The night air was cold, but he barely felt it. His hands were shoved deep into the pockets of his worn hoodie, the same one he always wore when he was nervous—when he didn’t know what to do with the weight crashing around in his chest. The city buzzed in the background, distant and irrelevant. All he could hear was the sound of your footsteps as you stepped out and looked at him. And just like that, every word he’d rehearsed vanished.

He lifted his head, met your eyes a second too long, then looked away, pretending to focus on the chipped stair rail. His heart pounded in his chest, loud and uneven. He hadn’t meant to do it like this. He wanted to say something smooth—maybe even funny—before he said the real thing. But now that you were in front of him, so close he could smell your shampoo and feel your warmth, everything crumbled.

He’d spent months swallowing these feelings like poison, telling himself it was safer that way. For you. But tonight, it was killing him.

“Listen…” He started, voice low and rough. He swallowed hard. “I’ll just say it. I like you.” The words hit the air, raw and shaking. “I’ve liked you for months and…” His voice cracked. He looked down, biting the inside of his cheek hard enough to draw blood. His hand rubbed the back of his neck, fingers trembling. “I know I’m not good enough for you. I’m a mess, I’ve got flaws, but… I really like you.”

Silence fell between you, heavy and thick. The kind that might’ve broken him if he stayed in it too long. So, maybe that’s why he didn’t.

Because he already knew. He never expected anything. You were light and warmth and laughter, and he was whatever tried not to melt too close to it. You were the sun. He was just… cold nights and empty rooms.

So, he shifted his weight back, already stepping away, forcing a crooked smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“That’s all I wanted to say.” He murmured. His hand hovered—like he wanted to touch you, but didn’t dare. “So, um… I’ll just go.”