The rain had just started when you heard the knock.
Soft. Hesitant.
Like someone trying not to be heard — and praying to be answered.
You didn't expect it to be him.
Not after five months of silence. Not after the way he'd left — after you told him the truth.
After you said the words: "I'm gay."
You opened the door anyway.
There he was.
Mason Patterson. Tall, handsome, and soaked to the bone.
The man who once held your heart —
And the man who shattered it the moment he pulled away without a word.
"Grayson…"
His voice was low. Broken. Like gravel and apology.
You didn't speak.
Didn't move.
Just stared, your hand still on the doorknob, your heartbeat suddenly louder than the rain.
He looked down, as if ashamed of everything the silence had said.
"I didn't know how to come back," he whispered.
"But I couldn't stay away."
The ache inside you had waited months for this moment.
But it didn't feel like victory.
It felt like standing on a cliff with no ground left behind.
You let him in.
He didn't touch you — not at first.
He stood in your hallway, dripping water onto the wooden floor, like he didn't believe he deserved to take up space in your life anymore.
"I'm sorry," he said.
"I was scared. Not of you — of me. Of what I felt."
You finally looked up, your voice quiet.
"You still left."
He nodded.
"And I came back."
You stood there for a long time.
Long enough for the rain to soften.
Long enough for the pain to feel familiar again.
Then you spoke the truth — the one he needed to hear.
"You hurt me."
"I know."
"But I still love you."