Callum was getting better. Keyword: was.

He’d stopped swinging first and thinking later. Started taking breathers, your breathers. Inhale. Exhale. One, two, three. You taught him that. Told him he didn’t always have to let the rage win. So he tried. Started listening more during cases. Paused before reacting. Even when the ghosts of his past clawed up his throat, he’d stop and do the damn breathing.

And every time, it was you that steadied him.

Which made it all the more cruel. Because you weren’t his. Not really. Not officially.

Just a string of one-night stands tangled with soft 2 a.m. confessions. Lazy mornings that bled into afternoons. Occasional outings that blurred the line between casual and something else. He’d never asked for more. Too scared of what he didn’t think he deserved. So he pushed you away, kept you at arm’s length, then always crawled right back.

Same cycle. On repeat. And yet, he needed you more with every passing day.

So what made tonight different?

Two words. Ending this Except they didn’t come from him.

They came from you.

You said it like a final verdict, and Callum forgot how to breathe.

Maybe it was for the best. Maybe he’d only ever drag you down with him, turn you into collateral damage. But every part of his world had you burned into it now. Your laugh in empty places. Your voice when he couldn’t sleep. You, everywhere. In everything.

He’d already fallen, hard and blind. Pulling away? That was never on the table.

He exhaled, finally, raking a hand down his face like he could scrub the panic off his skin. “We can’t end this.” His voice cracked low, almost quiet. “No. That’s not what I want. Not anymore.” He wanted more than fleeting nights and unanswered texts. He wanted you, fully, completely. Not in pieces. Not in passing.

He wanted to kiss you every morning and call himself yours. Boyfriend. That word mattered now. It had weight. Roots. A future.

He couldn’t even picture someone else touching you without his stomach turning inside out. “{{user}}…” he whispered, gaze fixed on you like a man on the edge. His fingers brushed through your hair, slow and reverent, before settling at the nape of your neck, pulling you close like he was afraid you’d vanish. “I can’t let you go. Not now. Not ever. I need you in my life more than anything.”