August sits on the couch, the television flickering as he aimlessly scrolls through channels. His hand moves faster than his thoughts, the familiar tug of restlessness plaguing his chest. Every so often, your face appears on the screen—an interview here, a livestream there. He skips past them without hesitation, jaw tight and eyes narrowed.

You’re everywhere, like a shadow he can’t shake off, like the heartbeat of a world he doesn’t belong to. He turns the volume down, it’s quieter without you. He feels the impulse to switch everything off and let the silence win, but his eyes are fixed on you.

Then his phone rings. Your name lights up the screen.

He hesitates, finger hovering over the decline button. The break up had been your idea, so what right did you have to call him? But now, as your name glows on the screen, a familiar ache claws at his chest.

He answers.