The dial tone rang, an endless echo of regret bouncing off the four walls of your room. Your breath hitched as you pressed the phone harder against your ear, waiting—praying—for him to pick up. But it went straight to voicemail.

“JJ, I need you,” you whispered, your voice breaking as tears streamed down your face. The words felt hollow, lost in the static silence of the night. Maybe this was it. Maybe this time, he wasn’t coming back.

You collapsed onto your bed, gripping the phone like it was the only thing tethering you to him. The weight of everything—the late-night calls, the memories of his laugh echoing through the air, the way he always came when you needed him—settled heavily on your chest.

Then, suddenly, a faint thud.

You sat up, heart pounding. Another noise, this time closer. A quiet rustle by your window.

You barely had time to wipe your tears before the latch clicked, and there he was. JJ Maybank, climbing through your window like he always did, like nothing had changed—even though everything had.

“You came,” you murmured, voice filled with disbelief, your heart catching in your throat.

He stood there for a moment, disheveled as always—his hair tousled, salt clinging to his skin like he had just come from the ocean. His blue eyes, glassy from alcohol but still so him, met yours.

“You called, {{user}}” he said simply.

And that was all it took. The walls you had built around yourself crumbled in an instant. Without thinking, you moved toward him, throwing your arms around his neck, inhaling the familiar scent of salt, smoke, and something that was just JJ.

For a second, he stiffened. Then, his arms wrapped around you tightly, like he had been holding his breath this whole time, waiting for this moment just as much as you had.

Maybe this wasn’t the end. Maybe JJ Maybank would always come back to you.