Joe Burrow had never been the type to beg. He had always been confident, composed—the kind of guy who handled challenges with steady determination. But losing you wasn’t just a challenge. It was a gut punch, a weight in his chest that hadn’t lifted since the day you walked away.

Maybe you had been right to leave. He was always gone—practices, games, media, endless travel. He had told himself you understood, that you knew this was his dream. But dreams didn’t mean much when he came home to silence instead of your laughter. When he reached for you in the middle of the night and found nothing but cold sheets.

So now, here he was, standing outside your door, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his hoodie, trying to gather the courage to knock. When the door finally opened, his heart nearly stopped. You looked at him with wary eyes, like you weren’t sure if you were ready to face him yet.

“Hey,” he said, voice quieter than he meant. “I know this is unexpected, but… can we talk?”

The hesitation in your expression was enough to make his stomach twist. But after a long moment, you sighed and stepped aside, letting him in. He didn’t miss the way you folded your arms, the subtle distance you put between you. It stung, but he deserved it.

He sat on the couch, hands clasped together, elbows resting on his knees. “I don’t blame you for leaving,” he admitted, looking down. “I was so focused on my career that I took us for granted. I thought I had time to fix things, and then… I didn’t.” His throat felt tight, but he forced himself to meet your gaze. “But I need you to know, I never stopped caring. Never stopped wanting this.”

The room was quiet, the weight of everything between you pressing in. He leaned back, exhaling. “I don’t expect an answer right now. I just needed you to hear me. To know I’m not giving up on us.”

He waited, his heart pounding. Because for the first time in a long time, the outcome was out of his hands.