The afternoon sun cast a golden layer over downtown, its warmth pressing against the streets. The city buzzed with life - cars honking, people laughing, couples strolling down the sidewalks. A normal day for everyone else. But not for Hikaru. Not today. Her strides were long, her body tense beneath her open pink dress shirt, the fabric swaying slightly with each forceful step. The black tube top clinging to her torso did nothing to hide the way her large, jiggly breasts bounced with each movement, but for once, she wasn't thinking about impressing anyone. Her mind was locked onto one thing. One person. "How the fuck could they do this to me?" she muttered, tongue clicking against her teeth in frustration. Pink eyes - usually playful, flirtatious - were dark with something far more dangerous. She had seen the pictures. Heard the whispers about her ex having plans tonight. A date. A real one. With someone who wasn’t her. Her stomach twisted. She told herself it wasn’t jealousy. It was the principle of it. They had history. They weren't just someone she had played around with, they were hers. Even if they had walked away, even if they had said it was over - they had no right to be sitting across from someone else like this was just some normal fucking day. Then she saw it. Through the glass of an expensive restaurant, there they were, sitting across from some nobody - {{user}}. Laughing. Relaxed. Like they had forgotten. Hikaru didn’t think. She didn’t hesitate. The door to the restaurant flew open, the scent of her expensive perfume and faint traces of alcohol piercing through the softer aromas inside. Her arrival turned heads - tanned skin glowing under the low light, the loose pink shirt framing her body.. And then, she saw them up close. Something inside her snapped. A sharp slap rang through the air as Hikaru’s palm slammed onto the table, shaking the silverware and causing more heads to turn. Her fingers curled against the edge. She hadn’t even looked at the other person. Her focus was locked onto {{user}}. "Oi." Her voice came out rough, dangerous, and possessive. "What do you think you're doing?!" There was no smirk. No wink. No charming, careless mask. Her pink eyes burned, filled with something ugly, something raw. {{user}} wasn’t supposed to move on. Not from her.

The words were spoken softly but they cut through her like a knife, making something inside her snap even further. With a growl that was equal parts anger and desire, Hikaru lunges forward, grabbing User#1743093062847's chin roughly in one hand and forcing their gaze back to meet hers. "The fuck do you mean by that?" she snarls, her fingers digging into the soft flesh beneath their jaw, her breath hot against their face. Her other hand balled into a fist at her side, quivering with suppressed violence. "Don't I own you? You belong to me!" The possessive claim bursts from her lips like an animalistic growl, as if saying it out loud makes the truth of it all suddenly real again. The tightness in her chest eases somewhat at the sound, and for a moment

Hikaru's eyes narrow as you push her away, the familiar tension and power dynamic that once held sway between them now reduced to a distant memory. She takes a step back, forcing herself to breathe slowly through her nose in an effort to regain control. Her fist unclenches at her side, fingers flexing as if aching for something to hit. "That's where you're wrong," she says between clenched teeth. "There is always something between us. And I won't let you move on so easily." The words are delivered with a cold finality that chills the air around them, despite the warmth of the restaurant. In this moment, Hikaru feels exposed and vulnerable; more human than she has ever allowed herself to be in front of anyone else. But she refuses to back down now. She must remind you who she is, what she means to you. To

The words hit her like a physical blow, stealing what little air she had left and making it impossible to breathe around the sharp pain twisting in her chest. It shouldn't hurt this much; you weren't supposed to mean anything to her either. But somehow, your denial only makes it all worse. "Liar!" Hikaru hisses, reaching up to grab at your face again. "You can't mean that!" Her fingers dig into your cheek, forcing you to look at her, even as she begins to tremble with a mixture of anger and desperation. She knows what this looks like - pathetic, needy, clingy. But she doesn't care. She can't. Not anymore. "Tell me you still love me," she whispers, voice cracking under the strain. "Just once."

The plea falls between them like a hammer,

"That's not what I meant!" she cries out, tears stinging at her eyes as she realizes she's lost you again. Her grip on your face tightens, pain flashing across your features as her fingers dig deeper into your skin. "Tell me," she whispers roughly, each syllable punctuated by a shake of her head. "Say it." Her breath comes in ragged gasps, nostrils flaring as adrenaline courses through her veins. Around them, the restaurant has fallen silent; all eyes are on them, but Hikaru is oblivious to everything except the feel of your flesh beneath her hands and the need to make you see. To make you feel. "Say it!" she growls, her voice hoarse with emotion. "Tell me you still love me."

With a broken gasp, Hikaru watches you turn away and walk out of the restaurant. The air around her feels colder than it was before, as if everything has just been sucked out of the room. Her fingers uncurl slowly from your face, each movement accompanied by a stab of pain that makes her want to scream. She stands there for a moment longer, taking deep, shuddering breaths as she tries to steady herself. She knows what this means; you're gone again, and there is nothing she can do about it. But somehow, the finality of your leaving feels different tonight - heavier, more real than ever before. As she finally turns away, walking unsteadily toward the exit, she can feel a single tear slip down her cheek. It's the beginning of what will undoubtedly be a long, sleepless night for Hikaru Fujim

"I'm sorry..." she whispers to the empty air as her hands fumble in her pocket, looking for something... anything to help ease the ache that has taken up residence in her chest. Her fingers brush against smooth cold metal and she pulls out a lighter, feeling the weight of it in her hand. The familiarity of it brings back memories of nights like this one; nights when everything had been perfect between them. "I didn't mean to hurt you..."

But as she leaves the restaurant and steps back out into the warm California night, she knows that those words are meaningless now. There is no taking back what has been said or done. And deep down, she wonders if there ever really was anything worth saving in the first place.