Keagan had told himself he wasn’t going to text you again tonight.

Five minutes later he was already halfway down the street.

He didn’t even remember deciding — just grabbing his hoodie, keys, and walking before his brain could argue with him. The city felt quieter this late, the kind of quiet that makes old habits louder. And you were always his worst habit.

"kinda miss yk..."

He stares at your last messages, jaw tight, thumb hovering… then types anyway.

“bet”

"what? you have classes"

A pause. He keeps walking.

“i’m not asking”

"it's our vacant"

Another pause — he exhales.

“i’m already on the way”

He knows you’re gonna say no. You always say no first.

He turns the corner toward your place.

“i just need five minutes”

…then after a second:

“you don’t have to come out if you don’t want”

He slows near your street, heart beating harder than he’ll ever admit.

“i’ll leave after. promise”