The knock comes long after midnight. You almost don’t answer it — until you hear the rain. Heavy. Relentless. And then his voice, muffled through the door: “It’s me.”

Jason stands there on the porch, drenched to the bone. His jacket clings to him, dark hair plastered to his forehead. He looks nothing like the man who stormed out hours ago — just someone tired, haunted, and completely done pretending he’s fine.

Before you can say anything, he steps forward and drops to his knees. The sound of it — wet pavement, rain hitting leather — cuts through the air. He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t try to get up. His hands hang uselessly at his sides as his breath trembles out of him.

“Don’t—” His voice catches. “Don’t shut me out. Not you.”

You see it in his eyes — the fight drained out of him, the regret heavy in every line of his face. The rain streaks down his cheeks, but it’s not enough to hide the redness around his eyes, the rough crack in his voice when he finally speaks again.

“I thought I could walk away,” he says quietly. “Pretend I didn’t care as much as I do. But the second I left, it felt like I couldn’t breathe.” He looks up, and the words that come next sound like a confession he’s been holding for years.

“Please choose me,” he says. The words break halfway through, raw and small. “Nobody ever chooses me... Please... Accept my v-version of love. Pl-ease...”

He stays there. Waiting. For a sign that you still see him. That he hasn’t completely ruined the one thing he can’t stand to lose.

When you finally move toward him, Jason exhales shakily, the smallest, broken smile tugging at his mouth. “I don’t care if you yell,” he murmurs. “I just needed to come home.”