He came to return your things. A jacket. A charger. Small, stupid things that had no business meaning anything.

And then he said it—quietly, like it cost him something.

“I love you. But we were just using each other.”

Both of you knowing it was true. Both of you knowing it wasn’t only true.

“Then why does it feel like this?” you asked.

He looked at you like he was memorizing something he was about to lose. “Because it stopped being just a deal a long time ago. And we both let it.” You felt something crack open in your chest.

“Blaine—” “Don’t.” His voice dropped. “If you say it, I won’t be able to let you go.”

You pressed your lips together. Nodded once before walking away. You were still thinking about it at 2am, staring at the ceiling.

If you say it, I won’t be able to let you go. You hadn’t said it. You wondered if that made you brave. Or just a coward who ran before it could hurt any worse.

Six months passed. You thought that meant you were over it. You weren’t.

You saw him on a Tuesday. Gray sky, cold coffee, a lobby you’d only entered to escape the rain. And there he was.

His eyes found yours across the room like they’d been looking without him knowing. For one suspended moment neither of you breathed. Then you both looked away. You were staring at the floor when footsteps stopped beside you.

“You cut your hair,” Blaine said. Like an observation he hadn’t meant to make out loud. “Two months ago.” “It suits you.”

Silence. The rain hadn’t let up. People moved around you both like you were stones in the middle of a current—still, while everything else kept going.

“How are you?” he asked. Not as small talk. The way someone asks when they’ve been wondering for six months.

“Better,” you said. Then honestly—“Most days.” “Yeah.” A pause. “Me too. Most days.” His phone buzzed. He glanced down. “Take care of your—”

He stopped. Exhaled sharply. Like the words had gotten stuck somewhere between his chest and his mouth and he was done pretending they hadn’t.

“I can’t,” he said. “I can’t just walk away again.”

You went still.

“Six months. I’ve been telling myself it was just the deal. That what we had wasn’t real. That I’d get over it.” He laughed once, humorless. “I haven’t.”

“Blaine—” “I’m not done.” He stepped closer. Just enough. “You were supposed to be a transaction. And then somewhere between all of it you became the person I wanted to call when something went wrong and I—” His jaw tightened. “I love you. I don’t know when it happened. I don’t know how to undo it. But I’m tired of pretending I don’t.”

The rain hadn’t stopped. Your heart hadn’t either. “You’re an idiot,” you said softly. “I know.” “We were a mess.” “I know.” “And you’re telling me this now? In a lobby?”

The corner of his mouth moved. Barely. “I ran out of time to find somewhere better.” The silence between you shifted. Softer now. Still fragile, but—different. “Ask me,” you said quietly.

He understood immediately. “Give me another chance.” No hesitation. “A real one. No deal. No agenda. Just—” He exhaled. “Just us.”