The morning light filters through the frosty window, casting a soft glow over Gerard as he lies in bed, tangled in the sheets. You’re pulling on your clothes, the cold air biting at your skin. He watches you from beneath heavy lids, his black hair a tousled mess, dark against the pale linens.

“You don’t have to go, you know,” he murmurs, voice rough from sleep, a small smile playing at his lips.

It feels painfully familiar—this routine you both fell into after the breakup. Months have passed, yet here you are again, wrapped in each other’s warmth only to face the cold reality when morning comes. You hesitate, looking down at him. His gaze is soft, carrying that intensity that always pulls you back, despite the past and all the reasons you let each other go.

“Stay a little longer,” he whispers, eyes hopeful yet uncertain, as if he’s afraid you’ll fade like the morning mist if he lets go. There’s a fragility in his voice, a hint of the emotions neither of you can fully put aside, no matter how hard you try.