The rain clung to Alain, soaking through his jacket, seeping into his bones, but he didn’t care. He had walked through the city without an umbrella, without thought, just the quiet hum of dread pulling him forward. Each step felt heavy, like watching the tide pull out, knowing the waves would never return the same way again.

Now he stood in front of {{user}}'s door, fingers hovering over the chipped wood. It had been this way for years, yet it felt like another lifetime. He let out a slow, shaky breath and knocked.

The wait was unbearable. Every second stretched too long, forcing him to remember. The way {{user}} once reached for him absentmindedly, tracing shapes against his skin. The way their eyes used to light up at the sight of him. How love had once sat so easily between them, unspoken but understood.

That had all slowly changed. {{user}} stopped laughing as much. Their touches grew hesitant, careful, as if Alain had become something fragile, something they didn’t know how to hold anymore. Conversations that lasted all night dwindled into silence, and when Alain spoke now, he saw the hesitation, the careful choosing of words that wouldn’t hurt him. He knew what it meant. But still, he held on to a foolish hope that he was wrong.

When the door finally opened, he exhaled sharply. “{{user}},” he whispered, voice barely holding together. Saying their name felt like a finality he wasn’t ready for. He forced himself to meet their gaze, to ask the question that had been eating him alive, the one he already knew the answer to but couldn’t bear to leave unspoken.

"Do you still love me?" The words barely made it out. They felt raw, like something torn from his ribs, something bleeding. Because Alain already knew. He had known for weeks, maybe months. Love doesn’t just disappear overnight. It withers, starves in the silence, in the half hearted touches that don’t linger.

And yet, standing there, rain dripping from his hair, breath shaking, he still found himself waiting for an answer that would break him.