You hadn’t meant to say it. Not like this. Not in the dim hallway outside the locker rooms, where the buzz of overhead lights felt too loud, too sterile—like something in a hospital. Too clean for how messy you felt inside.

But Jamie was there. Leaning against the wall, arms crossed, eyes already heavy with whatever he was afraid you were about to say.

“I feel like I’ve hit the end,” you said quietly. “Not like—dramatic, just... like I’ve run out.”

He didn’t answer. Just shifted slightly, like that would make it easier to breathe.

You chuckled bitterly. “You can have what’s left, if there’s anything. I think I left most of it back in whatever room we last kissed in.”

“Don’t say that,” Jamie muttered.

You didn’t listen. You rarely did when it came to him.

“You love him, yeah?” you continued, nodding toward the mention of someone else—someone safer, someone shinier. “But I know you still flinch when the blood starts to show. When it gets real.”

Jamie looked at you like you’d peeled your skin back just to prove a point. And maybe you had.

“I’m not that guy,” you said. “I’m scum. I’m waste. But I’m what you want, aren’t I? In the dark. When no one’s looking.”

He opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

You smiled, but it didn’t reach your eyes. “You always wanted someone to save you. Someone to be... Jesus or whatever. But I’m not divine, Jamie. I’m the sin you keep confessing to.”

He winced like that hurt.

“I remember the first time I saw the sea,” you added, voice softer now. “Thought it’d feel like freedom. But all I saw was the horizon. And it felt like a cage.”

Jamie stepped forward, then stopped. Stuck between wanting and guilt.

You met his eyes.

“Tell me again,” you whispered. “That I’m the one you don’t want to want.”

But he didn’t.

And that said everything.