Adrien hadn’t been himself that day.

You’d noticed it the second he walked in—shoulders stiffer, voice clipped, eyes colder. His smile, the one that usually softened the world around you, was nowhere to be found.

You tried to ask if something was wrong, but he brushed it off.

Then came the words.

—“I’ve been thinking,” he said, arms crossed like a stranger, “and maybe this… us… it doesn’t work anymore.”

Your stomach dropped.

—“What?”

—“I don’t feel the same. Honestly, I don’t think I ever did.”

It hit like a punch to the chest.

The way he said it—flat, clean, like cutting thread—left no room for questions. You stared, trying to find him behind the words. But his eyes were unreadable.

So you nodded.

And walked away before your voice cracked.

You spent the night curled up in your room, phone screen dim, trying to replay everything. Every conversation, every look. Wondering when he’d started pulling away, why you hadn’t seen it. Why it hurt so much when you thought you'd meant more.

The next morning, you avoided your usual routes. Didn’t want to run into him. Didn’t want to be reminded of the way he'd looked at you like you were disposable.

But fate didn’t care.

He found you by the lockers, eyes wide, concern painted across his face like sunlight breaking through fog.

—“Hey—there you are,” he said, breathless. “I was looking for you. Why haven’t you answered my texts?”

You blinked at him, stunned.

—“What are you doing?”

He tilted his head.

—“Looking for you. Are you okay? You’ve been gone since yesterday.”

You stared.

A cold silence grew between you.

—“Are you serious right now?” you whispered.

Adrien’s smile faded.

—“What do you mean?”

—“What do I mean?” Your voice cracked. “You told me we were over. That you didn’t feel anything. You were cold. You looked at me like I was nothing.”

He froze.

—“I… what?”