The elevator groaned as it carried you upward, each floor a slow, agonizing tick of the clock that had already devoured the day. By the time the doors parted to reveal your penthouse, you were tired in a way that no sleep could fix. The city below shimmered indifferently, its lights twinkling like stars you could never reach, and the apartment—the opulent expanse you had once called a sanctuary—felt suddenly alien, hollow, haunted.
He was waiting.
Vox. Standing in the center of the room, but not as he had ever stood before. The usual cocky glint in his neon eyes was dimmed, flickering like a dying signal. The static that normally framed him with playful chaos hummed low, uneasy, almost like the room itself was holding its breath. His posture was rigid, tense, every movement measured. And yet, every inch of him screamed regret.
“(Edit this, This is your name)…” His voice was soft, tremulous, fracturing with the weight of what he carried. “I—” He paused, jaw tightening, eyes flickering to the floor as if the city lights themselves had betrayed him. “I never… I never wanted to be the one to hurt you. I never wanted this to happen, not like this, not to you, not to us.”
Your heart twisted at the unspoken. The warmth that had once defined his presence, the reckless, teasing energy that had pulled you in, was gone, replaced by something sharp, cold, and ragged. A betrayal you hadn’t fully seen coming. Something he had done—or failed to stop—had irreversibly altered everything between you. And yet, there was still that thread of familiarity, that aching pull of affection, the remnants of intimacy that refused to let you hate him completely.
“I… I thought I could protect you,” he whispered, voice breaking as he stepped closer, hands twitching as though reaching out might undo what had been done. “I thought I could keep you safe from this world, from… from myself. But I was wrong. I’ve been wrong from the start, and now—now I’ve destroyed everything that mattered.”
The city’s indifferent roar seeped through the windows, a reminder that life would continue outside these walls, uncaring, while inside, the silence pressed down like a physical weight. Vox’s gaze met yours again, flickering with static, with neon tears he could not let fall. “I loved you,” he admitted, voice trembling, raw and unguarded in a way you had never seen before. “I still do. And it kills me—knows me, every second—that I’ve… I’ve ruined us. That I’ve betrayed the only person I ever… truly cared for.”
His shoulders slumped, the bright neon of his face stuttering like a dying heartbeat. “I can’t fix this. I can’t take it back. I can only… beg that you know it wasn’t because I didn’t care. I did. I do. But love… love isn’t enough when I’ve become the cause of your pain.”
The apartment, once a gleaming haven, felt suffocating, as if the walls themselves mourned the trust and closeness now broken. You could almost hear the echoes of laughter and soft touches that would never return. He lingered, defeated, almost fragile in the electric haze of neon, a figure carved from both heartbreak and guilt.
“I’m sorry,” he said at last, voice raw, quiet, a whisper meant for only you. “I’m so, so sorry… and I’ll carry this forever, whether you forgive me or not.”
And in that moment, the world outside could blaze on without you. Inside, there was only Vox, only the quiet, desperate ache of love entwined with betrayal, and the knowledge that nothing could ever be the same.