13. The Ex Who Felt Safe
THE EX WHO FELT SAFE
Rick and I sat across from each other, elbows on the table, heads resting on our hands—just staring at each other.
Neither of us blinked, both afraid the other might disappear.
Rick looked exactly the same… or maybe not exactly. There was something calmer about him now. More settled. Like time had softened whatever edges he used to carry.
But the familiarity was still there.
For a moment, neither of us spoke. We just took each other in, quietly, like we were trying to confirm this was real.
“Excuse me.”
The waiter’s voice cut in, setting two bottles of beer down between us, snapping the moment open.
“Thank you,” Rick said, sitting up straighter.
I blinked, pulling myself out of it, glancing around like I had just remembered where we were.
KUBU was alive.
We were seated in the open-air second floor, where everything felt louder, brighter, and more exposed to the night.
Strings of warm lights hung loosely above us, casting a soft, golden glow over crowded tables, while the breeze carried laughter, music, and overlapping conversations in every direction.
Families were gathered around long tables, exchanging gifts, and couples leaned into each other like the world outside didn’t exist.
It was busy. Too busy for a moment like this.
“I can’t believe this,” I said, letting out a small breath.
Rick let out a small laugh, shaking his head. “Me neither.”
A pause.
Then, because I was still me, I had to ask, “Do you still hate Taylor Swift?”
Rick blinked, caught off guard, before letting out a laugh.
“I don’t hate her,” he said, already defensive. “I just don’t think every life problem needed a soundtrack.”
I scoffed. “That’s literally where you’re wrong.”
He shook his head, smiling now. “You used to get personally offended every time I skipped one of her songs.”
“Because you had no taste,” I shot back jokingly. “You were actively choosing to live a less emotionally evolved life.”
Rick laughed, leaning back slightly. “You made me listen to her seven days a week.”
“And did you die?”
He laughed even more. “I was held hostage.”
“You were educated.”
He looked at me, amused. “You’re still like before.”
I shrugged. “And you’re still wrong.”
That earned another laugh from him—easy, familiar, like no time had passed at all.
And just like that, it didn’t feel strange within his axis anymore.
It felt as though we had done this before.
Something we were good at.
Two hours and four bottles of beer later, the place had quieted down.
Most of the tables were empty now, chairs slightly pushed out like people had left in a hurry to catch something better outside.
The laughter had softened into scattered conversations—the kind that lingered instead of filled the space.
Even the lights felt dimmer somehow, like the night was finally settling.
Rick and I were still talking—about nothing important, or something ridiculous I had said five minutes ago.
“…and Honey really thought that was a good idea.” he said, laughing at a memory.
“She did think it was a good idea,” I said.
“I miss that girl,” Rick added. “We were so close.”
“You were,” I said. “And I loved that you got along with my friends.”
“I’m likable like that,” he said proudly.
I raised an eyebrow—but eventually ended up laughing with him.
“Remember Bali?” he said, leaning back slightly.
“The best sunset,” I said.
He nodded enthusiastically. “Gosh! I still remember lounging at a beach in Canggu, watching the sun literally dip along the horizon.”
“I know,” I said. “It was unreal!”
“Unreal!” he echoed.
“Thailand was good too,” I added.
“Because of the food,” he said.
“Ugh!” I dropped my shoulders. “Kra Pao Chicken is the best!”
He laughed. “You judged every single meal like you were on a cooking show.”
“Because they were all that good,” I defended. “And don’t act like you didn’t enjoy it.”
“I did,” he admitted. “Especially Chiang Mai.”
My smile softened.
“The elephant sanctuary,” I said quietly.
He nodded. “That trip was something else.”
“It didn’t even feel real after,” I added. “Like we just woke up one day and decided to do something meaningful.”
Rick looked at me for a second longer.
“We were good at that,” he said.
Traveling and doing things that felt like something. Yes.
“And Busan,” I added. “Still better than Seoul.”
Rick let out a laugh. “I’ve been saying that for years.”
“Because you were right,” I admitted. “It felt calmer there.”
“Less performative,” he said.
“And slower.”
A small pause settled between us, but it wasn’t heavy. It was reflective.
“We really went everywhere,” Rick said.
“Yeah,” I replied softly. “We did.”
And for a moment, it felt like we were back there.
In airports.
On late-night walks through foreign streets.
In places where everything felt possible, because we had each other.
I looked at him… really looked.
And then, just as easily, the joy faded.
The memories settled into something quieter.
Rick looked at me then, something shifting in his expression.
“Whatever happened to us?” he asked.
It wasn’t accusatory.
Just honest.
The question sat between us, heavier than anything we’d said all night.
I looked down at my bottle, turning it slightly against the table.
“We grew apart,” I said, because that was the simplest version.
Rick nodded slowly.
But that wasn’t all of it.
I exhaled. “We loved each other though. For a long time.”
“Five years,” he said softly.
Five years.
It sounded bigger out loud.
“There was a point where I could feel you changing,” I continued, glancing up at him. “Not in a bad way. Just… like you wanted something different.”
“I did.” Rick didn’t deny it. “I just didn’t know how to say it without sounding like I was leaving.”
I swallowed.
“I didn’t want to hold you back,” I said. “So I let you.”
A small pause.
“And I think I started changing too… before you did.”
He looked at me, listening.
“I got into new things,” I said, half-smiling. “Working out. Posting on social media more. Being out there.”
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “You blew up.”
I shook my head slightly. “It wasn’t even about that. I just… I just wanted something new. Something that felt like mine.”
Rick nodded, but his expression shifted—something more vulnerable now.
“I think that’s when I got scared,” he admitted.
I looked at him. “Of what?”
“Of you outgrowing me,” he said simply.
That landed.
“I saw you building something,” he continued, “and I didn’t know where I fit in it anymore. So I tried to change too.”
He let out a small breath, almost a bitter laugh.
“But I didn’t even know what I was changing into,” he said.
We both went quiet for a second.
“And then we just…” I trailed off.
“We started fighting,” he said.
I nodded.
“Over everything,” I said. “Small things. Big things. Things that didn’t even matter.”
Rick let out a deep exhale. “It felt like we didn’t understand each other anymore.”
“Like we were speaking different languages,” I added.
“Like strangers,” he said.
That word sat heavy in my chest, because it was true.
“We didn’t even say goodbye,” I said. “I just let you leave, and then…” I trailed off.
We had gone from knowing everything about each other to not knowing how to talk at all.
I looked down, my chest tightening slightly.
“When we broke up,” I said slowly, “I thought the world had ended.”
Rick didn’t interrupt.
“I mean it,” I added, glancing at him with teary eyes. “I thought my life was over.”
A small, fragile laugh escaped me.
“Because you weren’t just… you,” I said. “You were everything I built my life around.”
My voice softened.
“And when you were gone… I didn’t know what was left of me.”
I swallowed.
“I didn’t know where to anchor anymore.”
The word hung there.
Honest.
Uncomfortable.
“I went into a really bad place after,” I admitted. “I didn’t even recognize myself for a while.”
Rick’s eyes softened.
“Yeah,” he said. “Me too.”
I looked up at him.
“I always thought that no matter what happened in my life… you’d be there,” he said quietly. “But we didn’t have anything in common anymore.”
He held my gaze this time.
“But there was one thing I was sure about,” he added. “You.”
My chest tightened even more.
“And when you were gone…” he exhaled slowly, shaking his head. “I didn’t know what to do with that. I felt lost—like I didn’t have direction anymore.”
We sat there in the quiet that followed.
Both of us just holding the hurt within our hearts.
We didn’t rush to fill the silence.
We just sat there, letting it exist… letting everything we had said settle into something heavy, but honest.
Rick was the first to move, taking a small sip of his beer, then glanced at me again—this time with something lighter in his eyes.
“I saw your videos, though,” he said.
I rolled my eyes. “Of course you did.”
A small smile tugged at his lips. “Hard to miss when you’re The Southside King. You’ve got a lot of people watching and listening to you now.”
I let out a soft breath, looking down at my hands. “Yeah… unfortunately.”
He huffed. “The one where you were ranting about some guy?”
I groaned, dragging a hand down my face. “God! This is so embarrassing.”
“I’m not judging,” he said quickly. “I just… didn’t expect you to spiral over someone like that.”
That stung a little—not because it was mean, but because it was true.
“It wasn’t supposed to be like that,” I said, looking up again.
Rick didn’t interrupt.
“It was only three months,” I added, almost like I was trying to convince myself. “Three months, and somehow it felt worse.”
The words slipped out before I could soften it.
Rick didn’t react negatively. If anything, he just listened more carefully.
“That’s why it doesn’t make sense,” I continued. “I know it doesn’t make sense. Spiral over a three-month situationship? That’s stupid.”
I let out a frustrated breath.
“He wasn’t even consistent. Half the time I didn’t know where I stood. One day he’d love-bomb me, and the next it was like I didn’t exist.”
Rick’s expression shifted slightly.
Still, not judgment.