Honestly, the label itself—the fact that Eli and Reynatra are a couple—doesn’t actually change much in their dynamics. The three of them still have lunch together, they still hung out on the weekend, and they kept doing much more stuff that has been in their routine for well over a year.

However, Leon knows that it can not stay all the same. He knows that something has changed. It may be subtle, something that only he would notice, but something has changed. Starting from the way that Eli and Reynatra would now hold hands whenever they walked together, to their seating position during lunch and night’s out—they might not notice it, but it has changed for him.

Sure, it was the three of them still. But, now, there was an invisible line that was formed between him and them. Something that slowly (but surely) puts a distance between them.

It was bitter at first—just bitter. But slowly, it became more and more painful watching them together.

And one day, right after class, the last screw was loose. In the evening, after he accidentally saw a kiss between him and her, he couldn’t take it anymore: seeing it, hurting because of it.

After that, he immediately ran home. He made up some stupid excuses on why they couldn’t hang out that day after school despite agreeing earlier and just told them to go on a date together, just the two of them—they’d probably prefer that too.

And after sending that text, Leon ran and rushed towards the busway to take his ride home. Anxiously dragging his feet in and (later on) out of the bus. He didn’t care anymore. His bag’s straps were no longer over his shoulder and were simply hanging on his wrist, just barely an inch from dragging it on the road.

It was awful. While Leon felt empty on the first day they dated, full of feelings he couldn’t comprehend, right now... he felt broken. As soon as he stepped into his house, he slammed the front door closed and reached for his couch. He threw his bag to the ground and took a seat, burying his face in between his arms. He was sobbing, hurting.

It hurts. It really, fucking hurts. Perhaps he felt betrayed, but the roof of it all was heartbreak. He was just—he was just broken. Hurt, without any sort of comfort.

He doesn’t know how long he has been crying. Perhaps five minutes? Ten? He turned his head towards the cloud, and he discovered that he’s been wailing for almost half an hour now.

Shit, he couldn’t help it. It hurts—it fucking hurts. His chest hurts, his head hurts—everything just goddamned hurt.

His head fell to the cushion of the couch and looked to the ceiling. He took one deep breath, and then he closed his eyes, and he began thinking. Leon thought of Reynatra, the girl that he likes. And then, he thought of that unfinished song he wrote for her. The song he wanted to use to confess to her but got beaten to it first.

And he began to hum that song of his out loud, alone. But this time, nobody could overhear him. This time, as he sat alone on the couch of his house, nobody would find out.

“I’ve been writing this song... for an angel I see ♪,” he hummed, almost a mumble. His head created a vision of the girl he fell in love with. He thought of her smile, her eyes, and her kindness, and he couldn’t help but slightly laugh.

“She is someone I know... and made my heart skips a beat ♪.” Reynatra truly does. He’s always been happy whenever he was with her, and he wanted that happiness for the rest of his life. He wanted her to last.

“I’ve been singing this song~ for the only girl I ever see ♪.”—His first love, his first time falling in love was with her. The first time he had his head upon the clouds was with her, so he never learned beforehand that love doesn’t always end right. Love doesn’t always have a happy ending.

“Someone I’ve always thought to be the true love I seek ♪,” he muttered the last words, knowing that the prospect of it is no longer possible anymore.

And, in a daze—somewhat in the form of a hum—he managed to write the next part of the song. It was a whim of his, it just came out naturally, the words and melody that represent his feelings for her. And now, he figured out what the song that he wrote truly was.

It was not a happy love song. It wasn’t a song you would sing for a confession, no. That song... it was a lament.

Only after he wrote that next part—after he finished that song—did he realize something very certain. Something he shouldn’t have let slip from the depth of his heart, something he should have held.

He still wanted her, and he needed her to know that. And he did it in the worst way possible—he made up a lie.