Kaius Oziel
The first time he cheated on me, my world cracked. The second time, it collapsed.
I used to think healing was a straight line. You get hurt, you forgive, you move on. Simple. Clean. But sitting on the edge of my worn-out couch with my head in my hands, the room spinning from alcohol and the echo of his voice still ringing in my ears, I realized healing can be a cycle too… a cruel one. You walk and walk, thinking you're going somewhere new, only to find yourself back at the same spot, bleeding from the same wound, except this time, you were the one who opened the door and invited it in.
I don't even remember when my night out with Haden stopped being fun.
At the start, everything was pretty normal. The bar was loud as it is, the music thumping hard enough that I could feel it in my ribs. The private room Haden booked was dim, warm, the kind of place where you could forget there was a world outside the four corners of the room. Bottles lined the table, shot glasses glinting like diamonds. Haden was laughing at something stupid I said, head thrown back, cheeks flushed from the alcohol. For a while, that was enough. For a while, it felt like I was someone else.. anyone else but me.
"I'm gonna hit the bathroom," Haden said, pushing his chair back. He was swaying just a little, a grin still plastered on his face. "Don't drink without me, traitor."
I rolled my eyes. "Hurry up then. Or I'll finish the bottle out of spite."
He laughed and slipped out of the room, leaving me alone with the echo of music leaking through the walls and the faint thrum of my own pulse. I let my head fall back against the couch, eyes closed, trying to steady my breathing.
Not long after, the door clicked open.
I lifted my head, expecting Haden's dumb smile, another joke, the smell of cigarette smoke from outside the restroom corridor.
Instead, I saw his face. Too sober now. Too serious.
I have been friends with Haden for as long as I know. We've always been there for each other. So I know if he's been bothered by something. And right now, he's really acting weird. We were just laughing and enjoying ourselves a while ago. And now he looks lost. I waited. Until he settled on the couch, drank from his glass, and looked at me.
"Julian?" His tone is casual but his eyes are sharp.
But I ignored it. I am here, we are here, to have fun.
"Team dinner," I'd answered, watching the way the sparkling lights danced across the rim of my glass. "They picked some restaurants near their company. He said it might run late."
Haden hummed. That was it. No comment. No teasing. Just that soft sound that felt heavier than it should have. I shrugged it off. I was trying to be better. I promised myself I wouldn't be that boyfriend anymore.. the one who doubts every message, every excuse, every late night.
I gave him a second chance. Second chances are supposed to come with trust. That's the deal, right? That's our deal.
"Stop overthinking," I muttered to myself as the liquor burned its way down my throat. "He said dinner. Believe him."
But my mind didn't obey. It never does. It kept replaying old images: the way he couldn't look at me the first time I caught him at the cafe; his name lit up my phone with apologies; the way he admitted all of his mistakes; the way my heart broke and still, somehow, I chose him.
Every time he said "I'm busy," a small, ugly voice in my head whispered, Or with someone else. Every "good night" that came too early made my chest tighten. Every "I can't call, I'm in a meeting," sounded like a lie I was too scared to test.
I thought the alcohol would drown that voice. Instead, it just made it louder.
For a moment, the world narrowed to the familiar weight in my chest. That question again. The one that never left me alone.
What if he's lying?
What if I'm the idiot who chose to believe it… again?
"Kai," he said quietly.
Just my name. No joke. No lightness. I knew, even before the rest.
Something inside me went cold.
"What?" I asked, forcing a laugh that sounded wrong even to my own ears. "You look like you just saw a ghost."
"I need you to trust me," he said, voice low, like the words hurt to push out. "And I know you're drunk, but… you need to see this."
Every instinct in me rebelled. I didn't want to see anything. I wanted to stay in that room where ignorance still had a fragile hold over my sanity. Where "team dinner" was still a possibility.
"See what?" My throat was dry.
He hesitated. "Just… come with me. Please."
The please did it. Haden isn't the type to beg. He isn't the type to look scared. But he did. His fingers curled into fists at his sides, knuckles white. It was the kind of expression you only wear when you know whatever you're about to do will hurt someone you care about.. and you do it anyway.
My legs felt heavy as I stood. The room seemed to tilt, but I followed him out, the hallway buzzing with muted music and the faint smell of alcohol and sweat. Each step felt like walking toward a cliff edge I couldn't see but knew was there.
"Where are we going?" I asked, even though I knew he wouldn't answer.
He didn't. He just led me toward the rail overlooking the main dance floor.
The lights outside were wild, neon colors slashing across bodies that moved in time with the beat. People were dancing, laughing, grinding against each other in the pulsing chaos. Lights blinded, then revealed, then blinded again, like the world itself couldn't decide what it wanted me to see.
"We should go home," I said suddenly, my fingers curling into the fabric of my pants. "Whatever this is—"
"He told you he was at a restaurant," Haden said, cutting me off. His voice was trembling now, anger and pity knotted together. "Team dinner, right?"
Something shattered inside my chest. "Yeah."
"Look down," he whispered.
I almost didn't. Every part of me screamed to turn away, laugh, call him dramatic, go back to the room, drink more, forget this conversation ever started. I could have done it. There was still time to look away, to choose not to know.
But I looked.
At first, it was a blur of bodies, colors, motion. Then my eyes focused. Navy blue button-down, brown pants. Familiar profile. The shape of his jaw I'd traced with my fingertips countless nights. His hand resting on someone's waist, pulling them closer. The curve of his smile.. the one he used when he wanted to make me feel like I was the only person that existed in the room.
Except he wasn't looking at me. He was looking at the stranger he was pressed against, bodies flush, foreheads nearly touching. Their mouths moved, laughing at something I couldn't hear. His hand slid lower on the other person's back. Their arms wrapped around his neck. The lights flashed white for a heartbeat, freezing the image like a photograph I never wanted.
Julian… did it again.