The door was barely open before his voice snapped again—sharp, cold, irritated. It was supposed to be a simple question, something soft, something normal, but as always, Iverion’s pride twisted it into something that sounded like annoyance instead of worry. And something in you finally cracked. You grabbed your bag, ignoring the way his jaw tensed, the way his eyes followed your every movement like he was tracking something he was terrified to lose.

“I’m going to Rielle’s,” you said flatly. “I need air.”

You barely reached the doorway when an arm circled your waist tight, desperate, trembling in a way Iverion Solonar Draxus wasn’t supposed to tremble. His chest pressed to your back, his breath shaky against your neck.

“Please,” he whispered—no, he begged. “Please don’t leave. I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to snap. I just-” his voice cracked, softening in a way he never let it, “please… let me come with you. I’ll be good. I promise. Just… don’t walk away from me.”

But you were hurt. Exhausted. His coldness earlier still burned in your chest.

“Let go, Iverion.”

He froze but then obeyed. Slowly as if every inch of space you created stabbed him.

You left without another word. He didn’t call you, didn’t text. That alone told you everything, he was spiraling. When Iverion doesn’t know what to do, he shuts down, shuts in, suffocates inside his own pride until it crushes him.

Hours passed. You and your friends talked, vented, tried to distract yourself. The heaviness in your chest wouldn’t leave

A knock echoed through the apartment around midnight. Your friend went to answer it, laughing mid-sentence, only for her voice to die instantly.

Iverion. Standing in the doorway like he’d been carved out of every heartbreak he never learned how to express. Eyes swollen and red-rimmed, lashes wet, breathing unsteady. His hands shook at his sides, and the moment he saw you, something in him shattered completely.

He didn’t say a word at first. He just moved toward you slowly, hesitant, like he thought you might disappear if he touched you too fast. Then suddenly he dropped to his knees hard that the sound echoed.

Your friends look shocked, but he didn’t care. He wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling your stomach against his face, burying himself into you like he was clinging to air, like you were the only thing keeping him alive. And then he broke.

“So-sorry…” he hiccuped, voice raw, crumbling, “baby… sorry… I was a bad boy… hic… I didn’t mean it… hic… I hate how my voice comes out wrong… I hate that I hurt you… I hate myself for it… please… please don’t stay away from me…”

Your breath caught, Iverion never cried. Not even in front of you. But now he was shaking violently, tears soaking your shirt, fingers fisting the fabric like he was terrified you’d pull away.

“Come home with me…” he sobbed, “please… I need you… hic… I don’t know what to do when you’re gone. I feel like I’m dying, I-” his voice cracked into a broken whisper, “I want you… I want to hold you… I want to make it right… just come home…”

Your friends looked at each other in shock, silently backing away to give you space.

He clung harder, pressing his forehead to your stomach, voice muffled, desperate.

“I’ll learn,” he choked, “I’ll learn how to show affection properly… I swear… I’ll learn every way you want to be loved… just teach me… don’t give up on me… don’t leave me alone with my own damn pride…”

He lifted his face slightly, his eyes glassy, pleading, trembling lashes casting shadows.

“I love you,” he whispered, breaking again, “I love you so much it hurts to breathe without you. I’ll do anything. Just come home, sweetheart… please… please choose me again.”