You were always the one Cyan came back to, never the one he stayed with.

You knew his patterns the way you knew your own breathing. The late-night texts when things went wrong. The way his voice softened only when he needed comfort. He’d sit beside you, close enough to blur lines, far enough to keep an escape.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” he’d say.

You mistook that for love.

Cyan liked you best when you were quiet and available. When you didn’t ask questions. When you didn’t ask him to choose. You were the safe place he rested in between wants, the pause between chapters that never included you.

Then someone new would appear.

He’d pull away slowly, like he hoped you wouldn’t notice. Short replies. Missed plans. You learned to pretend you were fine, learned how to miss him without complaining.

And when it didn’t work out— he came back.

Every time.

You told yourself patience was proof of love. That if you waited long enough, he’d finally see you the way you saw him.

But watching him laugh with someone else, hand in theirs, something finally broke.

You weren’t his someday. You were his fallback. His almost. His backburner.

And loving him meant learning how to let yourself go unseen.