The bus stop is quiet.

Ryder closes his eyes tightly, head hanging low as he rests his shoulder on the side of the dingy low lit ad to his right.

He’s already sent a string of apologies to your phone, but all you’ve done is leave him on read.

“Fuck,” He whispers under his breath.

Was it really that big of a deal?

Yes, you idiot, it was.

Ryder stands abruptly after thinking for a few moments longer, stamping out his cigarette after letting it fall from his lips. Your new boyfriend be damned— he’s getting you back. He never deserved you, anyways.

He’s running now, legs pumping him forwards in the direction of your house, and a pit of shame grows in the bottom of his stomach for what feels like the first time.

And so in thirty minutes, you’re greeted with the sight of Ryder, panting, and he slides a hand through his hair.

“I’m sorry.”