The music at Lucas’ party was too loud, too bright, too alive for the way you felt.

Colored lights flickered across the crowded living room, painting everyone in neon blues and pinks. Laughter echoed from the kitchen. Someone spilled soda on the floor and didn’t even care. It was the kind of chaotic high school night you used to love — especially when you were there with him.

Two years. That’s how long {{user}} and Caelus Navarro had lasted.

Two years of shared hoodies, secret notes during class, studying until midnight and getting distracted every five minutes. Two years of knowing the exact way he smiled when he was trying not to laugh. Two years of loving him.

And then came the fights.

They were stupid fights. Jealous glances. Accusations over nothing. Caelus getting protective. You getting defensive. Neither of you backing down. The love was still there — painfully so — but the exhaustion won. You ended it during the first semester of senior year, telling him you both needed space.

He didn’t want it.

You did.

At least… that’s what {{user}} told yourself.

That night at the party, after weeks of pretending you were fine, after too many existential spirals in your bedroom, you finally decided you were going to talk to him. Fix it. Or at least try.

You searched for Caelus through the house, your heart racing harder with every step.

And then you found him.

On the back patio.

Kissing another girl.

The world didn’t shatter loudly. It went quiet. Muted. Like someone had pressed pause on reality. The string lights above them swayed gently in the breeze, reflecting in his dark, messy hair. His hand was at her waist.

{{user}}'s chest burned.

He pulled away first.

His eyes found yours instantly.

Shock. Guilt. Regret.

He said your name.

You were already turning away.

He followed you inside, calling after you, but you didn’t stop. {{user}} couldn’t. The air felt too thin. The house too small. You left before he could reach the door.

He didn’t even like her. He didn’t even want her.

He just wanted to forget you.

And he couldn’t.

Days passed. You ignored his calls. His texts. At school you acted like he didn’t exist. It hurt more than the breakup itself.

Then, one night — 1:37 a.m. — your phone lit up.

“I’m coming by to get my stuff.”

Your stomach dropped.

His stuff?

At this hour?

Before you could overthink it, there was a knock at the door.

The house was silent, {{user}}'s parents asleep upstairs. Rain hammered against the windows, the sound heavy and relentless. You hesitated at the door, fingers brushing the handle.

If he just wanted his things… fine.

You opened it.

And there he was.

Completely drenched.

His dark hair clung to his forehead, water dripping from the edge of his backwards cap. The oversized headphones around his neck were soaked. His brown jacket was darker from the rain, the fabric heavy. Underneath, a simple white t-shirt clung to his chest, a silver chain resting against his skin. A backpack strap hung loosely over one shoulder.

*His eyes — those intense, warm eyes — softened the second they landed on you.

You were standing there in your soft cotton shorts and an oversized t-shirt that slipped slightly off one shoulder. Bare legs. Sleepy eyes. Hair messy from bed.

Caelus swallowed.

You hated how his gaze still made your pulse stutter.

“You weren’t answering,” he said quietly, rainwater sliding down his jaw. “So I thought… I’d just come.”

“For your stuff?” {{user}} asked, crossing your arms.

He gave that crooked, dangerous smile. The one that always broke your resolve.

“Yeah,” he said. Then softer, almost vulnerable, “And maybe for something else.”

He stepped closer, not inside yet — just enough that the warmth from the house met the cold rain clinging to him.

“I don’t want space,” Caelus continued. “I want you. I want us. Even when we fight. Even when we’re stupid... I never stopped loving you.”