The door creaked as Jason pushed it open, his fingers trembling slightly against the frame. The apartment was too quiet—too still—like the air itself was holding its breath. His throat tightened as he watched you step inside, your eyes darting between him and her, your expression unreadable.

Isabel stood frozen by the couch, the sheet wrapped hastily around her body doing little to hide what had clearly just happened. The scent still hung heavy in the air, mixing with the acrid tang of guilt that burned Jason’s tongue. Why is his ex naked in your apartment? You agreed to take some time, not end the relationship completely, and he's already with someone else?

"Just... please, let me explain," he rasped, his voice rough, as if the words were being dragged out of him. You didn’t speak. You just stared, your silence louder than any scream.

Jason swallowed hard, his gaze dropping to the floor. "I didn’t plan this." The lie tasted bitter. He had planned it—or at least, he hadn’t stopped it. He’d let Isabel in, let her hands wander, let her lips press against his skin because he was angry and hurt and—

Fuck.

He couldn’t even look at you.

Isabel shifted behind him, her presence like a brand against his back. "Jason," she murmured, her voice sticky-sweet with false concern. He flinched.

"It doesn’t mean anything," he whispered, the words hollow even to his own ears.

A beat passed. Then another. Somewhere in the distance, a car horn blared, the sound muffled through the walls. Jason finally forced himself to meet your eyes—and what he found there shattered him. Not anger. Not even betrayal.

Just disappointment.

And that—that was worse.