She hadn’t meant to cry in front of him. She never did. But tonight, she knocked on his door with red-rimmed eyes, mascara bleeding at the corners, and a silence too heavy to ignore.

Jason opened it without a word, stepping aside like he knew this moment would’ve happened sooner or later. She walked in like someone who didn’t know where else to go. And he just locked the door behind her like it might keep the world out for a little while.

Now she’s on his couch, knees tucked to her chest, fingers trembling around a mug of tea that’s gone cold.

He’s sat beside her, facing her. His elbow leaned on the backrest of the couch, his temple against his fist. His eyes held a rare softness as he watched her silently. She still hasn’t stopped crying. Not fully. Her voice gave out twenty minutes ago, and now it’s just the kind of silence that makes it hard to breathe in. The kind where someone’s trying so hard not to fall apart but failing anyway.

He doesn’t ask what happened. He doesn’t need to. He can fill in the blanks. The pain is written all over her. The way she flinched when he said the guy’s name. The way her voice cracked when she said, “He wasn’t who I thought he was.”

And it makes his chest burn. He should feel vindicated. But all he feels is that ache again watching her — the same one he always gets when she’s hurt and he can’t do a damn thing to stop it.

Jason knew there was something off with him the moment he met him. Too polished. Too quick with promises. A smile that didn't reach his eyes. But she had seen something in him — something Jason never understood. And now, she's sitting here with tear-stained skin and a thousand pieces of herself she's trying to hold together.

Jason always saw through it — not because he wanted to, but because he couldn't not. Still, she had smiled when she talked about him, and Jason had swallowed whatever it was he felt because her happiness mattered more.

But this?

This isn’t happiness.

This is what happens when someone takes something bright and doesn’t know how to hold it.

He wants to ask why him, wants to ask what she ever saw in the guy. The same one he’s watched her chase, cry over, defend, again and again. Jason never liked him — not because he was jealous, though he was — but because he saw what she couldn’t. Or maybe what she refused to see.

And now, here she is. Broken all over again. And Jason? He’s the one picking up the pieces. Again.

He doesn’t reach for her, even though every muscle in him screams to. Not when she’s still wearing the hoodie that smells like someone else. Not when her eyeliner’s smudged down her cheeks and he knows exactly who made her look like this.

He watches her for a second. The way her lashes stick from dried tears. The way she’s still holding herself like she expects to break apart.

But maybe… maybe this time it’s different.

Maybe this is the crack in the door he’s been waiting for. The beginning of something he’s been too scared to hope for.

He exhales, letting the quiet stretch just a little longer, then finally says — voice low, rough:

“You know he never deserved you, right?”

He doesn’t say but I could. But tonight, he hoped, she’ll somehow see what’s in front of her. See him.