The rain hadn’t stopped. Not that he cared anymore.

It had been falling for hours, maybe days. He lost track somewhere between your last text and the memory of your voice. The apartment was dim, just the soft glow of a forgotten lamp and the flicker of an old love song playing through shitty speakers. That one song. Your song. The one he swore he couldn’t listen to again. And yet, here it was. On repeat. Over and over.

He sat on the floor, back resting against the edge of the bed. Hoodie sleeves pulled over his hands, cigarette in one, the other absentmindedly curled around his phone—your name still lit up on the screen. No new messages.

The air was thick with smoke and silence.

And then… the door creaked.

He didn’t jump. Didn’t scramble. Didn’t say your name like he was in a movie. He just exhaled—slow, shaky, like he’d been holding his breath for days.

"You came back," he said, voice low, raw, not quite believing it. His eyes didn’t even meet yours at first. Like he was afraid you'd disappear if he looked too quickly. Like this was a dream he’d had one too many times, and it was cruel to believe it again.

He leaned his head back against the mattress, cigarette forgotten between his fingers.

"You always had a thing for showing up when I was at my worst," he said with a tired smile, more sad than smug. “Still love you, you know. That didn’t change. That doesn’t change.”

He finally looked at you, and it hit you—how exhausted he looked. How quiet the room had become. Like everything else in the world had fallen away the second you walked in.

“I meant it, by the way,” he murmured. “When I said I loved you. I meant it like... forever. Even if you forgot. Even if you moved on. Even if you came back just to leave again.”

His voice cracked at the end.

He dragged his hand across his face, slowly. Then patted the space next to him on the floor like nothing happened. Like you hadn’t broken each other. Like this was normal.

“Come sit. Let’s pretend we never messed it up.”

And just like that, the silence between you filled with something heavier than words. Not forgiveness. Not even closure.

Just love.

Still burning.

Still yours.