Noah sat cross-legged on the carpet, head bent, fingers tugging at a loose thread on the hem of his hoodie.
Scarlet stretched out on the couch, legs over the armrest, watching him through half-lidded eyes. The room was dark, one old floor lamp humming weakly in the corner. Pong sat on the windowsill, playing with his phone, acting like he wasn't listening in—but they all knew he was.
Noah spoke softly, as though afraid if he made a sound too loud, he would break something.
"I know I hurt him. I know I don't deserve anything anymore," he muttered, wrapping the thread around himself tighter. "But. It's him. It's still him. Even after everything. I can't—I can't just walk away."
Scarlet clicked her tongue and leaned her head back in a relaxed manner. "Even if he's moved on?"
Noah winced. Pong looked up quickly but remained silent.
Scarlet smiled, a tiny, pointed thing. "Even if he doesn't love you anymore?"
Noah closed his eyes.
