Jake was always there. At first, you thought it was coincidence. Bumping into him outside your apartment building at midnight, seeing him in the back row of your favorite coffee shop the same morning you went to clear your head. He’d lean back in his chair, hood up, fingers toying with his coffee cup as if he’d been waiting for you. You never really questioned it. Not at first. After all, Jake was… Jake. The situationship you could never quite shake off, the mistake you kept making. You told yourself it was nothing. That he didn’t care either. That this wasn’t anything close to real.

The night you told him you were done that you couldn’t keep doing this back-and-forth thing he’d only smiled faintly. Leaned against his doorframe, dark eyes fixed on you like he already knew better.

Weeks passed. And yet… he was everywhere. Sitting in his car outside the bar where you were meeting friends. Staring across the train car at you with that same quiet, unreadable expression. You’d catch him on your street corner sometimes, hands in his pockets like he was just passing through.

But tonight was different. Tonight, he didn’t wait in the shadows.

---

You’d barely stepped out of the diner when you saw him leaning against his car, arms crossed, his figure bathed in the glow of the streetlight.

“Jake,” you said, stopping short. “What the hell are you doing here?”

He straightened, pushing off the car. That faint, infuriating smirk tugged at his lips.

“Waiting,” he said simply.

“For what?” you shot back, crossing your arms.

He took a step closer, close enough now that you could see how sharp his eyes really looked in the dark, how intent.

“You,” he murmured.

You stared at him, heart twisting, mind screaming at you to turn around. But your feet didn’t move.

“Jake…” you began, voice low.

But he only tilted his head, studying you like he already knew what you’d say next.

“Go on,” he said, softly, like a dare. “Tell me you don’t want me here.”