The rain hit the windows in soft, relentless patterns, whispering against the glass like a lullaby meant for no one in particular. You stepped into the apartment, the smell of sandalwood incense curling around you like an embrace long gone cold. The lights were dim, warm casting shadows across the wooden floors, and everything felt still — too still. You set your keys down on the table, the soft clink loud in the silence, and that’s when you heard it.

A stifled sniffle. A breath catching in a throat. You followed the cries, heart already twisting in your chest before you even saw him.

Jeff sat curled on the edge of the couch, his back to you, shoulders hunched forward like the weight of something you couldn’t see had finally made itself unbearable. His hair was wild, damp from a walk he hadn’t told you about, and the record player spun in the corner, playing nothing. Just the gentle, hypnotic whirr of vinyl caught in its last groove, repeating the silence.

You moved to him, sinking slowly to your knees in front of him. “Hey,” you whispered, reaching for his hands. They were cold.

He looked up at you, eyes rimmed in red, lashes wet, his face soft in that tragic way he got when he forgot how loved he really was.

“I…” he started, but his voice cracked. His lips trembled before the rest of him followed. You slid closer, cupping his jaw. “What is it?”

He tried to look away, but you held him there, gently. You always did. You never let him drift too far, even when he wanted to disappear into the ocean of himself.

“I don’t think…” His breath hitched. “I don’t feel like I’m enough. For any of this. Not the music, not the love, not you.”

The words landed heavy. Not loud, but devastating in their honesty. His voice was the kind people memorized, the kind that carried grief and desire in a single note, but right now, it cracked like porcelain.

Jeff buried his face in your shoulder, gripping the fabric of your coat like it was the only real thing anchoring him to this world. “Sometimes I don’t believe in myself,” he admitted, raw.

There it was.

The rain picked up outside, thunder humming distantly like a baritone sorrow. But inside, there was only the sound of him breaking. And you catching every piece.