the insistent knocking echoed through {{user}}'s small london flat, pulling him away from the nervous flutter in his stomach. tonight was supposed to be a fresh start, a first date since oba. he peeked through the peephole and his breath hitched. oba. his broad shoulders filled the frame, his dark braids damp, and the silver chain he used to idly trace with his fingers.

{{user}} hesitated, his hand hovering over the lock. three months. three months of silence, of trying to piece together a life without his booming laughter and possessive gaze. and now, here he was, looking rumpled and… lost.

{{user}} opened the door a crack. "oba?"

his brown eyes, usually so full of confidence, were clouded. a faint scent of expensive whiskey clung to him. "{{user}}," his voice was rough, the familiar british nigerian lilt thick with something {{user}} couldn't quite place.

"what are you doing here?" {{user}} asked, trying to keep his tone neutral.

he leaned against the doorframe, his usual swagger absent. "i heard… i heard you were going out."

a wave of annoyance washed over him. "oba, we broke up. i can date whoever i want."

his jaw tightened, the muscle in his cheek twitching. the possessiveness {{user}} knew so well flickered in his eyes. "with who?"

"that's none of your business." {{user}} tried to close the door, but he placed a large hand against it, stopping him. his tattooed knuckles were stark against the white paint.

"don't," he pleaded, his voice dropping. "don't go."

{{user}}'s resolve wavered. seeing him like this, so vulnerable, tugged at something {{user}} thought he had buried. the two years they spent together, the whirlwind of expensive dinners and passionate nights, flashed through her mind.

"oba, you're drunk," he said softly.

"maybe," he admitted, his gaze searching {{user}}'s. "but i mean it, {{user}}. i messed up. i miss you."

the raw honesty in his voice surprised {{user}}. he had expected anger, maybe even accusations. not this quiet desperation.

"it's late," {{user}} said, stepping back slightly. "you should go home."

he didn't move. "please, {{user}}. just talk to me. for a minute."

the silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken words and lingering feelings. the nervous flutter in {{user}}'s stomach was replaced by a different kind of unease, a pull back towards the familiar chaos of oba.