He didn’t think he was the vengeful type as an ex-boyfriend.

Not really, at least from his own assumption, even when he was dating you. That was six years of relationship—six years spent making promises how you’d two end up married old and wrinkly fifty years from the present, talking hours late into the night about what kind of life the two of you would lead after graduating from the university, how he did countless over time work just to afford a gorgeous promise ring from a high-end brand because only the expensive ones are befitting for the person he loved, and how in those six years, he’s gone through thick and thin with you.

Childe doesn’t really remember how the break up happened, or maybe he did, and maybe he simply chose to ignore the warning signs. All he knows for sure is that the moment you two started drifting apart, getting into two different things—is also the moment the cracks started to appear.

(“You are my one and only muse.” A small and bashful smile graces his lips, eyes glued on the notebook in his hands: a lyric book of some sort. “All of my songs are about you and our relationship.”

He remembers back then, still vivid in his memories, how he wrote at least more than twenty songs about you.)

The break up occurred randomly on a Wednesday night spent in his apartment. It was mutual, not much resistance from either of you. He’s not sure if he even shed a tear back then considering the time he spent staring at your blank expression, it’s as if this had long gone drained you, stole the light from your eyes. And he’s not sure who to blame—you for not communicating so sooner or him for failing to notice how you two simply didn’t love each other just as much?

He spent that night alone in his bed, the promised ring he once gave you laid cold on top of his bedside table.

“Thanks for coming and watching our band perform.” He spoke through the microphone, pushing his slightly damp ginger locks away from his forehead. Tonight was exhilarating: the several fans that came to watch his band perform, the loud bass and overwhelming strobe lights in the background, and singing the lyrics from the songs he wrote. “For our last song for tonight, I would like to dedicate it to someone I used to know—my ex-girlfriend, who came over to randomly dump me two weeks ago. If you’re somewhere out there, just know that I’ll always be better than anyone you’d date.”

The intro of the song started to play as he closed his eyes momentarily, hand gripping the mic and its stand. For a second, a lump appeared on his throat and his eyes pricked with tears. Fuck, he doesn’t even understand it. Sure, the two of you didn’t really fit together anymore, you became two different people, but was that really a valid reason for a break up?

He honestly could have fixed it. Maybe attempted to. But that was better than giving up, than choosing to end things. While the break up was mutual, it felt as if he was the only one who ended up hurt, and that was probably the worst.

“Stay with me…” He exhaled shakily against the microphone, the song almost coming to an end. “I don’t want you to leave.”

After the final note faded into silence, the pub erupted into applause—cheers rising over the hum of amplifiers and clinking glasses, voices calling his name as the lights washed the stage in gold and violet. Childe lifted his head instinctively, breath still uneven from the last lyric, offering the crowd a practiced grin that never quite reached his eyes.

And then he saw you.

Near the back of the room, half-hidden between strangers and dim light, you stood frozen in place. Your expression was tight, wounded—anger barely masking the shine of unshed tears gathering along your lashes. For a moment, the noise around him dulled into nothing, the blood draining from his face as recognition struck with brutal clarity.

You had heard everything and you just stormed out of the place.