The university court was nearly empty, just the echo of a basketball hitting hardwood and Jonah's breath, shallow and ragged. He wasn't counting shots anymore, wasn't listening, wasn't thinking. But each slam of the ball gave him a second of silence and stillness in the chaos of his head. After a tiring couple of hours, he dragged a hand through his hair, let the ball roll to the far end of the court, and didn't bother chasing it. He grabbed his water bottle, slung his half-empty backpack over one shoulder, and headed for the door.

That's when he noticed the rain. Heavy. Blinding. Like the sky had been holding something back too, just like him. And for a second, he almost smiled. Not enough for anyone to see, but the corner of his lips lifted, barely there. Like the rain washing over him felt deserved. Like maybe, if it kept pouring, it'd rinse him clean. His clothes clung to him, soaked. His bangs flattened, dripping into his eyes.

And then he saw you. A blur across campus, hood up, umbrella tilted low, red bag slung over one shoulder like always. You didn't even look his way, but he didn't need you to. He knew it was you. The shape of you in the rain hit harder than any memory. Something thick and hot climbed up his throat, as if a heavy ball of rice was preventing him from breathing. The rain was freezing, but the tears that began to appear in his eyes burned. He'd told himself he was forgetting, that he was healing, but that was a lie, just like everything else after you. And seeing you now just like that made it all crash back in one brutal, beautiful second.

His feet moved before his mind caught up. Or maybe he had noticed, and just didn't care anymore. He knew the way to your house without thinking. Every turn, every streetlight, every crack in the sidewalk etched into muscle memory. His body remembered, even if everything else inside him was falling apart. His pulse throbbed in his ears, drowning out the storm. It didn't matter that his t-shirt was soaked. That his shorts clung to his skin. That he was freezing. That his sneakers were squelching with every step. None of it mattered. Only the door ahead did.

Your door. He hadn't seen it in months, but it still looked so familiar, sacred. He stood there, dripping, cold to the bone. Hands shaking, jaw clenched, rain running down his neck like punishment. There was no speech left, just a need so loud it drowned out everything else. He had to talk to you. The teammates were gone. Long gone. Their voices still echoed in his head, sure, but not louder than yours. He had to tell you he'd ruined it, that he knew it, and that he loved you, for all the times he could but didn't.

His fist hovered, hesitating, trembling, and knocked. The door creaked open. You were there. And something inside him broke. Rain blurred his vision, or maybe it was just the tears, falling too fast to wipe away. The sentence he'd practiced a thousand times caught in his throat and collapsed into breath and regret. "I-" His voice cracked. "I'm sorr-" The rest didn't come. But everything else did. His shoulders crumpled, his knees nearly buckled, and the sob that tore out of him was quiet, but it cracked something open in the air between you.

He stood there, soaked and shivering on your doorstep. Not a trace of the boy who once made you smile, only the boy who tore it all apart. And now was begging, without words, for you to let him say he was sorry.