In a sleek apartment filled with gifts you never asked for, Childe watches you from the kitchen as you stare at your untouched coffee. His hair’s messy—he hasn’t been sleeping well. He still texts you good morning. Still kisses your temple. Still pretends not to notice how quiet you've become.

You used to smile when he played you his favorite songs. Now you just hum politely. He holds you tighter at night, as if he can anchor your love with the weight of his arms. But your heart is already gone—quietly, gently, like a tide pulling away from shore.

He doesn’t say it out loud, but desperation clings to him like cologne.

“You don’t look at me the same anymore.”

You don’t reply.

And he wonders: What if you really did fall out of love? What if there’s nothing he can do to bring you back?