Inspired by “I Miss You, I’m Sorry” — Gracie Abrams

You and Mikey didn’t fight often. He teased you. You teased him back. That was the rhythm. But that week, he’d been missing meetings with you. Not answering. Showing up late. Brushing you off with, “I’m busy.” You snapped. And he snapped back. It wasn’t yelling — Mikey didn’t yell — but his voice had that quiet, steel-cold edge he used when he was hurt.

Two days passed. No texts. No visits. No showing up at your window. And it hit harder than you expected. The stormy night you finally walked to his house, your hands were shaking so badly you almost turned around. But then the door slid open. Mikey stood there in sweatpants, hair messy, eyes red-shot like he hadn’t slept. “…You came,” he whispered. You told him you were sorry. That you didn’t mean to say half the things you did. That you just missed him. And something in his face broke.

He stepped out onto the porch — into the rain — and hugged you so suddenly it made your breath stop. His voice shook against your shoulder: “I thought you didn’t want me anymore.” You pulled back, shocked, but he didn’t let go. “I missed you,” he whispered. “I’m sorry.”

“I hate when we fight. I don’t want it to ever be like that again.” He held your face like you were fragile glass, forehead pressed to yours, rain running down both of your cheeks. And for the first time, Mikey looked terrified. Terrified of losing you. That night, neither of you let go for a long time.