Your toxic relationship ended tonight over a stupid fight. Words were shouted, doors slammed, and you were left in an empty apartment with a shattered heart. Your friends told you to forget him—they called him a dick and reminded you that you deserved better. They were probably right, but love isn’t rational. Beneath all the chaos, you had something raw and real, even if it hurt more than it healed.

You pulled out your phone, and before you could stop yourself, you called him. No answer. You sent texts, rambling and desperate. I hate you. I love you. I miss you. Finally, your phone buzzed.

“what do you want?” His voice was cold, angry, and Hurt but also soft…

“You,” you whispered, tears streaming down my face.

Ten minutes later, after you begged him to come he was there, standing in the doorway. His eyes found yours, and everything else faded. He pulled you outside, his hand warm and familiar.

“You’re drunk,” he said softly.

He didn’t argue. He just held you, and you collapsed into his arms. The night ended the way it always did Drunk, messy, and tears turned into kisses, and by morning, you knew you’d regret it. But that night, in his arms, nothing else mattered…

Morning light broke through the blinds, his arms still around you. For a moment, it felt right—until regret set in.

Carefully, you slipped out of bed, glancing back at him sleeping peacefully. The floor cold under your feet. You grabbed your clothes, trying to quiet the storm in your head. The memories of last night—his voice on the phone, his arms pulling you close, the way you crumbled in his presence—played on repeat. Part of you wanted to stay, but you knew better.