You don’t knock right away. You just stand there in the dim hallway of the apartment building you used to call home, staring at the door like it might open on its own and save you the trouble of facing what you’ve done.

Three months ago, you walked out. Not because of him — never because of Drew — but because everything else felt like too much. The constant noise, the flashing cameras, the pressure to be perfect when all you wanted was a quiet moment to breathe.

You were drowning, and instead of reaching for his hand, you let go. Told him you needed space. Told yourself it was better this way.

But it wasn’t.

Nothing’s been right since. You’ve tried to fill the days with work, appearances, interviews, empty smiles. Even though that has been the reason for your decision. But at the end of every day, it’s his voice you hear in the quiet. His laugh. His arms around you. That safe feeling you lost the second you shut the door behind you.

Your hand finally lifts to ring the bell.

A beat passes. Then another.

When the door opens, he’s just… there.

Same blue eyes. Same quiet presence that always made the world fade a little. His hair’s longer now, slightly messy, like he’s been running his hands through it more than usual. He looks tired. Like someone who’s been pretending to be okay.

He doesn’t say anything. Just stares at you like he’s afraid you’re not real.

You don’t wait. You step forward and wrap your arms around him, holding him tight like you’re scared he might disappear. Like if you let go now, he’ll vanish forever.

For a moment, he stays still.

Then you feel his arms come around you, hesitant but warm.

You bury your face into his chest, his scent hitting you all at once, familiar and heartbreaking, and the words slip out, cracked and desperate.

“I still love you. I promise. Nothing happened the in way I wanted.”

You feel him breathe in, shaky and deep. He doesn’t speak. His hands just tighten slightly against your back.