The "I broke up with you not because I stopped loving you but because I realized you're too good for me and I'm terrified I'll ruin you, so I let you go thinking I was being noble, and now I'm absolutely drowning in regret and willing to grovel" pipeline. I'm absolutely feral for this. Let's go!!
I picked the ones who'd feel unworthy most viscerally and show how they'd crawl back.
Why he broke up: You were his light. The only person who made the darkness quiet. And that terrified him. He started seeing his own "dark impulse" creep into moments with you—a flash of possessiveness, a nightmare that made him snap awake and check that you were still breathing. He convinced himself it was only a matter of time before he destroyed you like he destroys everything else. So he ended it. Coldly. No explanation that made sense. Just "I can't do this anymore." He walked away before you could see him cry.
The regret: Every day without you is gray. His snacks taste like nothing. Draken notices Mikey staring at nothing, and when asked, Mikey just says, "She's safer now." But he doesn't believe it anymore. He realizes that you made him safer—you were the anchor, not the target. Every girl he sees, he compares to you, and none come close. Your laugh echoes in his head. He finds an old photo of you two and just... stares at it for hours.
Crawling back: He shows up at your door at 3 AM on his bike. No grand speech prepared—he's never been good with words when it matters. His eyes are red-rimmed. He just says, "I thought I was protecting you. But I think I just broke the only thing that was keeping me alive. I know I don't deserve another chance. But I'll spend the rest of my life trying to earn one. Please." He'll wait in the cold all night if you ask him to. He's not leaving without your answer.
Draken (debated a bit to add this cause this guy has Emma)
Why he broke up: Draken's whole identity is built on being the protector, the reliable one, the pillar. But with you, he started feeling... vulnerable. You saw through the tough exterior to the orphaned boy who just wants to be loved. That scared him more than any gang fight. Then he messed up—maybe he was too busy with Toman, missed an important date, or snapped at you from exhaustion. Instead of forgiving himself, he decided you deserved someone without his baggage, someone who could give you a normal life. He ended it with brutal honesty: "You deserve better than a gangster who can't even give you a future. I'm letting you go before I drag you down."
The regret: He functions. He leads. He fights. But Mikey is the first to notice Draken's smiles don't reach his eyes. He still checks your social media from a burner account he'd never admit to having. He fixes bikes and imagines you sitting on the back, arms around his waist. He goes on exactly zero dates. No one is you. No one else has your patience, your laugh, the way you'd trace his tattoo absentmindedly. He realizes that pushing you away wasn't protecting you—it was cowardice dressed up as honor.
Crawling back: He's not the type for big gestures, but he'll show up clean, sober, and with his heart in his throat. He'll knock, and when you open the door, he'll bow his head slightly—Draken, bowing—and say, "I told myself I was being selfless. That was a lie. I was scared. You were the best thing that ever happened to me, and I ran from it. I don't expect you to take me back. But I need you to know... I'll wait. However long it takes. I'm not running again." He hands you a small gift—not expensive, but something deeply personal he remembered you mentioned once, months ago. He remembered everything.
Why he broke up: Takemichi's self-esteem is in the gutter. He looked at you—kind, amazing, way out of his league—and a voice in his head (that sounds suspiciously like his own self-doubt) whispered, "She'll realize eventually. You're a crybaby. A nobody. She's just with you out of pity." The thought consumed him. He started overthinking every interaction. Maybe he fumbled something—forgot an anniversary, got flustered when your friends asked what he "does." Instead of communicating, he spiraled and preemptively ended things, giving some shaky, tearful speech about how "you deserve someone who can give you the world" while internally begging you to argue.
The regret: Instant. The moment the words leave his mouth, he wants to take them back. He cries — a lot. Chifuyu and the others have to physically stop him from calling you 47 times. He writes apology letters he never sends. He starts working out, getting a job, trying to become "worthy" of you, but nothing fills the void. He sees couples on the street and physically aches. Hina literally slaps him on the back of the head and tells him to stop being an idiot and go get you back.
Crawling back: It's messy. He shows up out of breath, tears already streaming, with a crumpled bouquet and a speech he rehearsed 100 times but immediately forgets. "I-I know I'm a crybaby and I'm weak and I'm definitely not the coolest guy, but I realized that pushing you away was the dumbest thing I've ever done — and I've done a lot of dumb things! You're the standard. There's no one else. There never will be. I'll spend every day becoming someone worthy of you if you just... give me another chance." He's on his knees before he realizes it. Genuine, pathetic, heartfelt. He means every word.
Why he broke up: Baji's love language is fighting the world for you. But when things got serious, he looked in the mirror and saw his mother, his circumstances, his feral nature—and decided you deserved a soft, gentle love he wasn't sure he could provide. He's rough. He punches first, asks questions later. What if that roughness spills onto you? He'd rather die than hurt you. So he did the most Baji thing possible: he picked a stupid fight, said things he didn't mean, and stormed off before you could see him break. He told himself it was for your own good.
The regret: He's insufferable. Picking fights with everyone, even more volatile than usual. Chifuyu is exhausted. Kazutora notices Baji staring at his phone, thumb hovering over your contact, before shoving it in his pocket with a growl. He still wears the bracelet you gave him. He sleeps on your old hoodie. His mom asks about you, and he just grunts and leaves the room. He's miserable, and everyone knows it. He realizes he never even gave you a chance to decide if you could handle his life—he decided for you. That's not protecting you. That's just fear.
Crawling back: He shows up with a split lip from a fight he got into on the way, because he's nervous. He just stands at your door, fists clenched, not meeting your eyes. "...I'm an idiot." Pause. "I thought I was doing the right thing. But all I did was make us both miserable. You're the only person who ever made me feel like I wasn't just a wild animal. I'm not asking you to fix me. I'm asking... if you'd let me be yours again. I'll do better. I swear." He finally looks up, and his eyes are wet. Baji. With tears. That's how you know.
Why he broke up: Chifuyu overthinks everything. He's loyal to a fault, but he also internalizes every failure. When work at the pet shop got stressful, when Toman drama escalated, when he missed a call or forgot a date—he didn't see it as a busy life. He saw it as him failing you. He started pulling away, convinced he wasn't good enough, that you'd eventually leave anyway. So he ended it "first," with some painfully mature, self-sacrificing speech about "not being able to give you the attention you deserve right now" while his heart was screaming.
The regret: He cries into Peke J's fur. He replays every moment of your relationship, cataloging every mistake. He still visits your favorite café, still orders your drink, still looks at the door hoping you'll walk in. He talks about you to Takemichi with this hollow, faraway look. "She was the one, man. And I blew it because I got in my own head." He considers every possible way to fix it but fears it's too late.
Crawling back: He shows up with your favorite coffee order, a handwritten letter, and Peke J in a little bandana that says "Sorry." He doesn't try to be cool. He's just honest. "I convinced myself I wasn't enough for you. That's not your problem to fix—it was mine. But I've realized that losing you didn't make my life easier. It made it empty. You set the standard for what love should feel like, and nothing else comes close. If you can forgive me, I promise to stop making decisions for both of us. Just... let me prove I can be the man you deserve." He's sincere, steady, and already pulling out a small calendar to show you the dates he's kept free for you—just in case.
Why he broke up: This one hurts. Kazutora's trauma runs deep—abandonment, guilt, a fractured sense of self. When he started to fall for you, genuinely fall, a voice in his head (that sounds like his own worst fears) whispered, "You're a murderer. You're broken. She'll see the real you and leave." The paranoia became unbearable. Every kind word from you felt like a lie he didn't deserve. Every happy moment felt borrowed. He couldn't handle the anxiety of waiting for the other shoe to drop. So he dropped it himself. He broke up with you in the most self-destructive way possible—pushing you away with cruel words, making you think he didn't care, because it was easier than admitting he loved you too much to let you stay with someone like him.
The regret: He spirals. Hard. Chifuyu and Baji (in timelines where Baji is alive) find him in a dark place. He doesn't eat. He doesn't sleep. He just stares at walls, muttering that he ruined the only good thing he ever had. The rehabilitation he worked so hard for feels meaningless without you. He keeps your photo. He almost throws it away a dozen times but never can. He realizes, slowly, that breaking up with you wasn't protecting you from his darkness—it was punishing himself, and you became collateral damage.
Crawling back: This takes time. He has to get to a better mental place first—maybe with therapy, maybe with friends forcing him to face his worth. When he finally shows up, he's trembling. His voice cracks. "I... I thought I was saving you from me. But I was just... doing what I always do. Running. Destroying. I know I'm not fixed. I may never be fully fixed. But you made me want to try. You made me believe I could be more than my worst mistake. I'm sorry I hurt you to hurt myself. If you could ever... if there's even a chance..." He can't finish. He hands you a letter—pages and pages of everything he couldn't say. It's signed with a tiger doodle. A small, hopeful smile.
Why he broke up: Mitsuya carries the weight of the world on his shoulders—his sisters, his dream, his division. He's so used to caring for everyone else that when you started caring for him, he didn't know how to handle it. He felt guilty. He'd come home exhausted from sewing all night and find you'd made dinner, and instead of feeling grateful, he felt like a burden. The breaking point? You sacrificed somethinh—maybe an opportunity, maybe sleep, maybe your own dream—for him, and he couldn't stomach it. He ended things gently, kindly, with some speech about "needing to focus on his family" that even he didn't believe.
The regret: His sewing suffers. His designs are dull, uninspired. Mana and Luna ask about you constantly. "Where's Y/N-nee?" and he has no answer that doesn't make him feel like a failure. He sees a fabric you'd love and buys it on instinct, then stares at it for an hour. He realizes that you never made him feel like a burden—he did that to himself. You chose him every day, and he threw it away because he didn't know how to be chosen.
Crawling back: He knits you something. Of course he does. A sweater, or a scarf, in your favorite color, with a detail only you would understand—an inside joke woven into the pattern. He shows up with it folded neatly in his hands. "I'm not good at letting people take care of me. I convinced myself that accepting your love meant I was failing you somehow. But losing you taught me what failure actually feels like. You're the standard, not just for a partner, but for the kind of person I want to be. If you'll have me back, I promise to learn how to be loved. Starting now." He's calm but his hands shake slightly. The sweater fits you perfectly
Why he broke up: Hakkai's trauma with his brother left him with a warped sense of his own worth. He sees himself as weak, a coward, someone who needs protecting—not someone who can protect. When your relationship deepened, he panicked. What could he possibly offer you? His brother's abuse, his shyness, his inability to even order food without stuttering? He started pulling back, canceling dates, giving one-word replies. Then he ended it entirely, with a barely-audible "You can do better than me" and ran before you could argue.
The regret: Yuzuha finds him crying in his room. He won't talk to anyone. He watches your social media from afar, seeing you move on (or trying to), and it kills him. He starts training harder, trying to become "worthy," but the motivation is hollow. Mitsuya gently tells him that strength isn't just physical, and Hakkai breaks down. "She was the first person who made me feel brave. And I pushed her away because I'm a coward."
Crawling back: He's shaking like a leaf. Yuzuha probably had to shove him toward your door. He can barely look at you. "I-I know I said... that you deserved better. And I still think that. But... but I realized... I want to be better. For you. If you'll let me." He holds out a small, nervous bouquet—he remembered your favorite flowers. "I'm sorry I was too scared to believe someone like you could love someone like me. I'll spend every day proving I'm worth the chance you gave me." He flinches, expecting rejection. If you say yes, he'll cry—but happy tears this time.
Why he broke up: Sanzu's "unworthiness" is tangled with obsession and self-destruction. He genuinely believes he's a monster—the drugs, the violence, the things he's done for Mikey. But then there was you. You looked at him like he was human. It terrified him. He became paranoid that he'd taint you, that his darkness would swallow you whole. In a rare moment of fractured, twisted clarity, he broke up with you—not gently, but with manic intensity, screaming that you needed to "stay away from me before I destroy you too." He disappeared. No contact. Like he never existed.
The regret: He's worse. Much worse. The drugs don't numb the absence of you. He stalks your social media obsessively. He has photos of you he shouldn't have. He follows you from a distance, just to make sure you're safe, muttering that this is the only way he can "love" you now. But it's eating him alive. He realizes that pushing you away didn't save you—it just left him in hell alone. The scars on his mouth ache when he remembers your kisses.
Crawling back: This is dangerous and unhinged, but genuine. He shows up somewhere he knows you'll be—not in a threatening way, but in a desperate, shaky one. His eyes are wild. His voice is raw. "I tried. I tried to let you go. But I can't. You're the only thing that makes the noise stop. I know I'm broken. I know I'm not what you deserve. But I'll do anything. I'll stop... I'll try to stop... just please. Please don't leave me in the dark." He's on the edge. Your answer could pull him back or push him over. He knows it. You know it. It's terrifying and heartbreaking. (Proceed with caution, but the love is real.)
Why he broke up: Inupi's loyalty is his defining trait, but it's also his curse. He's spent his life serving others—Koko, Black Dragon, a ghost of the past. When he fell for you, he couldn't reconcile it. He felt like he was betraying his "purpose." More than that, he looked at his scarred face and his messy history and thought, "She deserves someone unmarked by all this." So he ended it quietly. No drama. Just "I'm not good for you. I'm sorry." And he walked away with the same stoic expression he wears into battle.
The regret: The scar on his face has never bothered him as much as it does now. He catches his reflection and thinks of you. He still visits the places you went together, sitting alone, saying nothing. Koko is the only one who notices something's off. "You look like you're mourning." Inupi doesn't deny it. He realizes that he's spent his whole life being loyal to causes—and you were the first person who ever felt like a cause worth putting himself first for. And he threw it away.
Crawling back: He doesn't call first. He just appears, leaning against your building, looking like he's been standing there for hours. "I've been an idiot." He speaks plainly, no excuses. "I thought I was being loyal to my path by pushing you away. But my path doesn't mean anything without you on it. You're not a distraction from my purpose. You are my purpose. If you can forgive me, I'll never make that mistake again." He reaches out, hesitant, his scarred face vulnerable in a way he never lets anyone see. His hand trembles. He'll wait forever for your answer.
Why he broke up: Koko's trauma revolves around money, loss, and the inability to save the people he loves. Akane's death shattered him. When you came along and started to heal those cracks, it triggered a panic response. He started obsessing over "providing" for you, drowning in work, treating the relationship like an investment he was failing. Then one day, he snapped. He told you he couldn't "afford" to love you—not financially, but emotionally. He couldn't risk losing someone again. So he preemptively ended it, cold and clinical, like terminating a contract. He was trying to protect himself, not realizing he was breaking you instead.
The regret: Money loses its appeal. He makes more than ever, and it means nothing. He sits in his expensive apartment, surrounded by wealth, and feels utterly bankrupt. He still keeps your photo in his wallet. He still calculates dates like anniversaries in his head. Inupi tells him, bluntly, "You didn't lose her. You pushed her away. There's a difference." That hits Koko harder than any fist. He realizes he's been so terrified of losing you to tragedy that he caused the tragedy himself.
Crawling back: He shows up in a designer suit, looking immaculate but hollow. He can't meet your eyes at first. "I'm aware this is a bad investment pitch. But I have to try." Then he drops the business metaphor and his voice cracks. "I was so afraid of losing you that I made sure it happened on my terms. I convinced myself I wasn't worthy of being loved after... after Akane. But you loved me anyway, and I punished you for it. You're the standard. There's no one else. I've checked. I'll always check, and it'll always be you. Please. Let me reinvest in us. I promise the returns will be better this time." He's trying to make you smile with the financial joke, but his eyes are terrified. He slides a small box across the table—not a ring (too soon), but a key. To his place. "This is yours. It always was. I was just too scared to admit it."
Why he broke up: Izana's abandonment issues are so severe that genuine love feels like a trap. When things with you got real—when he started to actually need you—his trauma screamed "Run before they leave you first." He became volatile, testing you with cruelty, waiting for you to break. When you didn't, when you stayed soft and loving, it confused him so deeply that he panicked. He ended it in the worst way possible: coldly, with a twisted smile, saying something like "I'm bored of you"— a lie so transparent it was practically a cry for help. He wanted you to hate him, because hatred was familiar. Love was terrifying.
The regret: He's a king without a kingdom. Everything tastes like ash. Kakucho watches him spiral—reckless fights, sleepless nights, staring at the horizon like you'll appear. He still wears a bracelet you gave him. He still whispers your name when he's half-asleep. He finally breaks down to Kakucho: "I did it again. I destroyed the only good thing I had because I don't know how to keep anything." He realizes that you weren't trying to trap him—you were trying to free him. And he locked the door from the inside.
Crawling back: He doesn't know how to apologize. He's never learned. So he just shows up, looking regal and shattered all at once. He doesn't speak for a long moment. Then, quietly, without his usual arrogance: "I told you I was bored. That was a lie. I was terrified. Everyone I've ever loved has either left or died. I thought if I pushed you away first, it wouldn't hurt as much. I was wrong. It hurts more. Because this time, it was my fault." He sinks to his knees—King Izana, on his knees. "I don't know how to be loved. But I want to learn. Only from you. If you'll teach me. Please." He looks up, and there's no mask left. Just a broken boy who found something worth changing for.
Why he broke up: Kakucho has spent his life as the loyal soldier, the protector, the one who stands behind someone else's dream. When he fell for you, he started to imagine his own future for the first time—and it scared him. He felt selfish. He felt undeserving. The scar on his face, his half-blindness, his bloody history—what could he offer you? Then you had a moment of danger, maybe a close call he couldn't prevent, and he internalized it as his failure. He broke up with you the next day, saying, "I can't protect you and I can't give you the life you deserve. Find someone whole." He didn't cry in front of you. He waited until you left.
The regret: Izana notices. Kakucho is even more silent than usual, more reckless in fights, like he's looking for a punch he won't get up from. He visits your favorite places, always at a distance, just to catch a glimpse. He still has a photo of you two together—one of the only times he's genuinely smiling. He realizes that "whole" was never what you wanted. You wanted him. And he threw it away out of pride disguised as selflessness.
Crawling back: He shows up with a single flower and a speech he practiced a thousand times. "I told you to find someone whole. But I've realized... I was never whole until you. You saw past the scars and the violence and you loved the man underneath. I pushed you away because I thought it was noble. It wasn't. It was cowardice. I'm not asking for you to fix me. I'm asking for the chance to stand beside you again. I'll never walk away from you a second time. I swear it on my life." He offers the flower with a steady hand but vulnerable eyes. If you take it, the relief on his face could light up a city.
Why he broke up: Ran is charm and deflection. He's never let anyone past the surface. But you got there. You saw the emptiness behind the smirk, and instead of running, you stayed. That terrified him. He started making cutting jokes, deflecting affection, testing your limits. When he realized he was actually in love—genuinely, vulnerably in love—he sabotaged it. He picked a fight, said something flippant and cruel, and walked away like it meant nothing. He told Rindo later, "It's better this way. She deserves someone who isn't a performance." He almost believed it.
The regret: The smirk is gone. Rindo notices his brother is sharper, colder, but also... sadder. Ran still goes to the same bars, still orders the same drinks, still looks at the empty seat beside him. He has a photo of you saved, and sometimes he just stares at it, no quips, no jokes. Rindo finally says, "You're miserable. Go fix it." Ran laughs hollowly. "What if I can't?" But he knows he has to try.
Crawling back: He shows up with that lazy, disarming smile, but it falters quickly. "I'm supposed to be good with words. I'm drawing a blank." He runs a hand through his hair, genuinely nervous. "I've spent my whole life treating everything like a game. You were never a game. That's why I ran. You were real, and I didn't know what to do with real. I convinced myself you deserved better than a shallow Roppongi playboy. But I've realized... I wasn't shallow with you. I was the realest I've ever been. And I threw it away. If you let me back in, I promise no more performances. Just me. The me that loves you." He reaches out, palm up, no baton, no weapon, no defense. Just an open hand.
Why he broke up: Rindo has always been in Ran's shadow, and his identity is tangled in being the "younger brother." When he fell for you, a new identity emerged—yours. And it felt amazing. Until the insecurity crept in. She'll realize Ran is more charming. She'll get bored of me. I'm just the second choice. He started acting out, getting jealous over nothing, picking fights. Then, in a moment of self-sabotaging stupidity, he broke up with you, accusing you of "wanting his brother"—a lie his own brain manufactured. He regretted it the instant he saw your face.
The regret: He's a mess. Ran finds him listening to sad music, staring at the ceiling. "I ruined it. She was the one, and I ruined it because I'm an insecure idiot." Ran tries to comfort him, but Rindo won't hear it. He stalks your social media, sees you hanging out with friends, and spirals. He starts working on himself—not for revenge, but because he wants to be someone you could be proud of. But he's terrified it's too late.
Crawling back: He's awkward, shuffling his feet, unable to meet your eyes. "I said some really stupid things. Things that weren't true. You never wanted Ran. You wanted me. And I couldn't believe that, because I've never been anyone's first choice. But you... you made me feel like I was. And I threw it away because I was scared. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. If you give me another chance, I'll spend every day making sure you know you're my first choice. Always." He holds out a small gift—your favorite candy, the cheap kind you mentioned once. He remembered. He remembers everything.
Why she broke up: Senju carries the weight of leadership, morality, and her brother's legacy. She's used to being the strong one, the decision-maker, the untouchable. But with you, she was soft. She let her guard down. And then someone in Brahman made a comment—"The leader's distracted. Maybe it's because of that partner of hers." Senju panicked. She convinced herself her love for you was a liability, not just to her, but to you. If enemies knew, you'd be a target. So she ended it, with a cold formality that was completely unlike her. "I need to focus on Brahman. This is over." She didn't even cry until she was alone.
The regret: Brahman thrives, but Senju withers. She throws herself into missions with reckless abandon. Benkei and Wakasa exchange looks. Takeomi finally corners her. "You're punishing yourself." She breaks down. "I thought I was protecting her. But I just hurt the person I love most. What kind of leader does that?" She keeps your photo in her room, hidden under her pillow. She still texts you paragraphs she never sends. She realizes that being "untouchable" was never strength—it was loneliness disguised as duty.
Crawling back: She comes alone, no Brahman escorts, no leader aura. Just Senju. "I gave you a speech about duty. It was a lie. I was scared. Scared that loving you made me weak, when really... it made me stronger than any fight ever could. I'm so used to protecting everyone that I forgot you were never a threat. You were my safe place. And I destroyed it. If you can ever forgive me, I'll spend the rest of my life being your safe place too. No more walls. Just us." She holds out her hand—the same hand that throws punches powerful enough to crack concrete—trembling, waiting, hoping.
