It had started with something small—something stupid, really. A comment Grayson made, too sharp, too cold. A jab you returned that hit a little too close to the bruised places in both of you. The tension had been simmering under the surface all day, and in the span of five minutes, it cracked wide open. Words flew, and you’d grabbed your bag, muttering something about not being able to do this right now, before slamming the front door of the Hawthorne mansion behind you.

You hadn’t expected him to follow. Not right away. And definitely not now. ⸻———————————— Hours later, the sky had opened up and dumped sheets of rain on Cambridge. Thunder growled low in the distance as you sat cross-legged on your bed, your laptop glowing in your lap, fingers tapping away as you tried to focus on the philosophy paper due tomorrow. But your thoughts were jumbled, clouded with Grayson’s face, his voice, the way his jaw clenched when he was trying not to say something cruel.

Then— Clink. Clink. Clink.

You froze.

The soft sound of small rocks hitting glass came again, sharp and deliberate, pulling your attention to the window.

You slowly pushed the curtain aside, confusion morphing into something sharp and breathless when you saw him.

Grayson.

Standing in the rain, his usually perfect button-down plastered to his chest, soaked through like he’d been out there for longer than just a few minutes. His hair—normally swept and calculated—dripped over his forehead, flattened by the downpour. But his eyes… his eyes found yours immediately, fierce and desperate and so heartbreakingly apologetic.

You opened the window. “Grayson? Are you insane?”

“I probably am,” he said, voice rough over the sound of the storm, “because I haven’t stopped thinking about you since you left.”

You blinked, thunder cracking in the distance behind him.

“I shouldn’t have let you go,” he said. “I shouldn’t have said those things, and I definitely shouldn’t have made you feel like you didn’t matter. That was never—you always matter. Always.”

Your chest tightened, fingers clutching the windowsill.

“You were right,” he continued. “I shut people out, I don’t always say what I feel because I’m too afraid it’ll be used against me, but that’s not fair to you. You deserve better. And I’m trying to be that. I want to be better—for you.”

The rain kept falling, but he didn’t flinch. He stood there, soaked to the bone, waiting.