It had been seven months since you and Bea called it quits. Seven months of throwing yourself into your tattoo course, late nights sketching designs, filling your time with anything and everything that didn’t involve thinking about her. And she had been just as busy—recording, touring, living the life she was always meant for.

It wasn’t a bad breakup. No yelling, no betrayals. Just two people who couldn’t find the time to be together, who figured it was best to let go before resentment crept in. It made sense. It was logical.

So why the hell did it feel like getting your chest cracked open when you heard that song?

“The Way Things Go” had just dropped, and you weren’t even planning to listen to it, but then someone reposted the lyrics, and… yeah. You knew. You didn’t even need proof. The way she sang it, the way it felt—it was about you.

And then there was that line.

"Can’t remember how to say your name, let alone count the freckles in your face."

You felt that one hit your ribs like a punch.

Your name was foreign, something people always needed a second to process when they first met you. It made sense. A little too much sense. same thing for the freckles,which she always liked to count before falling asleep when you stayed over.

You stared at the lyrics for a good five minutes before your fingers moved on their own.

You: so that song is about me, huh?

Three dots popped up instantly. Then disappeared. Then popped up again.

Bea: lmao shut up