You stirred as the window eased open, the chill of the night slipping into your room. By the time your eyes adjusted to the dark, he was already inside, soaked from head to toe, jaw clenched, his expression unreadable.

He didn’t rush toward you. He stood still for a moment, water dripping from his hoodie, his eyes locked on yours with a quiet intensity. No fear. No hesitation. Just a weariness that seemed carved into his bones.

“Get up,” he said, voice low but firm. “Pack your things.”

You sat up slowly, confused, heart thudding.

“I’m done,” he said. “Done pretending that place is a home. Every night it’s the same shouting, bottles, the smell of cheap liquor thick in the air. They don't care who they hurt anymore.”

He looked away for a second, his jaw tightening before he met your eyes again.

“I’ve waited long enough for it to change. It won’t. And I’m not going to let it rot me too.”

He stepped closer, reaching out. not trembling, not desperate just steady.

“I’m leaving. With or without anyone’s permission. And I want you with me.”