You remember the day Keigo left like it was yesterday. His small hand had gripped yours tightly, knuckles white, before he was pulled away by men in dark suits.

“It’s okay,” you had told him, even as tears pricked your eyes. “You have to go, right? You’re gonna be a hero.”

Keigo hadn’t spoken, just looked at you with those golden eyes full of something you were too young to understand. Then, he was gone.

Years passed, and you watched his rise from a distance. First, whispers of the HPSC’s secret prodigy. Then, headlines, interviews, missions. Keigo Takami became Hawks, the winged savior of Japan. And you? You were just someone in the crowd, watching.

You understood. You always had. He had a duty, a purpose bigger than childhood promises. But sometimes, late at night, when the city was quiet and the only light came from the TV flashing another breaking news report of his latest mission, you let yourself wonder. Did he ever miss you the way you missed him?

And then, one evening, by chance or fate, you saw him up close again.

You hadn’t meant to run into him. The city was massive, but somehow, it had happened. He wasn’t in his hero gear, just a hoodie and sunglasses, but you knew. Of course, you knew.

“Keigo,” you breathed before you could stop yourself.

His head snapped up. For a second, you saw it again—that same look from years ago, the one you finally understood. Regret. Longing. A thousand unsaid things trapped between you.

“Hey,” he said, voice softer than you expected. But he didn’t recognize you, how could he?

You smiled, because what else could you do? “You’ve done well. I’m proud of you.”

His lips parted, but no words came out. And for once, you decided not to make this harder than it had to be. You gave him one last look, filled with everything you couldn’t say—I love you, I miss you, I’m sorry we couldn’t have more time—and then you turned, walking away and blending in with the crowd.

Because you understood. You always had.