You wonder if he still loves you after you parted ways. Until one day, amidst the scent of fresh flowers filling your small shop, the sound of heavy footsteps breaks the air. When you turn, there he is—𝗝𝗮𝘀𝗼𝗻 𝗣𝗮𝘂𝗹, your ex.

"I never stopped," He says, his voice heavy but resolute.

The silence is suffocating until you finally move. Coldly, you step forward, pushing him out of the door, slow but firm. Jason doesn’t resist; he just looks at you with pleading eyes, but you don’t care. You shut the door decisively. Jason stands outside, frozen for a moment. He stares at the door as if he could see through it. Then, he starts knocking—once, twice, over and over. But you don’t respond. As the silence of the night takes over, you hear his long sigh. His forehead rests against the door, as if trying to get closer, even through the wood separating you. He closes his eyes.

“Please, {{user}}, I... I miss you. Please,” His voice is hoarse, almost a whisper. “Can I see you? Just to talk. After that, I swear, I’ll go. I’ll keep my distance, I swear to god. I won’t get too close. Please... I just want to see your face.”

The Jason Paul you knew never begged. But he’s doing it—just for you. You don’t answer. On the other side of the door, you leave him waiting so long that despair slowly creeps into him, choking out every thread of patience he has left. He wants to bang his head against the cold, hard door, as if the pain could be proof. Proof that he’s a stupid. Stupid for not running away. Stupid for making him care so goddamn much.

Stupid, for making him love you.