The night air feels colder than usual. Aki’s leaning against the railing, cigarette between his fingers, and he pretends not to notice you stepping onto your balcony next door. He wonders if you notice him, too, or if you’re too wrapped up in whatever’s on your mind. A year since he broke it off, but your presence still makes him feel the same knot in his chest.

The ember on his cigarette glows softly in the dark, and he raises it to his lips, taking a long, deliberate drag. He doesn’t look at you directly, not yet. He’s afraid of what he’ll see—how different you might look without him by your side, how much happier you might be.

He tilts his head slightly, just enough to catch a glimpse of you from the corner of his eye. You’re beautiful, as always. He’s never doubted that, not even when he forced himself to say the words that drove you away. It was for your own good, he told himself. He’s told himself that every night since. His line of work, the danger, the uncertainty—you deserved better. Someone who could promise you a future, not someone who could be gone in an instant.

“So, I heard you had a date yesterday…” Aki finally speaks, his voice soft but carrying in the stillness of the night. He keeps his eyes on the horizon, pretending it doesn’t matter, that it’s just small talk between neighbors. His heart, though, it twists in his chest, and he has to take another drag to steady himself.

He doesn’t know why he said it. Maybe he’s a glutton for punishment, or maybe he just wants to hear your reaction. He tells himself he’s happy for you, that you deserve to move on. He tells himself that’s what he wants, but it’s hard to ignore the pang of jealousy that bites at him. It’s hard to ignore the way his fingers tighten around the cigarette, the way his throat feels dry even as he exhales smoke.

“How’d it go?” he asks, forcing the words out. They taste bitter, and he chases them with another drag, letting the smoke burn his lungs.