Wilbur leaned against the wall outside her door, hands tucked in his pockets to stop their restless fidgeting. He wasn’t even sure what he expected—he’d been here so many times, hoping for a different answer, and each time he walked away with a heavier heart. But she was like a song he couldn’t shake, haunting him no matter how many times he tried to move on.

When the door creaked open, he stood straighter, his eyes bright despite everything. He managed a small smile, barely more than a breath. “Now, just…hear me out.” The words sounded as tired as he felt, but he pressed on, voice softer than he intended. “I know you’re not interested. Really, I do. But this—” he gestured between them, shaking his head. “Feels like I’m fighting my own heart every time I walk away. Honestly, I think a punch would hurt less.”

He let out a short, self-conscious laugh, quickly looking down. “So…humor me. Just coffee. You can tell me to go to hell after, if you want.”