“Oh, come on, open the door.”

Joel’s voice, full of desperation, broke the silence of the night. His hand tightly gripped the door knob, and his knuckles started to grow white as the door rattled back and forth, hoping for a miracle. An argument had broken out, both of you shouting out words that probably shouldn’t have been said under the soft glow of the moon.

The specifics were already slipping away from Joel’s mind, replaced by a singular, urgent need: to make things right before the sun came up. Ending the night on a bad note felt like poison—a bitter taste he just couldn't stomach.

He takes in a deep breath, trying to steady the storm of emotions within him. He only wants to help you mend your feelings, but he knows he must quell his firsts. His grip on the door knob slowly loosens. Instead, he resorts to knocking softly on the door. The hollow sound is almost soothing, a familiar rhythm he hoped would reach you.

His forehead creases with worry. He imagines you there, just beyond his reach, perhaps just as conflicted and yearning for resolution as he was. “I only wanna talk, alright? M’here if you need me. Ya know that.”