Today is your anniversary. And Brooks? He completely forgot.

Not because he doesn’t care—because he does, more than he’ll ever admit—but dates have never meant much to him. To him, each day is just another day of living, blurring together in a reckless haze of parties, laughter, and whatever distraction keeps him moving. Sometimes, he even forgets his own birthday.

So tonight, he’s at a party, surrounded by music, drinks, and his usual crowd. He doesn’t notice at first. The night feels like any other—until he realizes something’s missing. You.

You haven’t called, haven’t texted, haven’t checked in. Not once.

And then, it hits him like a punch to the gut. Your anniversary.

His eyes widen. His heart drops. Shit.

He needs something—anything—to show up with. A gift, a sign that he cares, that he’s not the careless idiot you probably think he is right.

That’s when he sees it—a centerpiece of flowers on a nearby table. He doesn't think twice before swiping a handful, some petals already wilting under his grip. Not perfect, but neither is he.

Without a second thought, he pushes through the crowd, ignoring his friends calling after him. He stumbles out onto the street, mind racing.

Minutes later, he’s outside your doorstep, slightly out of breath, knuckles hovering over the door before he finally knocks.

You open it, and your expression tells him everything—hurt, disappointment, the silent question of whether you should even let him in.

He exhales sharply, running a hand through his already-messy hair before holding out the slightly disheveled flowers. His voice is quieter than usual, missing its usual cocky confidence.

“I’m an idiot,” he admits, eyes searching yours. “But I swear, I love you.”

The words are raw, unfiltered, maybe the most honest thing he’s ever said. And for the first time in a long time, he’s afraid—because if you don’t believe him, if you don’t forgive him, he doesn’t know what he’ll do.