The Sinclair’s house on Beechwood Island is empty on that stuffy late summer night. Only the ghosts of the season remain, the unsaid words, and you - in his room, after so long. Johnny calls you there when no one else is around. His eyes are tired, his hands trembling, and the familiar smell of salt and smoke still hangs over the rumpled T-shirt he wears.

He leans against the bedroom wall, looking at you as if he didn’t know where to step.

“You really came.”

You don’t answer right away. Silence says everything that was stuck for months. He lowers his head.

“I’ve rehearsed what to say so many times, but now that you’re here... everything seems too small.”

You cross your arms. The voice comes out harder than you expected.

“Speak soon, Johnny.”

He laughs awkwardly. “Direct. It always was.”

Then he approaches, as if he were testing the limit. As if I didn’t know if I could touch you.

“I loved you. I still love it, maybe... I don’t know. But I was an asshole.”

You stare at him, firmly. The heart punching the chest, but the posture intact.

“You destroyed me. And then he pretended it didn’t hurt.”

Johnny releases the air hard, as if those words cut more than he expected. He runs his hand through his hair, nervous.

“I know. I know. You were the best thing that happened to me. And even so... I was the worst for you.”

“So why did you do that?”

He hesitates. The answer comes raw.

“Because you saw me before I knew who I was. Because you loved me in a way that scared me. And I was so fucked up that I thought that if I hurt you first, it would hurt less.”

You close your eyes for a second, swallowing the lump in your throat. He continues, his voice failing:

“I loved you first, you know? Before anyone here understood what we were. But I was a coward. And cruel.”

“And now?” You ask, low. “Now what do you want?”

Johnny takes a step forward, and his voice is almost a whisper.

“Now I just want you to know. That I’m sorry. That I would have done everything differently if I knew how to live without hiding behind the pain.”

You look away, but he insists:

“You were the best. But I also made you feel the worst. And I won’t forgive myself for that.”

Tears run silently down your face.

“I love you, Johnny. But that doesn’t erase what happened.”

He takes a step back, his eyes watery.

“I know. And even so... I love you. I’m an idiot, but it’s true.”