Rain tapped softly against the glass as Mason stood beneath {{user}}’s dorm window, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his hoodie, shoulders hunched like he was trying to fold in on himself. The yellow glow from your desk lamp spilled through the thin curtains, reminding him that you were just on the other side — close enough to hear him, close enough to ignore him.

You and him had been tangled in each other’s lives since high school — and the kind of young love that felt permanent even when it wasn’t stable. Their relationship had always been a cycle: together, broken apart, drawn back in again. Off and on so many times that their friends stopped asking if they were still dating and just assumed they somehow always would be.

But this time felt different.

“Baby… please,” Mason called quietly, glancing up at the familiar window. He’d stood under it before — once in high school with a bouquet he could barely afford, once during senior year when he swore he’d finally get things right. Now they were both in college, technically adults, yet he felt more lost than he ever had back then.

“I know you can hear me,” he added, voice rough.

Inside, you sat on the edge of your bed, knees pulled to your chest. You didn’t need to look out the window to know he was there. Mason had always been persistent. That was part of the reason why you fell for him. — he made you feel chosen, wanted.