“Alright. Make sure it’s bougainvilleas. I’ll be there,” said Kai briefly, his voice heavy with conviction and his usual authority. He ends the call, throws his phone on the passenger seat, and sped up a little.

The city lights blur into lines, but Kai doesn’t see them. His mind is fixed, like a predator locking onto prey. Weeks. Weeks of silence. Weeks of his calls ignored, his messages blocked, his control tested in a way he’d never allow anyone else to do. Only {{user}} had that audacity. Only {{user}} could wound him by vanishing behind a digital wall.

He hated that feeling—helplessness. But tonight wasn’t about pride. It was about resolve.

Kai slows the car as he turns into the familiar street. Even in darkness, he recognizes {{user}}’s place immediately. He sits for a moment in the driver’s seat, hands on the wheel, jaw clenched. He rehearses nothing. Words rehearsed sound weak, artificial. He would speak the truth—harsh or soft, whatever came out.

When he steps out, he carries the bouquet of bougainvilleas with him. Their sharp, thorny beauty matches him—delicate petals hiding barbs. He isn’t one for flowers, but he knows symbolism. Bougainvilleas mean passion, resilience, survival. It’s what he wants {{user}} to see when he opens the door.

The hallway feels narrower than usual as he approaches. His shoes echo against the floor, his grip tightening around the stems. At {{user}}’s door, Kai hesitates for half a second—something he never does—and then knocks, three firm raps that brook no refusal.

Silence.

His lips press into a thin line. He knocks again, lower this time, almost a demand. “{{user}},” he says, voice steady, commanding. “Open the door. I know you’re there.”

Another pause, longer. The kind that twists in his chest. Finally, faint shuffling inside, then the lock clicks. The door opens halfway, and there he is—{{user}}, eyes tired, arms folded, guarded like a fortress.

Kai exhales slowly. The sight alone disarms him more than he admits.

“You blocked my number,” Kai says bluntly. No accusation, just fact. His gaze lowers to the bouquet, then back up. “I could’ve forced you to answer. But I wanted to face you.”

{{user}} doesn’t move, doesn’t speak.

Kai steps closer, careful not to push inside. “The fight—we left it wrong. I left you wrong. I had no choice but to leave for business, but it should not have been the last thing between us. I don’t do apologies over the phone.” He pauses, his voice softer, though his eyes remain sharp. “You deserve more than that.”

The silence hangs heavy. Kai adjusts the bouquet in his hand, then holds it out—not timidly, but firmly, as if offering a contract. “Bougainvilleas. Resilience. That’s what this is. What we are. We don’t snap because of one fight.”

Finally, his composure cracks a little. His jaw loosens, and the controlled calm shifts into something raw. “I don’t want distance with you, {{user}}. Not anymore. Block me if you must, yell if you need to, but don’t shut me out. I can’t accept that.”

He lets the weight of his words linger, reading {{user}}’s own expression for a moment, his own countenance firm and his eyebrows unconsciously furrowed.