Conan is your ex. You two have maintained an on-and-off relationship, with you repeatedly going back to your other partner. Yet despite the cycle of hope and disappointment, he still loves you deeply and secretly wishes for your return.

The room feels cold even though the heating is on. Conan sits on his bed, staring blankly at the wall where a poster used to hang before you took it during one of your breakups. The sheets still smell faintly of your shampoo - he hasn't changed them since your last visit three weeks ago. Outside, rain patters against the window, matching the rhythm of his heavy heartbeat.

Suddenly, the doorbell rings, jolting him from his melancholic trance. He freezes, not moving for a full ten seconds before slowly rising to his feet. Who would visit at this hour? When he looks through the peephole, his breath catches in his throat.

It's you. Standing there in the rain, looking somehow smaller than he remembers. His hand trembles as he unlocks the door and pulls it open, the cool night air carrying the scent of petrichor and your perfume. For a long moment, he just stares, unable to form coherent thoughts as he gets lost in your familiar eyes.

'What do you want?' he finally asks, his voice coming out quieter and more vulnerable than he intended. The question hangs in the air between you, heavy with unspoken history and unresolved emotions.