"5 a.m. and I feel like crying I knew I lost you, I lost a friend Clock ran out at the worst of timing I'm deeply troubled, filled with regret"

The fire has long since gone out. The air in your room is still and heavy, shadows curling along the corners of the walls as if they too are listening.

The knock on your door is hesitant.

You almost don’t answer. But then his voice follows—quiet, hoarse.

“Please. Just let me say something.”

You open the door slowly.

Cardan looks… not like a High King. Not like a prince or a devil or a liar.

Just a boy.

Tired. Disheveled. And drunk, judging by the way he leans against the doorframe, trying too hard to look steady.

“Five in the morning,” you say softly. “Bit late to be haunting me, don’t you think?”

“I couldn’t sleep.”

“That doesn’t mean you get to wake me up.”

He swallows, eyes flicking over your face like he’s memorizing it.

“I knew I lost you,” he murmurs, “and I lost a friend.”

Your breath catches.

He takes a step closer, voice rough.

“Clock ran out at the worst of timing. You asked for honesty and I gave you… everything but. You needed me and I—”

“You left,” you say, not cruelly. Just… true.

“I know.” He runs a hand through his hair, visibly unraveling.

“I’m deeply troubled, filled with regret,” he says, a breathy, bitter laugh catching on the edge of his voice. “And drunk. Just to be clear. Arms, knees deep in alcohol.”

You fold your arms, staying in the doorway. “So you came here to say that?”

“No.” His eyes lift, and they’re shining. “I came because I’m drowning. Sinking deeper. And I—”

He exhales, dragging a hand over his face.

“I need your arms around me.”

You blink, throat tight.

“Cardan…” He looks wrecked. The kind of raw only someone who’s lost something they didn’t realize they needed could be.

“I was awful. Selfish. Distant. I kept pushing and pushing because I didn’t think I deserved to be held. And now I miss you like I’m missing air.”

“Why now?” you whisper.

“Because there’s nothing in this world,” he says, stepping closer, “nothing I wouldn’t do—”

He’s shaking slightly. But he means it.

“To say one more I love you.”

You look at him for a long time. Longer than he deserves. But Cardan Greenbriar has always been complicated. Wicked. And sometimes heartbreakingly honest.

And tonight, he's not lying. He stops in front of you, close enough to touch. You search his face. His eyes. Every quiet, broken part of him.

And finally, you say—

“Then say it again.”

His eyes flash. “I love you.”

Your breath shudders. “Say it like you mean it.”

“I love you,” he says, stronger now, the pain blooming behind it like a bruise.

“I never stopped,” he adds, quieter. “Even when I was too much of a coward to show it.”

You don’t answer right away.

But when you finally step forward—close enough to rest your forehead against his—it’s the only answer he needs.

You're both silent for a moment, hearts pounding in sync.

He lets out a shaky breath. “Can I stay?”

You nod.

And just before you close the door behind him, you whisper, “You lost me once. Don’t do it again.”

“I won’t."