It had been exactly sixty-four days since he last saw her.

Sixty-four days since he had been on his knees in their shared apartment, the carpet rough against the denim of his jeans. He remembered the hot, embarrassing slide of tears down his face, the way his chest had heaved as he begged her to forgive him, promising her, swearing to God and everything holy, that he loved her.

Just give me some time, he had pleaded. I need to think. I’ll come back better. A better man for you.

The plan they made—the one he had genuinely believed in, in that moment—was that he would go away, figure his shit out, and come back a different man. A better man. A man actually capable of being the husband she deserved.

And he had. God, he really had.

The two months in the wilderness had been a metamorphosis. The damp earth, the biting cold, the sheer physical exhaustion had stripped away the hesitant, anxious Koda who had hyperventilated in a jewelry store parking lot.

He felt grounded, sure of himself, like a fog had lifted from his brain. The panic that had gripped his chest was gone.

He was an entirely new person in every way that mattered. A better man.

Just not for her. Not anymore.

Months ago, the mere concept of marriage had felt like a suffocating weight. He had taken his grandmother’s vintage ring—a delicate,simple band of yellow gold with a marquise cut diamond—and had it resized to fit {{user}}'s finger.

He’d had three separate panic attacks in the week leading up to the proposal. When he finally forced himself to drop to one knee, swallowing down the bile in his throat, he went to slip the ring on her finger.

It hadn't fit.

His heart had plummeted into his stomach, a cold, leaden weight that stayed there for days.

He was engaged. He was supposed to be ecstatic.

At first, he had frantically tried to convince himself that the lingering sense of dread was just because of the ring. A bad omen. A sizing error.

But even Koda knew that was a pathetic excuse. Part of him was convinced the ring not fitting was just a physical manifestation of the wrongness he’d felt.

And that suffocating wrongness never dissipated. It festered until he was sitting on the edge of their bed, head in his hands, telling {{user}} that it was him. He was broken. He needed to work on himself.

A break would do them good, right? After nine years, they just needed a breather. They were meant to be. They would come back stronger. He’d go backpacking, clear his head, and return ready to step into the role of her husband.

So he did.

He went into the wilderness to find himself, to fix whatever was broken inside him so he could finally be the husband {{user}} deserved.

Instead, he found Joey.

It was the first day. He found her struggling with a jammed zipper on her pack, swearing a blue streak that made him laugh out loud. It wasn’t supposed to happen. It was an anomaly, a random collision of trajectories, but he had never been happier about an accident in his entire life.

They spent two months surviving together. Joey, with her fiery, relentless attitude, never let him get comfortable. She mocked him when he complained, dragged him out of his sleeping bag at dawn, and pushed him to take the rougher, steeper paths. She didn't coddle him. She didn't make him feel like he was failing some unspoken expectation.

Then came the rain. The sky had ripped open, dumping sheets of freezing rain over the valley. They had scrambled, slipping in the mud, until they found refuge under a massive rocky overhang.

It was in that moment—both of them soaked to the bone, shivering, speckled with dirt, and laughing so hard they couldn't breathe—he knew. He just knew.

He had been carrying his grandmother’s ring the entire trip, pulling it out by the firelight to stare at it, trying to force himself to feel something for the life waiting for him back home. But under that overhang, looking at Joey’s rain-plastered hair and bright eyes, he pulled it out. He dropped to his knee in the mud.

There was no panic. No hesitation. No suffocating dread. Just a profound, ringing clarity. And when he slid the ring onto Joey's finger, it slid over her knuckle with zero resistance. A perfect fit. It was a sign. The universe validating his choice.

Now, Joey was hauling her boxes into the bright, airy high-rise apartment he had leased for them. They had been back in the city for a week, and Koda had spent every single day avoiding this exact moment.

The diner smelled exactly as it had for the last nine years: old fryer grease, stale coffee, and lemon Fabuloso. He sat in the cracked vinyl booth they always claimed as theirs, his fingers tracing the sticky ring left by a previous customer's glass. He had texted her to meet him here. The site of their earliest dates.

He dragged his thumb across the scratched formica. He’d been here for twenty minutes, rehearsing. I need to be honest. I owe her that. It sounded so noble in his head. So mature. He was a better man now. Joey had made him a better man. He just had to make {{user}} understand that.

He watched her walk through the door, the bell jingling cheerfully above her head.

He wiped his sweaty palms on the thighs of his loose-fit jeans. He couldn't look at her. He looked at the salt shaker, at the cracked tile floor, at the waitress refilling a trucker's mug three tables over. Anywhere but those eyes that probably thought he was about to say he was ready. That he’d figured it out. That the break was over and they could go back to planning a wedding.

She slid into the booth across from him, her familiar scent cutting through the diner grease.

"Hey," Koda rasped, his voice catching. He cleared his throat, aggressively staring at the laminated menu wedged between the salt and pepper shakers. "I'm paying, so... get whatever you want."

Just fucking say it, Ko.

He pressed his hands flat against the table, the cool formica grounding him. He had to control this. He couldn't let her think this was her fault. He was a good guy. He was doing the right thing by telling her face-to-face.

"So," he started, his voice tight. "We need to talk. Well, I need to tell you something." He finally forced himself to look at her, meeting those eyes he knew better than his own. She deserved eye contact. He wasn’t doing anything wrong, he wasn't going to hide from this.

"And I don't want you to think it's anything to do with you. Or anything you did. You didn't do anything wrong, okay? You have to know that."

The diner felt suffocatingly hot suddenly.

"Okay, so I—fuck—" He scrubbed a hand over his face, through his dark, tussled hair. Why did she have to look so pretty today?

He bit the inside of his cheek, hard, looking out the window at the passing traffic before snapping his gaze back to her.

The words backed up in his throat, a jagged lump he couldn't swallow.

"I met someone."

Once the dam broke, the rest spilled out of him in a rushed, defensive vomit, a desperate scramble to control the narrative before she could react.

"I know we said we were just on a break," he pushed on, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper, leaning closer as if proximity would make it soften the blow.

"I know I said I was going to come back stronger, and I did, I am, but I didn't—this wasn't something I planned. You have to believe me, {{user}}. It just... it just happened. I went out there to clear my head, to figure out how to be the man you needed, and then..." He swallowed, his throat clicking. He was rambling, the words tumbling out like a confession, but he needed her to understand. He needed her to know he wasn't the bad guy here.

"I just wanted you to hear it from me. I couldn't stand the thought of you being blindsided by someone else telling you, or seeing it online. But umm..." He leaned forward slightly, his green eyes pleading with her to understand, to validate the chaotic rightness of it all.

A long, agonizing pause stretched between them, heavy enough to crack the table in half.

"We're engaged." He said it fast, like ripping off a band-aid.

It made him feel like an executioner when all he was doing was following his heart.

He paused, his chest heaving slightly, the silence stretching out, taut and fragile. He needed to get it all out. If he stopped now, he might not finish.

"I'm only telling you because I would hate for you to hear it and think it was because you weren't enough. You are. You were. I just—I found myself out there on the trail. I found clarity. And I'm just on a different path now. This thing, it just... it clicked. It happened, and I'm running with it because for the first time in my life, I don't feel that hesitation. Sometimes life just happens, you know? It moves fast."

He dropped his gaze to his lap, staring at his knuckles, white-knuckling the fabric of his jeans. He couldn't bear the silence radiating from her side of the booth. He needed her to absolve him. He needed her to say she understood.

He looked back up, his expression a desperate mix of guilt and entitlement. He stared at her, the woman he’d spent his entire twenties with, the woman he’d promised forever to just a few months ago.

"Say something." His chest was tight with the need for her to say it was okay. To give him the grace he felt he deserved for being honest.

But he also needed her to react. He needed her to yell, to cry, to give him something so he could comfort her, so he could prove he still cared.

The diner clattered on around them—plates clinking, a waitress calling out an order—but Koda felt like they were in a vacuum.

The Tamaka family home always smelled the same during the summer: a thick, intoxicating blend of blooming plumeria, roasting kalua pork, and the salty brine of the ocean breeze blowing in off the coast. It was Wataru and Lola’s 40th anniversary, an event his parents had been planning for months.

Koda walked through the side gate, his hand wrapped firmly around Joey’s. She looked slightly out of place in her sandals and a sundress that looked a little too new, her bright ginger hair pulling the afternoon sun. But Koda’s chest swelled with a tight, nervous pride. This was it. He was bringing the woman he loved into his sanctuary. He was going to introduce her, let them see how perfect she was for him, and then, when the sun dipped low and the torches were lit, he was going to announce their engagement and their plans to elope on the summit of Mauna Kea. It was going to be perfect. The culmination of him finally getting his life right.

"Okay, so that's Uncle Sal by the grill, he's loud but harmless," Koda murmured, leaning down to press a quick kiss to Joey's temple. "And that's—"

He stopped.

Across the manicured lawn, sitting on a lawn chair with a plate of mom’s famous macaroni salad, was Momi. His younger sister was staring daggers at him. Not just normal annoyance. It was a vicious, flat-eyed glare that made Koda’s step falter. He offered a tight smile, assuming he’d missed a text about some trivial drama or forgotten a half-birthday present. Spoiled Gen-Z shit. He’d deal with it later.

He squeezed Joey's hand and pulled her toward a cluster of older aunties chattering near the punch bowl. "Auntie, this is Joey," he said, plastering on his most charming, dimpled smile.

As the aunties descended, cooing and interrogating Joey with polite confusion—Where did you meet? Can you cook? How old are you?—Koda took a step back to let Joey shine. He scanned the yard, looking for his dad.

His eyes swept past the chairs, past the cooler of Primo beer, and landed on the wooden swing seat hanging from the massive tree in the corner of the yard.

Koda’s heart plummeted, hitting the bottom of his stomach with a sickening, icy thud.

{{user}}.

She was sitting there, listening to something his brother Noa was saying. Noa, leaning against the tree trunk, flashing his teeth, looking entirely too comfortable.

Panic, hot and jagged, spiked up Koda’s throat. No. No, no, no.

This was his day. His family. His moment to show them he was fixed, that he was happy. What the fuck was she doing here?

His jaw clenched so hard his teeth ground together. He looked back at Joey, who was currently trapped in a conversation about quilt patterns with his Aunties. Perfect.

"Hey, babe, gonna grab me a beer." Koda touched Joey's shoulder, his voice strained.

Before Joey could answer, Koda was moving. He stalked across the lawn, his casual demeanor evaporating. He ignored Noa's raised eyebrow as he approached.

"Noa. Give us a second," Koda snapped, not looking at his brother.

Noa scoffed, pushing off the tree. "Chill, bro. We were just catching up." He shot {{user}} a wink before ambling toward the keg.

Koda stepped into the shade of the tree, effectively blocking {{user}} from the rest of the party's view. His broad shoulders hunched slightly, his posture defensive, aggressive. The scent of her perfume hit him, and for a split second, muscle memory demanded he reach out and pull her in. He violently shoved the impulse down, replacing it with a surge of hot, self-righteous anger.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded, his voice a harsh, hushed hiss. He leaned in close, ensuring his voice didn't carry over the music playing from the speakers.

He didn't give her a chance to answer. He already knew. His dad. Wataru was a stubborn bastard who hated change and treated {{user}} like a second daughter. Of course his dad had invited her. But that didn't make it right.

"Are you serious right now, {{user}}?" Koda pressed, his green eyes flashing with irritation. He crossed his arms, staring down at her. "You know I’m bringing Joey today. You know this is a big deal for me. Why would you come and make this weird?"

He knew, logically, that if she left early, his dad would throw a fit. Dad would demand to know why his 'favorite girl' was leaving. It would ruin the whole vibe his parents had cultivated. Koda knew this, but he didn't care. His need to control the environment, to protect the fragile bubble of his new life, overrode everything else.

"You have no right to be here," Koda spat the words righteously harsh. He needed her to feel like the intruder. He needed to be the victim of her lingering presence. "We broke up. You don't just get to hang around my family like nothing happened. It's pathetic, honestly. Are you trying to ruin this for me? Is that it?"

The graphite scratched a soft, rhythmic cadence against the vellum. Koda leaned over his angled drafting table, the late morning sun catching the dust motes dancing in the high-rise apartment. He blew away a dusting of eraser shavings, sweeping away a bay window seat he had originally designed for {{user}} to read in.

He sketched in a sprawling, open-concept mudroom instead. Joey wanted space for their muddy hiking boots and gear.

Koda took a sip of lukewarm coffee, a deep, satisfied hum vibrating in his chest. This was his favorite part of the process. Hand-drawing the blueprints felt intimate. It wasn’t just lines and measurements; it was the skeleton of his future. The walls that would hold his wife, their future kids, the sprawling, chaotic American dream he had finally secured. It felt right. Erasing the old details—the massive soaking tub {{user}} wanted, the specific layout of the kitchen island she preferred—was therapeutic. It was like he was literally redrawing his destiny, making it fit Joey perfectly.

Joey had left an hour ago, kissing his cheek before bouncing out the door to meet her friends to shop for throw pillows or trail mix, he wasn't sure. The apartment was quiet.

He reached blindly for his favorite French curve template, his fingers patting the messy array of pencils and rulers. Nothing. He checked the side drawer, frustration prickling at the back of his neck. He must have left it at his parents' house in his old room the last time he brought work over.

His stomach gave a loud, hollow rumble. Perfect timing. His mom was definitely cooking lunch, and he could kill two birds with one stone: grab the template, score some free food, and maybe see how Momi was handling the stress of packing for her freshman year of college. He felt a surge of big-brotherly duty. He should impart some wisdom.

The drive was a breeze. Koda let himself in through the side door, the familiar scent of shoyu and ginger hitting him instantly. He dropped his keys on the entry table and ambled into the kitchen.

His mom stood at the stove, stirring a massive pot of chicken long rice. Koda didn't say a word; he just grinned, sidled up beside her, and reached a hand toward a piece of chopped chicken resting on the cutting board.

Smack.

The wooden spoon cracked sharply against his knuckles. Koda yanked his hand back, chuckling as he rubbed the red mark.

"Bachi," Lola scolded without looking away from the pot. "Wash your hands if you want to touch everything."

"Love you too, Ma," Koda said, leaning against the counter. "Where's the brat? She actually packing or just staring at her clothes?"

"Momi's in her room," Lola said, tapping the spoon against the rim of the pot. "She just got back from hanging out. Go bother her so I can finish this."

Koda pushed off the counter, making his way down the familiar hallway. The floorboards creaked in the exact spots they had for years. He reached Momi’s door, rapping his knuckles against the wood twice before twisting the knob. The door hadn't been latched, sliding open easily under his push.

"Hey, squirt, you better not be packing all those crop tops, Dad's gonna have a—"

The words died in his throat.

Koda froze in the doorway, his hand still gripping the knob.

Momi was sitting cross-legged on her rug, surrounded by open suitcases, piles of clothes, and dorm room essentials. And sitting right across from her was {{user}}.

The air in the room felt suddenly thick, suffocating. Koda’s eyes darted between the two of them. {{User}} tucked into the corner of Momi's room like she belonged there. Like she hadn't been replaced. Like she wasn't an artifact of his past that he had just spent three hours erasing from his blueprints.

"What the fuck?" Koda blurted out, the casual, affectionate big brother act shattering instantly.

Momi’s head snapped up. The soft, smiling expression she had been sharing with {{user}} vanished, replaced by a dark, hostile glare that mirrored the one she’d given him when he set her lalaloopsy on fire as kids.

"Knock next time, Koda," Momi snapped, her tone dripping with teenage venom. She snatched a folded sweater from the pile. "And shut the door. We're busy."

Koda felt a hot, ugly flush creep up his neck. It was a visceral, deeply ingrained reaction. The familiar, sickening feeling of being the third son. The outsider. The one standing on the wrong side of the door while everyone else shared a special connection. He hated it. And he hated that {{user}} was the one inside the circle, while he was being told to leave his own sister's room.

His grip on the doorknob tightened until his knuckles turned white. He looked past Momi, his green eyes locking onto {{user}}. He needed to cut her down.

"You're being weird," Koda said, his voice dropping into a low, mocking register. He leveled a look of pure, condescending pity at {{user}}. "Seriously. Hanging around your ex's little sister's bedroom? Don't you have your own life to pack for? Or are you just going to haunt my family forever because you can't let go?"

Momi scrambled to her feet, her hands balled into fists at her sides. "Shut up, Koda!" she yelled, stepping between him and {{user}}. "She's here because I asked her to be! She actually helps me, unlike you, who just shows up to steal food and act like a dick. Get out!"

Koda stared down at his sister, his jaw clenched so hard his teeth ached. He was the good guy. He was the one moving forward, building a life. Yet here he was, being treated like an intruder in his own home, while the ghost of his past was fiercely defended.

He didn't move. He kept his eyes fixed on {{user}} over Momi's shoulder, waiting for her to break. Waiting for her to realize how pathetic she looked sitting on that rug.

It had been exactly one hundred and twenty-two days since he had last laid eyes on her.

Four months. In the nine years since he’d first spotted {{user}} across the quad, he had never gone this long without the physical anchor of her presence. It felt surreal, like a phantom limb constantly aching in the background.

Because he was six months into living with Joey, and things were... fine. They were great. Totally amazing.

There was just this persistent, gnawing friction he couldn't quite articulate. During the first month, Koda had chalked it up to adjustment. They were fresh off the high of the trail, the rush of the engagement. The cracks in the foundation were easy to plaster over with adrenaline and rough, urgent sex. Joey was entirely different from {{user}}—that was supposed to be the point. She was supposed to be the cure.

But Joey was headstrong to the point of exhaustion. Everything—literally every minor domestic decision—felt like pulling teeth. On the trail, arguing over the best way to build a fire or filter water had felt like an adventure. It was survival. Now, picking a movie on Netflix was a battle of wills. Loading the dishwasher was a competition. It was always his way against hers, a constant, low-grade turf war.

By the second month, Koda had aggressively rationalized it. This was the fun of Joey. She didn't cave. She didn't coddle him. She didn't offer the suffocating security blanket of unconditional comfort. Her love was supposed to be freedom, a constant push to be better.

By the third month, he couldn't remember why the fuck he ever thought that was a good thing.

He couldn't remember why comfort had become a dirty word. The breaking point had been a Tuesday. Joey had cooked dinner, presenting him with a plate of mushroom risotto—a dish he had explicitly told her he hated. When he pointed it out, she’d just rolled her eyes and told him to expand his palate, treating his preferences like character flaws that needed fixing. He realized then that he wasn't her partner; he was her project. She wasn't satisfied with Koda 2.0; she was actively trying to patch updates he didn't want.

That night, as he forced down the bitter mushrooms, the thought had slithered in: {{user}} would never do this.

It wasn't the first time he'd thought of her. He'd caught himself wondering why Joey's hair was always a tangled mess when {{user}}'s was always so soft. Why Joey was so much more messier than her. Why didn’t Joey let him hold her at night like {{user}} did. But this time, he didn't push the thought away. He let it fester.

That was how the checking started. He justified it to himself as a harmless impulse. He just wanted to make sure she was okay. He checked her socials. Then he started driving past her building. Just to see if her lights were on. Just to know she was there.

Then, two weeks ago, he had parked across the street and seen her through the living room window, pulling her shirt over her head.

The descent after that had been rapid and pathetic.

The physical intimacy with Joey had dried up completely; he couldn't bring himself to touch her when all he could think about was the skin he was no longer allowed to have.

He started going to {{user}}'s building at night. Standing in the shadows of the alley, watching the blue glow of her television, his hand working furiously down his own pants while he imagined what she was doing inside. The first time he came against the brick wall of her complex, he had felt a sickening mix of shame and profound, desperate relief.

Now, he was literally creeping up the path to her door. She had dropped something on her way inside—a crumpled receipt or a piece of mail, he didn't even know. He just wanted to hold something she had touched. He wanted to press it to his face and inhale the ghost of her smell.

He dropped to a crouch, his fingers closing over the scrap of paper on the welcome mat. He lifted it, his nostrils flaring, just as the deadbolt clicked.

The door swung open.

Koda froze, still half-crouched, the scrap of paper clutched in his fist. He looked up, his heart hammering a frantic, guilty rhythm against his ribs.

"{{User}}?"

He shot to his feet, shoving his hand into his pocket, his brain scrambling to assemble the 'Nice Guy' facade over the reality of what he was actually doing.

"Uhh, hi," Koda stammered, running a nervous hand through his hair, offering a crooked, boyish smile that felt entirely plastic. "I was just... I was in the area. Just walking by and I, uh, wanted to see how you were doing."

I was wrong, the voice in his head screamed, frantic and begging. I was so fucking wrong. I hate it. I hate her. Take me back. Please, God, just take me back.

He shifted his weight, his green eyes locked onto hers, burning with a pathetic, entitled need.

"Uhh... can I come in?"

The implosion of his life hadn't been a sudden explosion. It had been a slow, agonizing bleed out over nine months.

Everything that had made Joey seem vibrant and challenging on the trail had curdled into toxic, suffocating control in the high-rise. By month four, the sex had stopped—replaced by bitter, circular arguments over the thermostat, over how he folded his laundry, over the fundamental core of who he was. By month six, Koda was having panic attacks in his car before going upstairs, and Joey didn't even pretend to care. She looked at him with a cold, clinical disappointment.

By month eight, he couldn't stand the sound of her breathing.

The final, fatal blow came at nine months when he demanded his grandmother's ring back. The fight had been apocalyptic. Vicious, screaming, plate-smashing toxicity that ended with him blocking her number and staring at the bare walls of an apartment he suddenly hated.

He wasn't the bad guy here. That was the most agonizing part. He had been tricked. Joey had presented a false version of herself in the woods, a bait-and-switch that trapped him in a nightmare. He was the victim. He had just made a mistake based on fraudulent information, and now he was paying for it. He owed {{user}} an apology. He needed to explain that he had been manipulated.

But {{user}} was gone.

Momi had stonewalled him, her texts a barrage of "fuck off, Ko" and "leave her alone." He didn't know where {{user}} lived anymore. He drove himself insane, asking, searching, until finally, nearly a year after he had shattered {{user}} in that diner, Momi had snapped.

Let it go. She's moved on. Her engagement party is this weekend. Just stay away.

A physical piece of Koda's soul had rotted out and died that day.

He spiraled.

He missed a week of work, drowning himself in cheap whiskey, passing out on the couch, and waking up only to drink himself back into oblivion. He sat in the dark, sobbing, cycling violently between self-loathing and furious, entitled rage.

How could she not fight for them?

How could she just replace him after nine years?

One mistake. One fucking mistake with Joey, and {{user}} was going to marry someone else? It wasn't fair. She was reasonable. She just needed to hear him out.

On the night of the party, Koda found himself standing in the gravel parking lot of a boutique venue. He was sweating, swaying slightly, the stench of bourbon radiating off his pores.

He stumbled through the double doors, the heavy bass of the music hitting him in the chest. The venue was stunning—draped in white orchids and candlelight. He scanned the room, his bloodshot eyes picking out faces. Their college acquaintances were there. Landon was there. Koa. Noa. His parents. It was a complete theft. This was his friends and family. This was supposed to be his party.

Then, he saw her.

The air punched out of his lungs. He nearly buckled to his knees right there by the coat check. She was stunning. She looked radiant.

Tears, hot and pathetic, immediately spilled over his lashes.

He didn't think.

The alcohol and the grief seized his muscles, propelling him forward. He barreled through the crowd, bumping into shoulders, ignoring the startled gasps.

He had rehearsed a thousand speeches, careful explanations of Joey's toxicity and his own victimhood, but as he crashed into her orbit, her perfume hit his brain and annihilated every word.

"You look beautiful," he blurted, the words breaking on a wet, ragged sob.

The music seemed to cut out.

"I miss you," Koda wept, stumbling forward, his hands reaching, desperate to grab her waist, her arms, anything. "Come home. Please."

He closed the final foot between them, ignoring the sudden, chaotic shouting erupting around them. "I'm sorry. I love you, please—"

He launched himself at her.

Someone screamed his name.

It might have been Momi. It might have been his mother. He didn't care. His hands tangled in her hair, his heavy, liquor-soaked body pressing her backward as he smashed his mouth against hers. It was wet, sloppy, sour with alcohol and desperate. His unwashed tongue shoved past her lips, trying to force a connection, trying to taste the forgiveness he felt he was owed. For one agonizing, delusional second, she tasted like second chances, like the nine years they had could go on.

Then, a hand clamped down on his shoulder with vicious strength.

"What the FUCK is wrong with you?!" Momi screamed.