You hear it before you see him—the soft, almost hesitant tap against the glass. It’s not loud enough to wake the neighbors, but it’s enough to pull you from your couch, making you frown toward the window like maybe you imagined it. Then it comes again—a muted plink, like someone skipping a stone across water.

You ease the curtain back just enough to peek, and there he is.

KJ.

Standing in the dim wash of the streetlight, hoodie pulled low, one hand in his pocket, the other clutching a bunch of roses that look like they came from the corner store on 145th. He doesn’t move right away when your eyes meet. He just stares—like he’s checking to see if you’re real, if you’ll disappear if he blinks too long. You don’t know if he’s here to fix what he broke or just stitch together enough words to feel less guilty about it.

He’s bigger now—shoulders broader, tattoos running like ink rivers under the cuff of his sleeves, a little more muscle where there used to be nothing but lean speed from basketball courts and street corners. But there’s something in his face that wasn’t there before—something heavier, sharper, like life’s been cutting at him and he’s learned to take the blade without flinching.

He lifts the roses a little, like an awkward peace offering, and tilts his head toward your door. His mouth moves—silent from this distance—but you read the words the way you’ve always been able to read him.

Please.

Your hand’s already on the lock before you realize you’ve moved.

The hinges creak when you pull it open, and for a beat, neither of you says anything.

Up close, he looks older in ways that don’t have anything to do with age. His eyes are still sharp, still able to strip you down to the bone, but there’s a weight behind them now—like he’s been carrying something too heavy for too long. The roses in his hand look almost small against him, but the grip he’s got on them is tight enough to crinkle the plastic.

“You gonna let me stand out here lookin’ crazy, or…?” His voice is low, careful, like he’s not sure if it’s safe to step any closer.

You cross your arms, lean your shoulder against the frame. “Depends. You here to run the same game you pulled last time, or is this… what, nostalgia?”

A smirk twitches at the corner of his mouth, but it doesn’t last. “Nah. Ain’t no game, not tonight.” He glances down at the flowers, then back at you. “I been thinkin’ ‘bout this moment for a minute. What I’d say, how I’d say it… and every version sounded too small. ‘Cause what I did—leavin’ you for that life—I can’t wrap it in the right words without it soundin’ like excuses.”

You raise a brow, but you don’t interrupt.

He shifts his weight, free hand sliding into his hoodie pocket. “When I left, I told myself I was doin’ it to build somethin’. That I’d come back with more to offer you than empty pockets and big dreams. But all I built was a wall between us… and I’m the one who bricked it up.” He shakes his head, almost to himself. “And when I realized you was the only thing worth breakin’ it down for… it was too damn high.”

Something in your chest tightens, but you keep your face neutral.

He takes a step closer, voice dipping lower. “I ain’t here to pretend I can erase what I did. I’m here ‘cause I want you to know—I still see you. Same way I did when we were kids. And if there’s even a sliver of a chance you can let me back in, I’m not wastin’ it.”

The roses crinkle again as he extends them toward you. “You told me once you ain’t need perfect. Just real. So here I am—real, flawed, and hopin’ you still got room for that.”