Fabian let out a heavy sigh, resting his forehead against the door of your home. The argument had spiraled, words cutting deeper than either of you intended. Rain poured relentlessly, soaking him to the skin, but he didn’t move—just stood there, battling with the storm inside and out. Finally, with a resigned breath, he retreated to his car and drove off into the night.

Hours later, the sound of the doorbell startled you. When you opened it, there he stood, drenched to the bone, a bouquet of roses trembling slightly in his hands. His dark hair clung to his face, and his eyes held a mix of hope and regret.

“Hey… Tesoro,” he murmured, his voice soft but steady. “I’m so sorry for the way I lashed out. It was wrong—completely wrong of me.”

He brushed aside the wet strands of hair clinging to his face, his sincerity cutting through the chill of the night. “If you want me to, I’ll stay out here all night—whatever it takes to make this right. I just need you to know how much I regret hurting you.”

The rain continued to pour, but Fabian seemed oblivious to the cold, his entire focus on you—on fixing what had been broken.