The first time you left, he let you go. Satoru had never been good at losing. He won at everything—whether it was battles, arguments, or the delicate, intoxicating game he played with you. But when you told him you were done, when you turned your back and walked away, he let you.

He told himself he wouldn’t chase you. That if you wanted to leave, then you weren’t his to begin with. That he could live without you. He could understand why you left — the pressure of being with the strongest had been excruciating, suffering through those nights when he withdrew into himself, plastering over the cracks that he refused to let anybody see. Satoru never was good at vulnerability.

But then he saw you again. It’s been months since you left him behind, and yet when you step into the same gala he’s forced to attend by the higher ups, looking every bit as breathtaking as the night you first met, draped in silk and diamonds. You don’t even glance his way at first, too caught up in pleasantries and polite smiles, but he feels your presence like a brand against his skin.

And then you look at him. Just a flicker, a second too long before you glance away.

But he knows you. He knows you.

That hesitation? That slight falter in your breath? It’s all Satoru needs. Because, god help him, he was always going to break his own rules for you.

He moves before he can think, weaving through the crowd with the kind of ease only he can manage, stopping just close enough that you can feel his warmth against your bare skin. Your shoulders stiffen, but you don’t turn. Satoru’s gaze traces up to your face, taking in the set of your jaw, the way your lips press together like you’re steeling yourself against the effect he still has on you.

Satoru swallows. “Come outside with me. Let’s talk.”

“No.”

Satoru exhales, stepping closer, close enough that his voice drops to something softer. “Please. Just to catch up.” He should know better and so should you, catching up with ex-flames has never been a good idea.