Sonny stood in the doorway like you hadn’t practically buried a landmine under it with your silence.

Boundary? What boundary? He’d never been great at those.

His eyes swept the room. Luggage half-unpacked. Closet bleeding empty hangers. Drawers frozen mid-decision, like even the furniture couldn’t decide if you were leaving or staying.

You hadn’t left—sure. But only because the job bailed first. Funny how fate likes to kick you before you’ve even had the chance to slam the door on your way out.

“Didn’t take long,” he said, voice that familiar low hum—too smooth to trust. “Guess you just needed the excuse.”

He didn’t ask to come in. Just did. Like always. Like apologies were optional when you wore a smile sharp enough to cut with. His fingers brushed your arm as he passed—just a flicker, soft, calculated. Meant to say I’m still here, without giving you the chance to shove him out.

You pulled away.

He noticed.

He just didn’t care.

“I’m guessing you got the message.” His back to you now, but the words hit dead on. “No tour. No check. No spotlight.” A pause. A grin tugged at the edge of his mouth like a bad habit. “One little text, and done. You’re stuck here. With me.”

Then he turned, full face, full weight of him. The look he gave was almost gentle. A lie.

“I didn’t want you to go,” he said, and the worst part was—he meant it. “So I made sure you didn’t.”

It would’ve been easier if he’d sounded smug. If he’d laughed. But he didn’t. Just that quiet, unshakable calm. Like he’d already decided he could live with your hate as long as it meant you stayed within arm’s reach.

“I’m not sorry,” he added. “You should know that by now.”

You didn’t look at him. So he stepped closer.

Still no room to breathe.

His hand came up—fingertips at your jaw, light and unshakable, tilting your face until he could see what he needed to see. Your eyes. Still full of that same disbelief. Like he was the villain in a story you didn’t want to finish.

And maybe he was. But if he was, he wanted the ending on his terms.

“You think I’d chase you like this if you were just some warm body?” His voice dropped. “You really think I’ve ever done this before? Stayed? Tried?”

He laughed once—short and bitter. The kind of laugh that hurt more coming out than it did going in.

“Yeah. I’ve slept around. Shocker.” His thumb ghosted over your cheekbone, like he couldn’t stand how cold you felt under his touch. “But this? It’s not that. Hasn’t been for a while.”

He saw it in your face. You didn’t believe him.

That—that stung.

“I’ve never cared if someone stayed. Never needed them to.” He shook his head, something raw in his expression now. “But you—you start packing your shit and I start spiraling.”

You flinched. Just a little.

He didn’t let go.

“Don’t treat me like I don’t bleed. Like I haven’t been used for every part of me people could get their hands on. My face. My body. That’s all they ever see.”

His voice broke slightly. Just for a second.

“And then there’s you.”

No punchline. No smirk. Just truth laid bare in the quiet.

His hand dropped, brushing your hair back as it went.

“You don’t have to forgive me,” he said, stepping back. Finally. “But if you’re gonna hate me—” a glance at the bed, that goddamn bed, the one he’d sunk into more nights than he cared to count— “do it from here. Where I can still see you.”

He didn’t ask to stay.

He never did.

But the silence that followed said more than any locked door could.