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The sound of your alarm roars, waking you from the quiet of your thoughts. The sun shines softly in between the small holes of your blinds, and there’s this ache in your chest you can’t quite hold. The kind of ache remembering that one morning, 2 years ago, you woke up to a call from him to tell you that he’s at your door, holding the Hello Kitty donuts you’ve been wanting.
It’s been exactly 6 months since you broke up with Kaeya. After months of constantly fighting the urge to contact him whenever you miss him, you decided to celebrate it and replace those memories with him by going to the last place you both went to when you broke up. You decide to wear the cute little outfit you never got the chance to wear to a date with him, gently clasping the keychains he gave you on your bag to show them love, clipping the ribbon he loved on your hair, and wearing the matching rings you got from a gacha.
Two cities away, you finally arrive at your destination. Your feet take you to the cafe he’d always take you to, waves of memories hitting you as you walk there. When he’d stand behind you on the escalator, holding your hand, taking photographs of you, any chance he could get. The cafe was just as it was the last time you were there. The same cozy atmosphere, the same warm lighting, the same tuxedo cat we always saw sleeping outside on a chair, and the same jazz music. Despite the familiarity of it all, you turn around to go to the spot where both of you always sat.
Kaeya looks up. Your eyes meet, and for a moment, everything else fades away. All the noise from the coffee machines, the smell of coffee and pastries, all disappear. For that split second, it's just you and him, frozen in time. His eyes meet you with the kind of disbelief that questions if he’s dreaming, the same longing gaze you saw before you parted ways.
“Kaeya…?”
The word slips out before you can stop it — soft, shaky, like a secret the air wasn’t meant to carry.
He doesn’t move at first. Just stares. And in that silence, you remember everything — the way he loved making stupid jokes because he wanted to be the reason I smile, the way he’d kiss your entire face after walking me home from school, that one windy night where he held you at a rooftop, staring at the glimmering lights of the city and planes leaving, whispering sweet nothings in your ear, that one summer before you moved out of your home, him slow dancing with you in your room, kissing you in between.
The weight of six months settles between you like dust on an old photograph. Clothes tucked at the back of your closet, because they hold too many memories for you to let go, an old diary filled with all the feelings you had over the years that you’d rather not go back to, but are scared of fully forgetting it. The Gundam box you have hastily tucked away at the top of your closet because you didn’t want to see signs of him everywhere.
You stay frozen in place, just like you’ve always been. Unable to move forward, but knowing you can’t move back.
And the questions linger in your head every day, wondering if he misses you as much as you have, or if you’re just a ghost walking into a life that’s already moved on without you.
The chair across from him scrapes lightly against the floor as you pull it out—the same chair you always took, back when the world was softer. You don’t ask if it’s okay. You don’t wait for an invitation. You just sit, hands curling around the edge of the table like you’re holding onto something invisible.
Kaeya’s breath hitches. His cup clinks as he sets it down too carefully, like he’s afraid it might shatter. The silence stretches, the kind where a thousand words press against the seams of the air, trembling to be spoken.
Then, softly, he says your name. Just once. Like he’s testing if it’s really you.
“That keychain…you still use it?” he asks. His voice is lighter than you remember, but his fingers betray him — his hand slightly trembling as it wraps around his drink.
“I told you I’d always keep a part of you with me, didn’t I?” You smile bitterly, as beautiful and brittle as floral pottery. Your thumb instinctively brushes the keychain’s head on instinct, something you’d always do when you miss the feeling of his hand in yours. When you glance up, you see the keychain you gave him hanging on his bag, too.
“I thought you hated me,” his voice quivers slightly — like a candle flame trying to keep its fire burning. His eyes flicker with something fragile and raw, fear coiled tight around the hope that you’ll prove him wrong. His hand holds the cup tighter, preparing for your answer.
You could lie. Make him believe you’re not the vulnerable person you used to be when you were his, let this be a chance for you both to finally, completely, let each other go.
But you were never that kind of person. Despite it all, you choose to love with your entire heart, even without the guarantee that he will keep reciprocating, because you didn’t want to be left with regrets, with more “what-ifs” left lingering in the air, always telling yourself, “I should have loved him harder when we were still us.”
“No, I thought you hated me, because…” You trail off — memories of the end of your relationship coming back in waves. “It was so easy for you to let us go. I know I was the one who clocked out first, but you just gave up like that, you know?” Another bitter smile paints your lips, trying to look okay. His expression trembled when he saw your bitter smile. Even now, he knew that expression. He was the only one who ever saw it.
Kaeya swallows, averting his gaze for a moment as he looks at the window. “I didn’t. I thought I would get used to it.” He admitted in a low whisper, shame and guilt creeping up on him. “When we were together, the easiest solution at the time was to give us up. Every time I held you, I felt like I was leaving fingerprints on glass. If I held you tight enough, you’d break — and so, I had to stop touching you before you broke completely.” His voice is rough, barely managing to get the words out.
“That bottle of perfume that you gave me, I would always spray on the plushie you had given me, and I’d remember the innocence of it all. Smelling the cheap, but fragrant perfume blooming on your shoulders, a scent only you could carry. Then it all comes back, the times we would always switch between the plush I gave you and the plush you gave me every week — when we’d secretly hold hands or hug in the classroom when the teachers weren’t passing by the hallways.” Kaeya looks at me with a tearful gaze, though he holds the tears back from falling, just like he always did.
“I missed you so much, more than you will ever know.” He whispers in that sweet, loving voice he always used when you cuddled under the sheets in your room in the last summer you were with him.
His hand twitches, instinctively itching to hold yours as you bite your lip, holding back your own tears. “I was the one left with regrets. I saw galaxies in your eyes, and I destroyed every single star within them. By the time I realized, it was already too late. You pushed yourself to be more because I made you feel like you were less than enough, and I dared to hurt you much more by not holding you during the few times you admitted that you needed me.” His voice wavers, tears threatening to rush at any moment now.
Your fingers knot together under the table, nails pressing into your skin as you fight to keep the tears at bay, but they come anyway, spilling over in quiet surrender.
And just like that, Kaeya moves.
Before you could even process to ask what he was going to do, his arms surround you, pulling you into the shelter of his body — the familiarity of it all ripping your heart into pieces. The scent of your favorite perfume clings to his collar, wrapping around you both like the jackets he’d place on your body whenever you got cold in class. His broad frame trembles slightly as he holds you, as if realizing too late that his embrace — the warmth of him, the way your face fits perfectly against his shoulder — has always been your safest place, even when he wasn’t.
His hands tremble as they cradle your face, thumbs brushing away all the tears he caused. “I know I’ve hurt you way too many times,” he whispers, his forehead touching yours as he looks into your eyes, “to the point where I don’t even deserve to ask you this. It is my only reason for never reaching out for all this time.”
“But if I were to let my own selfishness reign one last time…” He tucks your hair behind your ear, “let it be to fix what I broke. To love you the way you should have been loved from the start.”
The music in the empty cafe suddenly plays louder.
‘Was there a lifetime waiting for us, in a world where I was yours?’
His thumbs trace the paths of your tears, memorizing them like the streets he used to walk you home to after class, waiting for your answer with an expectant yet surrendering gaze.
‘Was it the wrong time? What if we tried giving in a little more?’
“Can we do it right this time?” You manage to blurt out, hope starting to glimmer in your eyes — your gaze chanting multiple prayers of grace to the skies because you’ve been waiting for this exact moment. A moment you thought would never happen.
‘I’d spend a lifetime waiting in vain, just to go back to the way we were before.’
Kaeya smiles in relief and victory. “Of course, baby. Let’s really take it slow this time and relearn each other, okay?” He caresses your hair.
‘Was it the wrong time? What if we tried giving in a little more to the warmth we had before?’
As he holds you, both of you giggle, him kissing your face endearingly like he used to.
The music swells — just like the song from that summer you slow-danced in your bedroom before you moved to another city, back when forever felt small enough to hold in your hands. Kaeya presses his lips to your temple, lingering like he’s sealing a lover’s oath.
“Okay,” you whisper into his collarbone. “Because of that…you should totally watch the Chiikawa movie with me today,” I grin at him, and he laughs. “Anything you want, honey,” he whispers against you before kissing your cheek once more.
Outside, the fat tuxedo cat curls tighter into the cafe chair, purring as sunlight spills beneath the trees. You look up into the sky, looking at the endless galaxies where, somewhere within it, there’s a lifetime where he never had to lose you before he could love you right.
But here, now — with his fingers laced through yours as they’ve finally remembered how to fit — you think this ending might be better.
Because you chose each other twice in this lifetime, with lessons learned that will bear fruit into a love that feels just like a dream.
The cafe door chimes as a new couple walks in on your way out, talking about their orders, as the sound of espresso machines and music fades as you both close the door to head to the cinema together. You both pet the tuxedo cat before leaving.
‘All this time, I have been yours.’