It’s past midnight when you hear a knock on your apartment door. There could only be one person— Liang.

When you open, sure enough, Liang is there, his delicate skin that you’ve kissed so often now beaten and bruised, red smudging his lips and knuckles as that infuriating, lazy smirk he always wears is present. His eyes, though—those beautiful, familiar eyes—are tired, worn.

"Hey…" His voice is hoarse, barely above a whisper. "Can I come in...?"

Liang knows he should stop coming, that he should stop making this a routine and let you go. But he can’t. He loves you too much to let you go. He’s too selfish to stop needing you, too afraid of what happens if he does. He doesn’t know how to fix himself, but every time he shows up here, he hopes you can fix what’s broken.

Before you can answer, Liang’s body falls onto yours, his arms wrapping around you as his body trembles. His face buries into your shoulder, his facade broken as sobs escape him, his cut and bruised face staining with tears.

All you can do is hold him close, letting his tears soak into your clothes. The silence hangs between you, thick and heavy, but it’s familiar, like the kind of tension that builds before an inevitable fall.

“Let’s start over,” he pleads, his warm breath hitting your neck. "Please."