The pharmacy smelled like fake lemon and exhaustion. You stood at the counter, arms folded, trying not to check the time again. Hazel’s prescription was taking longer than usual—again—and the line behind you was starting to build. She sat nearby in one of those blue plastic chairs, wearing her hoodie and mismatched socks, legs swinging as she whispered something to her stuffed bear. There was a Band-Aid on her cheek, not from anything serious—just a blood draw that left a mark.

You could feel the stares, the pity. You were used to it by now. You stepped aside, moved toward the greeting cards aisle just to get out of the way.

And then..

Like something out of a twisted cosmic joke.. You saw him.

August

Carrying a little basket. Wearing that same damn denim jacket. Looking like someone who hadn’t checked the expiration date on his guilt in years.

He didn’t see you at first. But when he did?

He stopped. Mid-step. Mid-breath. Like the air got knocked out of him. You didn’t flinch.

Just raised an eyebrow.

“Picking up toothpaste or ghosts?”

His mouth opened. Closed. Then he spoke

“I didn’t know you’d be here.”

“I live here. I never left.”

You say harshly

He winced.

Hazel’s voice floated in from a few feet away.

“Mommy? Can I get gummy bears?”

August’s eyes flicked in her direction.

She was leaning sideways in the chair, squinting at the shelves like she was doing math in her head.

He looked at her for a second too long. Not like he knew. But like something tugged at him.

He didn’t ask. Didn’t say anything. Just… stood there.

“She’s on a lot of meds,” you said bluntly. “Aplastic anemia. Her immune system’s basically on strike. We’re playing chicken with infections every day.”

His face changed. All that cocky, boyish charm he used to wear like armor? Gone. Now it was just raw guilt, carved into someone who had not been keeping tabs.

“I’m so sorry,”

You scoffed.

“Are you?”

Hazel wandered over then, oblivious to the tension radiating off you both.

“Hi,” she said to him. “You look like someone my bear would like.”

August blinked.

“Does… does your bear have a type?”

Hazel nodded

“Sad people.”

You almost laughed. Almost.

She tugged on your sleeve.

“Can we get the gummy bears or no?”

“Sure, Little Star. One pack.”

She gave August a parting glance.

“You shouldn’t be sad forever. It makes your face weird.”

And just like that, she skipped off toward the candy aisle.

August looked wrecked.

He looked at you again, eyes glassy, jaw tight.

He didn’t ask the question. Not directly.

But you could feel it in the space between you. That pull. That unspoken weight.

You didn’t confirm. You didn’t deny.