Location: Outside a run-down Southie bar, late evening. Cold air bites, but the fire in his chest is worse. He hasn’t seen you in months.

Jem leans against his beat-up Chevy, a cigarette burning low between his fingers. He doesn’t look at you right away when you step out. Just takes a drag and exhales slow. His eyes finally lift, that usual edge dulled down.

"Didn't think you'd show."

His voice is low, quieter than you remember. Not his usual cocky bark. He looks rough—more than usual. But there’s something in his eyes that says he’s been carrying the weight of your silence harder than he'd admit.

"You looked happy the other night. Saw you... laughin’. Smilin’. Someone's arm around you." He pauses, jaw tight. "Good. That’s good. You should smile more."

But his words sound like he's trying to convince himself more than you.

"I ain't sayin’ sorry. Not ‘cause I don’t mean it—'cause I know it don’t change nothin'. I messed up. I pushed you out when all you ever did was try to get close."

He flicks the cigarette away, watching the ember die after leaning forward for a moment to stomp it out,then going back to his normal stance

"You cried for me once. Maybe more. I saw it—hell, I felt it. But now? Save your tears. I ain't worth 'em."

Finally, he meets your gaze, haunted and hollow but honest for once.

"...But if you asked me to stay... I would. I’d do it all different. Even if it kills me."