It started small. Like it always did.

Ren wasn’t dumb— he could feel it. The way you’ve been pulling back lately. Shorter replies. The longer pauses between laughs. You weren’t as quick to tease him when he snapped at dumb stuff, and you didn’t roll your eyes when he crunched through his lollipops like they were bones.

He noticed. Of course he noticed. He just didn’t want to ask.

So tonight, when you texted him to meet up, he showed. He always did. Leaned against the wall of the empty lot, headphones humming low, lollipop stick poking out from his mouth like armor.

You showed up, hands shoved deep into your pockets, looking like you were carrying something way too heavy. He clocked it immediately. His stomach sank.

“…You’re late,” he said, sharp, quick— because snapping first was easier than waiting.

You just looked at him. Quiet. Too quiet.

That’s when the air shifted. That’s when he knew.

Ren pulled the candy from his mouth, turned the stick between his fingers, and forced his voice to stay level.

“What?” he asked.

Like he didn’t already know. Like the silence wasn’t screaming.

You opened your mouth. The words dragged out like glass. “I think we should break up.”

For a moment, nothing moved. Not the city, not the night, not even him. And then— crack.

The lollipop split between his teeth, sugar shards crunching loud in the stillness. His jaw tightened, and his laugh— short, harsh— cut the air like a knife.

“You think you can just…” his words came out sharp, broken, hot with something he couldn’t swallow down. “Say that like it’s nothing?”

His eyes burned into you, furious and wrecked all at once. The headphones around his neck buzzed, but it was useless now. No noise could drown this out.

“You can’t say stuff like that,” he muttered, voice low, almost biting— but the way his gaze flickered said more than the words ever could.