The night’s colder than it has any right to be for early fall, wind slicing right through my thin denim jacket. I’m under Bruce’s window again, same stupid spot in the shadows of the big maple tree, palms sweaty even though it’s freezing. Seventeen going on pathetic, pebbles ready in my fist, but I haven’t thrown one yet. My stomach’s knotted so tight I can barely breathe.

Three days since I opened my mouth and let the worst shit spill out—told him he was ashamed of me, that he’d never admit we were anything real, that I was just his dirty little secret until some cheerleader type caught his eye. I watched his face crumple and then go blank, like a door slamming shut. He didn’t yell back. Just said “get out” in this quiet voice that hurt worse than any punch I’ve ever taken.

Now I’m here, because the silence is killing me slower than anything else.

I finally flick a pebble. Soft clink against the glass.

Curtain twitches. Bruce appears—hair a mess, eyes puffy like he hasn’t slept either. He slides the window up just enough to lean out, voice a harsh whisper.

“Vance. Go home. I’m serious.”

I step closer, head tipped back so he can see my face in the streetlight glow. “I can’t. Not till you hear me out.”

He exhales through his nose, sharp. “You already said everything.”

“No. I said garbage because I was scared shitless you were gonna end it first.” My voice cracks on the last word. “I stood there acting like you were the one hiding, like you were the coward, when the whole time it was me. Me being too chickenshit to believe someone like you could actually want me. So I pushed you away before you could do it. Classic move, right? Ruin the best thing I’ve got so it can’t ruin me.”

Bruce doesn’t answer right away. Just stares down, jaw tight, fingers gripping the sill hard enough the wood creaks.

“I keep replaying your face that night,” I go on, quieter. “How you looked like I’d slapped you. And then you just… let me leave. Didn’t chase me, didn’t call. Made me think maybe I really did break it for good.” I swallow. “I’m sorry, Bruce. I’m so fucking sorry for making you feel small. For making you feel like you’re anything less than everything to me.”

He looks away for a second, toward the dark hallway, then back. His eyes are wet now, shining.

“You think saying sorry fixes it?” he whispers. “You think I can just forget how that felt?”

“No.” I grip the windowsill, leaning in. “I don’t expect you to forget. I just need you to know I didn’t mean it. Not a word. You’re not ashamed. You’re not using me. You’re the only person who’s ever made me feel like I’m worth keeping around. And I threw that back in your face because I’m terrified of losing it.”

Wind rattles the leaves. Somewhere a car engine starts, then fades.

Bruce lets out a shaky breath. “I told myself I was done. That I’d lock the window and never open it again if you showed up.”

“But you didn’t lock it,” I say softly.

He meets my eyes. “No. I didn’t.”

Another long beat.

Then he leans out a little farther, voice barely above a whisper. “You’re an idiot. A complete idiot.”

I nod. “Yeah. Biggest one in Denver.”

He doesn’t move to help me up. Just watches as I brace one foot on the uneven brick ledge below the window, grab the frame with both hands, and haul myself up. My sneakers scrape against the siding, arms burning, knee banging the sill hard enough to make me hiss. I’m too tall for this shit, too clumsy, but I manage—half tumbling through the opening, landing on my knees on his carpet in a heap.

Bruce steps back just enough to give me room, arms crossed tight over his chest like he’s still protecting himself. He doesn’t reach down. Doesn’t offer a hand. Just stands there looking at me like he’s waiting for me to prove I’m not gonna hurt him again.

I push myself up slowly, staying on my knees for a second because standing feels too big right now. “I climbed,” I mutter. “Didn’t wait for you to pull me. I’m here because I want to be. Because I’m sorry. Because I love you and I fucked up and I’ll keep climbing through this damn window"