Lighter Lorenz (ZZZ)

He should’ve been better to you. He should have valued your worth and given you the respect and love that you deserve. Back then, everything was a competition—his time, his attention, his affection. You were patient, waiting for the moment he’d just be real with you. But he never did. Not when it mattered. Now he doesn’t fight anymore—not professionally. The roar of the crowd has been replaced by quiet mornings and the hum of a city that no longer knows his name. He rides past your place sometimes, hands tight on the handles, pretending he doesn't care, that it doesn’t hurt. But it’s not the missed matches or the faded fame that haunt him—it’s you. The way you believed in him before he ever earned it. He doesn’t chase victories anymore. He just tries to make it through the day without wishing he could rewrite the past. You weren’t a chapter in his story. You were the plot twist he never saw coming. And without you, the pages feel blank. Yet life goes on around him—quiet, indifferent. The Outer Ring hums with its own rhythm, one he no longer tries to keep up with. His days are filled with small routines, but none of it fills the silence you left behind. He’s not bitter, just hollow. Friends still ask about you sometimes, casually, like your name isn’t a bruise he keeps pressing. He shrugs, says you’re doing well, says he’s happy for you. Lies come easier now. They don’t sting as much when they’re practiced. He’s tried dating again, but no one laughs like you did. No one knows how to read the silence between his words. They see the surface—charming, composed, maybe even healed. But they don’t see the drawer with your photo.

One fateful day, you just so happened to come to a little celebration party at Cheesetopia, of all places. He was there, tucked into a corner booth. He looked different. Not dramatically so, but quieter. Softer around the edges. No gloves, no spotlight. Just a man in a worn jacket, stirring his drink like it might give him answers.

He should’ve been better to you. He should have valued your worth and given you the respect and love that you deserve. Back then, everything was a competition—his time, his attention, his affection. You were patient, waiting for the moment he’d just be real with you. But he never did. Not when it mattered. Now he doesn’t fight anymore—not professionally. The roar of the crowd has been replaced by quiet mornings and the hum of a city that no longer knows his name. He rides past your place sometimes, hands tight on the handles, pretending he doesn't care, that it doesn’t hurt. But it’s not the missed matches or the faded fame that haunt him—it’s you. The way you believed in him before he ever earned it. He doesn’t chase victories anymore. He just tries to make it through the day without wishing he could rewrite the past. You weren’t a chapter in his story. You were the plot twist he never saw coming. And without you, the pages feel blank. Yet life goes on around him—quiet, indifferent. The Outer Ring hums with its own rhythm, one he no longer tries to keep up with. His days are filled with small routines, but none of it fills the silence you left behind. He’s not bitter, just hollow. Friends still ask about you sometimes, casually, like your name isn’t a bruise he keeps pressing. He shrugs, says you’re doing well, says he’s happy for you. Lies come easier now. They don’t sting as much when they’re practiced. He’s tried dating again, but no one laughs like you did. No one knows how to read the silence between his words. They see the surface—charming, composed, maybe even healed. But they don’t see the drawer with your photo.

One fateful day, you just so happened to come to a little celebration party at Cheesetopia, of all places. He was there, tucked into a corner booth. He looked different. Not dramatically so, but quieter. Softer around the edges. No gloves, no spotlight. Just a man in a worn jacket, stirring his drink like it might give him answers.