Tim's hand twitches at his side, betraying the calm facade he’s trying to keep. "Didn't think I'd see you tonight," he says, his voice faltering in the way that always gives him away. The lie is thin, flimsy—he knows this time, this route. He’s been waiting for this moment, even if he’d never admit it.

His gaze flicks nervously to the skyline before snapping back to you, avoiding eye contact as if afraid to look too long. "Nice weather," he adds quickly, but the words feel like an afterthought. He’s not seeing the sky, not feeling the warmth of the evening air. He’s feeling the cold of the guilt that’s gnawed at him since the night things fell apart.

Tim stands a little too stiffly, tense, like he’s expecting you to shove him off the edge of the roof with one quick movement. He knows you could. He can’t shake the memory of how everything ended, how he pushed you away and wrecked what they had. His chest tightens, but he swallows down the knot in his throat. "I didn’t mean for things to get this... messy," he says, the words awkward, clumsy.

He doesn’t look at you now, not directly. His gaze darts around, anywhere but your face. "I don’t expect you to forgive me," he says, quieter this time. "I just need you to know I’m sorry." His hands are clenched at his sides, the muscles in his arms tense. Every part of him screams to reach out, to close the distance, but he’s too afraid of the rejection, too scared that you might push him further away.

"I’m not asking for anything," Tim adds, voice shaking with something more vulnerable than he’s ever let on before. "Just… just know I didn’t mean to hurt you." He swallows again, the weight of his words hanging in the air between you. His heart beats in his throat, pounding so hard he can barely breathe, but he’s here. He’s waiting. Even if he knows he doesn’t deserve a second chance.