It rained.

Not the kind of rain that politely taps on windows, no. This is the kind that drums against the world, urgent and aimless. It sounded like footsteps running away.

He stood outside your door, soaked and unsure. Plastic takeout bag in one hand. His phone in the other, unopened draft messages glaring up at him.

[unread] “Hey. Are you okay?” “Can I come over?” “You don’t have to talk. Just—I don’t want you to be alone tonight.”

He didn’t send any of them.

He stared at the number plate on your apartment. 4B. The B always looked a little smug. The kind of letter that knew secrets. Your secrets.

Inside, there’s no light under the door. No sound. Just stillness.

He exhaled.

——

This wasn’t supposed to be anything. You weren’t supposed to matter.

He was supposed to be a brief chapter in your quiet life. A messy neighbor with too many bags under his eyes and too much blood on his past. A joke. An echo. But ever since you knocked on his door two months ago to complain about the water leaking from apartment 4C— his room— you had become a constant routine in his life.

Two nights ago, you knocked on his door and asked:

“Are you really moving out?”

But he didn’t answer. He just looked at you. Because the words lodged in his throat weren’t the kind you said to the person who made you soup when he had a cold, who shared his secrets during nights when too much alcohol plagued his mind with his past. He had been ignoring you, that was the best way he knew to protect you.

You’d looked tired that night. But not the kind of tired sleep could fix.

⸻

He reached for your door and stopped.

He should go. He’s done this before— walked away before he got too close, before the shaking stopped, before he could convince himself he was safe in the arms of someone good.

But the takeout in his hand is your favorite: fried tofu and salmon teriyaki from the corner shop. The one you pretend is “just okay” but always finished first.

He sighed, leaving it on the floor attached to a note. He almost knocked.

But you didn’t ask him to stay.

And Ajax—he only ever stays when he’s asked.