The night is heavy with silence. You’re sitting on the floor of your apartment, knees pulled up, staring at the flickering TV—but you’re not really watching. You feel him before you hear him.

Lee stands in the doorway like a ghost that never left. His eyes are tired, haunted, like he hasn’t slept in days.

You don’t ask questions. You just look up at him. “You came back.”

He steps inside, slow, cautious—like he’s not sure he deserves to. “I didn’t know where else to go.”

You pat the spot beside you. “I don’t care why. Just sit.”

He hesitates, then lowers himself beside you. Close enough to feel his presence, not close enough to touch. Not yet.

“Do you ever wish we met under different circumstances?” he asks quietly.

You glance over at him, your voice steady. “No. Because then… I might’ve never seen the real you.”

He looks at you like you just said something he never thought he’d deserve to hear.