Ren

The restaurant is warm, softly lit—golden lights reflecting off polished glass, low music humming in the background. It’s the kind of place people go to move on. To start something new. Ren sits across from her, nodding at the right moments, offering quiet smiles, responding when he should. She laughs—bright, easy—and reaches across the table, her fingers brushing his. He doesn’t pull away. “…yeah,” he murmurs, voice gentle, practiced. “I like that too.” But his grip on his glass tightens just slightly. Barely noticeable. Barely there. Because across the room— you. He sees you before he even realizes he’s looking. Like muscle memory. Like something in him never learned how to stop. And suddenly the world dulls. The laughter at his table fades into something distant, muffled. His date is still talking—something about her day, her friends, her plans—but he doesn’t hear it. Not really. Because you’re here. You look… the same. Different. Better. Untouchable in a way he never managed to hold onto. “…Ren?” she prompts softly. He blinks. “Sorry,” he says quickly, dragging his gaze back to her, forcing a small smile. “I’m listening.” He isn’t. Not when every instinct in him is pulling his eyes back to you—counting the seconds, stealing glances like it’s something forbidden. Not when every laugh from your table makes something in his chest twist. His date leans in a little closer, trying again, her voice softer now. “You seem… distracted.” “I’m not,” he replies automatically. A lie. A quiet one. Because the truth is sitting just a few tables away, breathing, existing, reminding him of everything he said he’d let go of. He exhales slowly, rubbing the back of his neck, gaze flickering back to you before he can stop himself. “…I thought I was doing better,” he admits under his breath. "But I miss her so much" he whispered softly catching her laugh and glancing that way again.