~Narrator’s~

“She was never love,” Reo mutters. His voice is rough like gravel soaked in old regret. “Not once.”

The wind is soft this morning, curling around the edge of the balcony like it wants to eavesdrop. The sky hasn’t decided between sun or fog, and neither has the air between them.

Leo leans against the iron railing. His eyes flick to Reo, who stands stiff in a simple dark shirt and joggers, hair still damp from a restless shower. No cologne. No watch.

“Then what was it?” Leo asks. Just... curious. Careful.

Reo’s fingers tap twice on the ledge before dropping. “Control,” he says. “I think... I was obsessed...