The rain had stopped.
But the silence between you hadn't.
Mason sat on the edge of your couch like he didn't belong there anymore. His jacket hung over the backrest, and his hands wouldn't stop fidgeting.
You stood across the room, arms folded, chest tight.
So many nights you had dreamed of this — not him begging or apologizing, but just… being here. Not as a memory. Not as a mistake.
As Mason.
"I never stopped thinking about you," he said, voice barely above a whisper.
"I told myself I'd forget. That I had to. But the truth is… I'm in love with you, Grayson."
The words hit you harder than expected.
You'd said them once — months ago — and he ran.
But now here he was. Telling you everything you once wanted to hear, and it didn't feel simple anymore.
"You left me," you said again.
"You disappeared the moment I told you who I was. Who I really am."
Mason looked up, eyes red but steady.
"I was ashamed of myself. Not of you. I've never been ashamed of you."
You walked toward him slowly.
"Then why did you let me think you hated me?"
He looked like he might cry.
"Because I hated myself."
You sat beside him. Not touching. Not forgiving. But listening.
And then, softly:
"I still love you."
Mason turned toward you, tears falling, lips parting like he didn't believe it.
"Say that again."
You closed your eyes.
"I still love you. Even after everything."
And for the first time in months — he reached for your hand.
You didn't pull away.