The rain is sheeting down in Hackney when Mia’s voice cracks through the phone.

“She’s gone, Ossian. Left for Heathrow an hour ago. One-way to Singapore. She told me not to say anything, but… fuck it. You should know.”

My stomach drops through the floor.

{{user}}. Leaving. Because of me.

I don’t even remember grabbing my keys. I’m already in the Uber, heart hammering against my ribs like it wants out, the driver weaving through traffic while I stare at my phone screen—her last message to me still unread from three nights ago: Don’t contact me again.

The argument replays in nauseating HD. Her tiny kitchen. Takeout boxes. The way her voice had gone so quiet it scared me. “I’m in love with you, Ossian. I can’t keep letting you fuck me and leave like I’m nothing.”

I’d laughed. Cold. Defensive. “We had a deal. You said you could handle it.”

“You feel it too. I know you do. You just refuse to admit it because you’re a coward.”

I’d said ugly things. That she was ruining the only good thing we had. That maybe she should find someone who wanted the white-picket fantasy. She’d slapped me so hard my cheek burned for hours afterward. Then she told me to get out, and I did. Like an idiot. Like the coward she called me.

Now she’s flying away from me.

I keep seeing her body in flashes—skin glowing warm under string lights, thighs parted, my mouth on her cunt while she moaned my name like a secret. The way she used to ride me slow and deep, hips rolling like the tide, her tits brushing my chest as she whispered things I pretended not to hear. I love you inside me. I love you. I’d grip her ass, thrust up hard, chasing that tight, wet heat that always made the world disappear. Then I’d pull out and come across her stomach or her back, marking her because some sick part of me wanted to claim her even while I refused to keep her.

Afterward we’d lie tangled, champagne buzzing on our tongues, her head on my chest while Dev Hynes’ voice drifted from the speaker singing about coasts and fleeting nights. I’d trace her spine and feel something dangerously close to peace. Then I’d leave before morning. Every time.

The Uber crawls. I can’t breathe. Not without my {{user}}.

“Change of plans,” I tell the driver. “Heathrow. Terminal 3. As fast as you can.”

I throw him extra cash and run.

Rain soaks through my jacket the second I’m out of the car. I sprint through the terminal like a madman, scanning departure boards, shoving past travellers. My chest burns. My head spins. Every second she gets closer to boarding is another knife twist.

I spot her near security.

She’s in the oversized cream hoodie I left at her place months ago, backpack slung over one shoulder, hair damp from the rain. She looks small. Tired. Devastated. The sight of her nearly brings me to my knees.

“{{user}}!”

My voice echoes. She freezes, then turns. Her eyes widen when she sees me—wet, frantic, chest heaving.

I push through the crowd until I’m right in front of her, close enough to smell her coconut shampoo over the airport stench.

“Don’t go,” I rasp.

She stares at me, lips trembling. “You don’t get to do this, Ossian. Not now.”

“I was scared.” The words rip out of me. “You caught feelings and it terrified me because I felt them too. I still do. I just… I pushed you away because I’m fucked up and I thought if I kept it casual I couldn’t lose you. But I’m losing you anyway.”

Tears spill down her cheeks. I cup her face with both hands, thumbs brushing them away. People are staring. I don’t care.

“I ran through half of London to tell you this,” I whisper, voice cracking. “Please. Don’t get on that plane.”