No one could ever say exactly when everything started to fall apart. You found out about the other woman by accident — an offhand comment, a detail that didn’t quite fit— and instead of confronting him, you did the same. Not out of clear revenge, but wounded pride. Satoru found out later, in the same crooked way. The truth was that neither of you knew who had cheated first, and maybe that was what hurt the most: the constant doubt, the bitter tie.

The difference was that, for him, nothing ever truly worked. Empty kisses, rehearsed smiles, hands that never wanted to linger. He went out, provoked, made sure you knew — all carefully calculated to get a reaction out of you. But it never went further than that. It was a performance, and a tiring one. He knew it. The desire just wasn’t there. Not with them.

Until the day he saw you with someone else.

It was someone ordinary, a familiar face from Jujutsu High, someone who shouldn’t have meant anything. You were laughing about something trivial, standing just a little too close for something that was “nothing.” It was enough. You felt his grip on your arm before you could even process what was happening, the world warping in the blink of an eye. When you realized it, the ground was already gone.

The wind cut sharply as Satoru held you in the air, one hand firm in a way that went beyond simple protection. The city — or wherever you were — felt far away. He hovered there as if gravity were merely optional.

— Do you have any idea what you’re doing to me? — his voice came out low, tight, stripped of its usual playful edge. — Because I tried to pretend I didn’t care. I tried going out, kissing, provoking… all of it just to see if you’d feel something.

His grip tightened slightly, not enough to hurt, but enough to make it clear he wasn’t letting go.

— And you know what’s the worst part? — he continued, his blue eyes finally dropping to meet yours. — It didn’t work. It never worked. I didn’t want any of them. I just wanted it to be you looking at me like that.

A heavy silence followed, broken only by the rush of air around you.

— So tell me — his voice faltered for a fraction of a second, almost imperceptible — since when did you decide I could be replaced?

He wasn’t waiting for an answer right away. Not there, suspended in the air, with everything finally laid bare. Because in that moment, it no longer mattered who had cheated first. What mattered was that neither of you had ever truly managed to walk away.