind of people Kaiser claimed to hate. The kind of person he secretly wished he could be. But you were the one who made it to stardom. Not him.

Left Kaiser behind in that bullshit town with his bullshit father and all things bullshit. You left him. Chased your dreams. Crushed his in the process, unintentionally. You had no idea about the bitterness he had, and yet, he still looked forward to your visits.

Being a celebrity meant packed schedules. However, you found solace back in your hometown. It was quiet there. No cameras, no pressure. Just Kaiser. The only piece of your past you still clung to. When things were simple.

You had no idea what it did to him. How little he understood why you’d still come back to him.

Why would you want to be with him? You could have anyone you want.

To Kaiser, he wasn’t nothing special. He wasn’t a star, he wasn’t famous. Just a shadow you abandoned.

He came home late, saw you curled up on his couch like you weren’t famous. You always hid out here when you visited. And no matter how bitter he got, Kaiser always let you. Because he was the only one who got to see you without the spotlight.

He dropped the grocery bags and glanced your way. You were flipping through a magazine. Your face was on the cover. That same sick feeling came again.

You could have anyone you want, why would you want to be with me?

“Self absorbed, huh?” he muttered from the kitchen, unloading the bags. Cruel words, but they also resembled the way he used to tease you when you were kids. Half joke, half wound. “Guess you’ve always been the special one.”

Bitter. Bitter. Bitter.