The city didn't change.
People still rushed through crowded streets. Lights still flickered on as evening fell. Life continued, indifferent and steady.
But for Ren and Arin—
Everything had shifted.
Ren
Kael's apartment was quieter than he expected.
Not empty—just… calm.
Too calm.
"You can take the bed."
Ren shook his head. "I'm fine on the couch."
Kael sighed. "Ren—"
"I said I'm fine."
Kael didn't argue after that.
He never did when Ren used that tone.
The couch was small.
Uncomfortable.
Nothing like the bed he used to share with Arin.
That thought slipped in too easily.
Ren turned to his side, pulling the thin blanket over himself.
"Just sleep," he muttered.
But sleep didn't come.
The ceiling above him felt unfamiliar.
The air felt different.
Everything felt… wrong.
Ren closed his eyes.
And immediately—
Memories flooded in.
"Move over."
"You're the one taking all the space."
"That's because you keep pushing me!"
"I do not—"
Ren let out a shaky breath and opened his eyes again.
"…Idiot."
He didn't know if he was talking about Arin.
Or himself.
His chest ached.
Not the sharp, physical pain he had grown used to—
But something deeper.
He reached into his pocket slowly.
Pulled out his phone.
The screen lit up.
No new messages.
Ren stared at it for a long time.
"…Of course."
Why would there be?
He was the one who ended it.
He was the one who walked away.
Still—
His fingers hovered over Arin's name.
Just one message.
Just one—
No.
Ren locked the phone and turned away.
"You made the right choice," he whispered.
Did he?
Silence answered him.
A sudden cough broke through his thoughts.
Ren quickly covered his mouth, his body tensing.
It hurt.
More than before.
When it finally stopped, he sat up slowly, breathing unevenly.
"…It's getting worse."
He knew that.
He didn't need a doctor to tell him anymore.
Time wasn't something he had much of.
Ren leaned back against the couch, staring at the floor.
"At least now…" he murmured, "…you won't have to see it."
No hospital visits.
No pale skin.
No weakness.
No goodbye.
That was better.
Right?
Ren closed his eyes again.
This time, he didn't try to sleep.
Because every time he did—
He saw Arin.
And every time—
It hurt a little more.
Arin
The apartment felt bigger.
That was the first thing Arin noticed.
It didn't make sense.
The space hadn't changed.
The walls were still the same distance apart.
The furniture hadn't moved.
But somehow—
It felt emptier.
Arin stood in the kitchen, staring at the sink.
Two cups.
One unused.
"…Right."
He picked it up slowly.
Then stopped.
For a moment, he just held it there.
Like he didn't know what to do with it.
Then, without thinking—
He put it back.
The silence pressed in again.
Arin exhaled sharply and ran a hand through his hair.
"This is stupid."
It had only been a day.
Just one day.
So why did it feel like something was missing?
He walked into the bedroom.
The bed was unmade.
One side slightly more wrinkled than the other.
Ren's side.
Arin stared at it.
"…You always complained about this."
A faint memory surfaced.
"At least fix the sheets!"
"No one's coming to inspect it."
"I am!"
Arin let out a quiet breath.
He walked over and sat down.
The mattress dipped slightly under his weight.
For a second—
He almost reached out.
Almost.
But there was no one there.
His hand fell back to his side.
"…You said you didn't love me."
The words sounded strange now.
Unreal.
Arin leaned back, staring at the ceiling.
"Then why does it feel like you're still here?"
Because everything reminded him of Ren.
The kitchen.
The couch.
The bed.
Even the silence.
It wasn't empty.
It was filled with things that used to be there.
Arin closed his eyes.
"…You saw me."
That thought returned again.
At the store.
With someone else.
"…You didn't even ask."
A bitter edge slipped into his voice.
"You just decided."
That was it.
Ren had seen something.
Assumed something.
And left.
No trust.
No explanation.
"…So that's all I was to you?"
Arin's jaw tightened.
"Three years… and that's all it took?"
Anger flickered briefly.
But it didn't last.
Because right behind it—
Was something else.
"…Then why didn't you look relieved?"
That moment replayed in his mind.
Ren standing there.
Quiet.
Pale.
His voice shaking—just slightly.
Arin frowned.
"…You looked tired."
Not just emotionally.
Physically.
And suddenly—
Small details started connecting.
The late nights.
The constant exhaustion.
The way Ren avoided questions.
"…What were you hiding?"
The thought unsettled him.
Because for the first time—
He realized—
Maybe he wasn't the only one with secrets.
Arin sat up slowly.
"…No."
He shook his head.
"It doesn't matter."
Ren made his choice.
That should be the end of it.
So why—
Why couldn't I let it go?
Arin stood up abruptly and walked out of the room.
The apartment felt suffocating now.
Too many memories.
Too many thoughts.
He grabbed his jacket and left.
The night air hit him immediately.
Cool.
Sharp.
Arin walked without direction.
Past familiar streets.
Past places they used to go together.
A small food stall.
A quiet corner.
A bench near the park.
He stopped there.
"…We sat here once."
Of course they did.
They had been everywhere together.
Arin let out a quiet laugh.
"This is ridiculous."
And yet—
He didn't leave.
Instead, he sat down.
Just like before.
The space beside him felt… wrong.
"…You should be here."
The words slipped out before he could stop them.
Silence answered again.
Arin leaned back slightly, looking up at the sky.
"…I hate this."
Not the breakup.
Not the misunderstanding.
But this feeling.
This emptiness.
"…I hate that I still care."
Because it made everything harder.
Because it meant—
No matter how much he tried to convince himself—
"…I'm not over you."
The wind passed softly through the trees.
And somewhere else in the city—
Ren sat awake.
Arin sat alone.
Two people under the same sky.
Thinking of each other.
Missing each other.
And believing—
That the other had already let go.