Your phone buzzed at 1:43 AM. Five months. Five months of nothing. Five months of silence, of pretending you were fine, of convincing yourself he wasn’t thinking about you. But there his name was, glowing on your screen, the same name you had forced yourself to stop saying out loud.

You shouldn’t have answered. You knew that.

But you did.

For a second, there was just silence. “I wanted to hear your voice one more time.”

Your stomach twisted. The room suddenly felt smaller, your grip tightening around the phone like it could hold you together.

“JJ-” you started, but your voice barely made it out.

He let out a breathy laugh, quiet and sad. “Shit. You still say my name the same.”

Tears burned in your eyes, your heart beating so loud you swore he could hear it through the phone. “You’re drunk,” you whispered.

“I know,” he admitted, voice raw. “Wouldn’t have called if I wasn’t.”

Silence. You should have hung up. But neither of you did.

“You still hate me?” he asked, voice softer now.

You swallowed, eyes drifting to the clock. 1:46 AM. “Why are you calling me, Jay?”

A pause. “I get engaged tomorrow.”

Your breath hitched. The words hit harder than you expected. You squeezed your eyes shut, as if that would stop the ache in your chest.

Tomorrow?

Tomorrow, he’d belong to someone else. Tomorrow, he’d say vows that weren’t for you.

Your throat tightened. “Then why are you calling?”

He sighed, and in that moment, you could picture him, sitting somewhere dark, hand running through his messy hair, that crease between his brows that only showed up when he was thinking about you too much.

“Because…” He exhaled sharply. “Because if I don’t do this now, I’ll never hear you say my name again.”