The sun was barely hanging above the rooftop when Arian sat under the sakura tree in the far corner of the college courtyard. It had always been quiet here—tucked away from the noise, far from where Damon laughed with others, smiled at Trina, or flirted like he wasn't already someone's everything.
A single blossom fell onto Arian's knee.
He didn't brush it away.
He just stared.
Waiting.
Wishing.
"Hey," Jude said softly, dropping beside him with two iced coffees. "Your face looks like a sad poem."
Arian gave him a faint smile. "Maybe it is."
Jude handed him one of the cups. "You write it, or is someone else the villain this time?"
Arian didn't answer right away. He just stared across the courtyard. Damon hadn't messaged him all day. Again.
"You're not coming tonight, are you?" Jude asked, watching him closely.
"What's tonight?" Arian asked, voice empty.
"Open mic. Theater wing. You said you'd try."
"I'm not in the mood." He fiddled with the coffee lid, then stopped. "Damon's been… distant."
"Again?" Jude narrowed his eyes. "You sure he's not just stringing you along?"
Arian flinched.
"He's busy," Arian said defensively. "With Trina. They're working on a project."
"Trina touches him like she's not working," Jude muttered. "And he lets her."
The words hit harder than they should have. Arian didn't look up.
Silence.
Then, quieter: "He used to look at me like that too."
Jude sighed. "Arian. Why are you still fighting for someone who stopped choosing you?"
Arian's grip on the cup tightened. "Because I still love him."
Later that evening, Arian stood in front of the mirror in the hallway at home. The same hallway Damon once kissed his neck in. The same mirror where he once whispered: You're mine, Ari. Only mine.
Lies.
Empty, pretty lies.
Now, even his reflection didn't believe in forever.
Footsteps echoed behind him.
He turned.
Leon.
Dressed in black, hair slicked back, eyes sharp as polished glass. His gaze flicked up, locking with Arian's for a moment too long before he said anything.
"You're standing in the way."
Arian stepped aside wordlessly.
Leon walked past, but stopped just before the corner.
"You're still crying over him, aren't you?"
Arian froze.
"I'm not crying," he muttered.
Leon scoffed, not turning around. "You wear heartbreak like perfume."
And then he walked away.
Arian's heart slammed once, painfully, against his chest. Not because of Damon. Not this time.
Leon had noticed.
Flashback - The First Time
It was raining that night. Soft drizzle, cold breath, warm hands.
Damon had pulled Arian under the stone arch near the music building. His breath smelled like mint and lies.
"Don't tell anyone," Damon whispered, brushing wet strands of hair from Arian's forehead. "Just us. You and me."
And Arian had nodded, stupidly, willingly, because in that moment, it had felt real.
He had closed his eyes when Damon kissed him.
But in this life—the second chance—that kiss only hurt.
Arian remembered it every time he watched Damon whisper to someone else.
Back to Present
Leon stood in the kitchen the next morning, pouring black coffee like it was the only thing keeping him human.
Arian passed him without a word.
But Leon, unexpectedly, said, "You're going to let him ruin you again?"
Arian stopped, slowly turning.
"Why do you care?"
Leon didn't look up. "I don't."
Liar.
Arian left the kitchen, but not without a second glance.
He didn't understand Leon.
He didn't want to.
But something about the coldness in his voice—like ice melting into fire—shook Arian more than Damon's silence ever did.
And in the late hours that followed, when he sat quietly in his room, humming an unfinished melody he never let anyone hear, he didn't notice that Leon was standing outside his door.
Listening.
Silently.
Alone.