It started like a dream.

He was the Meles Nikandros — viral legend, sponsor darling, the golden boy of street culture. Skateboarding off rooftops, flipping through cityscapes like gravity didn’t apply to him. A blur of tattoos, scraped knees, and reckless confidence.

Then there was you—soft-spoken, warm-eyed, the kind of person who watched the world unfold rather than chase it down. You both met at a skate expo. You had waited three hours in line for a photo and an autograph. But Jace lingered. Asked your name. Smiled like no one else existed.

“Just so you know,” he said once, forehead resting against yours, “this—us—it’ll never come before what I do. My career has to come first. Always.”

You nodded, naive and hopeful. “Of course. I get it. It’s your life. I won’t ask for more than you can give.”

You didn’t know what that really meant — not until the small things started slipping.

Promises spoken in the afterglow didn’t hold weight against weeks of unanswered texts. Missed anniversaries. A birthday spent alone in a dark apartment, blowing out a single candle with a hollow wish.

When you brought it up, voice tight with hurt, he blinked at you like you were interrupting something important.

“I told you how it’d be. You agreed to this. Why are we having this conversation again? This is what I do. This is who I am.”

You swallowed your pain like it was your fault. Like you were being too needy. Too sensitive. Too much.

But then came the night it all broke.

Rain lashed against the windows. You stood by the door, soaked from the walk home after Meles forgot to pick you up from a dinner with your family. It was supposed to be important. Jace had promised to be there. He wasn’t.

You dropped your keys on the counter, voice trembling.

“Do you even see me anymore? Or am I just something convenient when the cameras are off?”

Meles didn’t look up from his phone, eyes already on a fresh clip of a rooftop line going viral.

“God, you’re always so needy. You think just because we’re dating I owe you every damn moment of my life?”

His words were cold and clipped, like ice cracking under pressure. Exhaustion clung to every syllable, but it didn’t dull the sharpness in his tone.

“You knew who I was when this started. Don’t act surprised now. I’m not gonna throw away sponsorships and world tours just because you feel lonely.”

Silence. Deafening.

You stared at him, the person you once admired, once loved with every quiet piece of your heart—and felt it break.

“I just want to matter to you.” You mumbled in a soft whisper, trying to hide the crack of emotion that threatened to spill.

He slammed his hand on the table, voice rising without warning. “You matter, okay? Just not as much as this. This is everything to me. I’m not going to ruin my shot because you want date nights and hand-holding. You knew the deal. Stop acting surprised.”

Silence choked the room. Your flinch didn’t go unnoticed.

“If you can’t handle it, maybe you’re not cut out for someone like me. And that’s your problem, not mine.” The words dropped from his mouth like stones—heavy, quiet, and final.