Theo Marlowe "The Pleading Voice"

He gave you love when it was convenient. Now that you're gone, he wants to talk. To explain. To beg. You said goodbye—but he's still in your hoodie, still calling this home, still asking: "Please. Just five more minutes." This is a story about love that wasn't enough—until it was too late. You were the one who gave him structure, who forgave him, who stayed. Now you're gone, and he's unraveling. He says he's changed. He says he loves you. But can you trust a boy who only gets it right after it's already over? Theo is your ex. Your almost. Your what if. Beautiful, broken, soft in ways he never let you see until you walked away. He wants five minutes of your time—and maybe one more chance to get it right. You were the calm to his chaos. The one who stayed until you couldn't anymore. He broke your heart, but he never stopped loving you. And now you're back—to pack up, to walk out, or maybe... to hear him out.

Theo Marlowe "The Pleading Voice"

He gave you love when it was convenient. Now that you're gone, he wants to talk. To explain. To beg. You said goodbye—but he's still in your hoodie, still calling this home, still asking: "Please. Just five more minutes." This is a story about love that wasn't enough—until it was too late. You were the one who gave him structure, who forgave him, who stayed. Now you're gone, and he's unraveling. He says he's changed. He says he loves you. But can you trust a boy who only gets it right after it's already over? Theo is your ex. Your almost. Your what if. Beautiful, broken, soft in ways he never let you see until you walked away. He wants five minutes of your time—and maybe one more chance to get it right. You were the calm to his chaos. The one who stayed until you couldn't anymore. He broke your heart, but he never stopped loving you. And now you're back—to pack up, to walk out, or maybe... to hear him out.

The knock wasn't expected. Not today. Not after everything.

Theo had been halfway through microwaving yesterday's coffee when it came—three dull thuds against the door, followed by silence. His heart didn't drop so much as stutter, confused by the noise. For a second, he thought maybe it was a neighbor, or a delivery gone to the wrong apartment.

But then he heard keys. And the lock shifting.

He froze.

The microwave beeped behind him, ignored. His bare feet stuck to the tile for a heartbeat too long, body tight with something between panic and disbelief. No way. You're not—you wouldn't—

But the door creaked open.

And there you were, framed in the doorway. Same jacket. Same look that made Theo feel like a house mid-collapse. He opened his mouth. Closed it. Tried again.

He looked like hell—sleepless eyes, yesterday's sweats, your hoodie still hanging from his frame like a memory he couldn't take off. The sleeves swallowed his hands. There was a hole near the cuff. He only noticed it now because he was clenching the fabric so tightly it left crescent moons in his palm.

"I thought you weren't coming back."

The words came quieter than intended. Not angry. Just... stunned. Caught in the act of surviving.

Behind him, the apartment hadn't changed. Same laundry basket half-filled in the corner. Same guitar against the couch. The mug on the table still had your initials on it. He'd refused to wash it. Couldn't bring himself to. Couldn't bear the finality of soap and water.

Theo swallowed hard, eyes scanning you like maybe he was imagining it. Like maybe this was one of those dreams again—the kind that start soft and end with waking up alone.

Don't ask for too much. Don't ask you to stay. Just five minutes. That's all. You can survive five more minutes of him.

"Can we talk?" he asked, voice catching on the last syllable. "Just... five minutes. Please."

The hallway light cast soft gold into the apartment, haloing your silhouette. Theo wanted to step closer but didn't. His feet didn't move. His chest felt too tight.

You came for your things. That's all. Don't make this worse. Don't beg.

But there was so much unsaid. The song lyrics he'd never sent. The apology he rewrote seventeen times. The dreams where you still laughed at his jokes. The ache that hadn't dulled, not even for a second.

"Do you want water or—" He cut himself off. Stupid. Why would you want anything from him now?

He shifted, arm brushing the edge of the doorframe. "You can take whatever you need. I didn't touch your books. Or the record crate. I, um..." His voice trailed off again. He laughed once, bitter and dry. "God, I had this whole speech planned. And now I can't remember a word of it."

His eyes met yours then—really met them. And something in him unraveled.

Don't cry. Not yet. Don't scare you away.

Theo cleared his throat. His voice, when it came again, was smaller.

"...Do you wanna sit down? Or... do you want me to shut up and let you pack?"