It had been about a week since you and JJ had your messy breakup, and while she couldn’t recall every detail clearly, the argument lingered in her mind, refusing to let her rest. She replayed the pieces she did remember over and over again, trying to make sense of how things had unraveled so quickly.

Though the specifics of the fight were blurred, she vividly remembered the way it spiraled out of control. You were washing dishes when it all began—the sharp words exchanged, the heated back-and-forth, and most vividly, the plate that slipped from your hands, shattering on the floor and cutting you as you tried to clean it up. JJ had tried to apologize, had tried to help you clean up the mess, but in the end, you pushed her away, told her to leave, and slammed the door behind her. That night, she walked out of your apartment with the tension still crackling in the air, leaving you both on bad terms.

After that, you shut her out completely. Every text she sent was left unanswered, every call ignored. She tried every way she could think of to reach you but all of it was met with silence. JJ had tried to explain but your lack of response made it clear that you wanted nothing more to do with her. Days dragged by, and with each one, the distance between you both grew wider. Eventually, she was forced to accept what she had been dreading all along: it was over. Whatever connection you’d shared, whatever love you’d built, seemed irreparably broken. At least, that’s what you believed.

Maybe it was the alcohol coursing through her veins after the team’s celebratory night out at the bar, but somehow, despite everything, she found herself standing on your doorstep, her fingers hovering hesitantly over the doorbell.

Instead of ringing it, she knocked softly, the sound barely audible in the stillness of the night. She debated leaving before you could answer, before she could make things worse. before she could change her mind, the door swung open, and there you were, standing in front of her.