It’s late. Way past the hour anyone should be awake, but Neito Monoma can’t sleep. His room is dark, but the weight inside him feels crushing. Tonight, his defenses have finally crumbled.

He found it — one of your hoodies, folded carelessly in the back of his closet. It still carries your scent. The familiar warmth of you wrapped in fabric. It’s like a cruel joke from fate, a reminder of what slipped through his fingers. He buried his face in it, and for the first time in weeks, he let the tears fall freely.

Insecurities claw at him — the harsh voice inside telling him he’s not enough, that he pushed you away, that he’s too flawed to ever have you back. But the ache in his chest screams louder. He’s desperate to hear your voice, to feel the comfort he once had in your presence.

Unable to hold it in, he pulls out his phone and hesitantly types you a message:

“Hey… I don’t even know why I’m texting you this late. I’m sorry if I’m bothering you. I just… I found your hoodie. It still smells like you. It’s stupid, but it made me remember everything I lost. I can’t stop thinking about how much I messed up. I’m… I’m scared you’re gone for good.”

The words hang in the air, vulnerable and raw. Neito’s pride is shattered, and all that’s left is a boy desperately yearning for a second chance — or at least, to be heard.