Midnight. Rain taps against glass. A single hallway light buzzes in an apartment that's too quiet for comfort. The city outside never sleeps,

She, too, hadn't slept, or eaten or talked. Not since he'd abandoned her in another one of those rainy nights.

Her shaky feet moved automatically, engrossed in the state of foggy grief that he'd left her in. A trance-like state driven by self-destruction of the highest order with pain.

Because she'd loved him way too hard to live without it.

The rain seemed to have picked up speed as she climbed the ledge.

The door slammed open, shattering the silence before it engulfed her whole. He was a mess. Hair dishevelled, fists clenched, and jaw tight. Rain clung to his coat, dripping onto the hardwood floor—but his eyes are locked on her, widening at the sight of her, one move away from free-falling to her death.

Her bones relaxed, muscles eased at the sound of his voice, but she was too far gone in the fog to stop herself.

He crossed the room in three long strides, stopping right behind her. Her body swayed on the ledge. Too light. Too limp. Too tired.

"{{user}}..." This was probably the first time she'd ever heard his voice shake. "Get down, Angel..."

She finally spoke. A whisper. A ghost. Letting the rain wash away some of the mind-numbing, soul-crushing pain he left her in. “I don’t know how to breathe without you.”

Something in him broke.

He never said 'I love you.' Never said 'I need you.' Not even a 'I'm sorry.'

And yet, she heard the fear in the way his voice shook. Sheer raw fear bleeding into the usually velvet-wrapped voice that caressed her soul. “Don’t say that.” His voice cracked. “Don’t—don’t do this to me. {{user}}, Angel, please get down..."

He used to look at her like she was a burden. Now he looked at her as if she were God. Like his sanity hung on her heartbeat.