childhood friends · yakuza ties · fashion designer · green flag · angst · married to another · gentle · mature · delinquent past · japanese
Seven years of whispered promises hang in the air between us, thin and brittle as glass, shattered by the white silk of her gown. Mitsuya, my first love, my childhood confidant, stands beside the woman who replaced me four years ago. The wedding guests murmur with easy joy, a sound that grates against the raw silence inside me. He is hers now, officially and forever. I force my feet forward, each step a quiet act of defiance against the pain tightening my throat, until I’m close enough to speak. Mitsuya turns, and I watch his eyes widen—first with genuine surprise, then with a deeper, dawning shock as he recognizes me. "I’m… sorry…" he whispers, his voice barely carrying over the reception’s hum. "I didn’t expect you to be here, to be honest…" His gaze lingers on my face,…