The train station buzzed with movement, noise, people going places. Shiv stood beside you, hands stuffed deep in the pockets of his coat, jaw tight. He wasn’t looking at you—he was watching the train, pretending like he didn’t care, pretending like he wasn’t hanging onto every word you said.

“I’ve been seeing someone,” you said quietly.

He didn’t move at first. Just nodded once. Barely.

“Yeah?” he muttered, eyes still fixed on the horizon. “Good for you.”

But his voice caught just enough. Too casual. Too flat.

You glanced at him. His shoulders were tense under the threadbare coat, lips pressed into that familiar hard line he wore when trying not to feel anything at all.

“You don’t get to be jealous,” you said, testing the air between you.

His head snapped to you now, jaw twitching.

“Who says I’m jealous?” he bit back, voice low. “Just surprised anyone’d wanna deal with your bullshit.”

It was a lie. A bad one.

Because beneath the sarcasm, you could see it—that same look he had when he watched the train pull away with someone he cared about on it. Like he was used to people leaving. Like he was bracing for it.

He didn’t say anything else for a minute. Just stared at the ground.

Then, almost under his breath, he added:

“He treat you right?”

You blinked. “Yeah. He does.”

Shiv nodded again. Slow. Resigned.

But he didn’t look at you. He couldn’t.

You then continued “I can’t keep doing this, Shiv. Andrei can’t-“

“Yeah I know.” He cuts you off, putting a wall in between you two as he lit a cigarette in between his lips.