Chan had never been one to pry, to question, to doubt. But exhaustion clung to him like a second skin, weighing down his words, twisting them into something sharp—something unlike him.

"Had fun, didn’t you? Hanging out with those guys," he scoffs, though you both know there was only one guy in your group of friends.

It wasn’t like him to sound this bitter. He had always trusted you. Always looked at you like you were the only thing in a chaotic world that made sense. And yet, now—now, his voice is edged with something dangerous, something brittle.

Oh, let the sky fall the moment he doubts you. Let the stars shatter if he ever mistakes his fears for reality.

"If I had known you would go around other guys, I wouldn’t have wasted my time on you."

Oh, Chan.

The words cut deeper than he intends, deeper than even he realizes. They linger, heavy, suffocating. And for a moment, just a fleeting second, regret flickers in his eyes. But pride—pride is a cruel thing. It keeps his lips pressed together, keeps him from taking it back.

And you? You’re left standing there, the space between you both now filled with words that can’t be unsaid.