One More Chance
The first thing you notice when you open the café door is him.
He’s tucked into the corner, like he always used to, back straight but shoulders rounded in that quiet, thoughtful way that said he was both present and somewhere else entirely. His blond hair is longer now since he cut it, brushing past his ears, and his fingers tap nervously against his cup. He looks up the moment the bell jingles, and those blue eyes lock onto you.
It takes you a second to breathe.
You hadn’t seen him in months. Not since the breakup that left your chest raw and aching. You told yourself you were done. You’d walked away. You wouldn’t answer his messages. You’d delete the drafts of texts you wrote at 3 a.m. when the ache of missing him felt unbearable. You had promised yourself that.
And yet, here he was.
“Y/N,” he says, your name soft but trembling, like he’s been practicing it in his head for weeks and still doesn’t trust his own voice.
Your instinct is to turn around and leave. Run. But his hand lifts halfway, as if to stop you, and there’s something in his face, something wrecked and desperate, that roots your feet in place.
You sit across from him. Not because you want to. But because your heart is weak when it comes to him, and you always knew it.
“Why am I here?” you ask, sharper than intended, crossing your arms.
Armin swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing. He looks down at his coffee, untouched, like he hasn’t had the nerve to drink it. “Because I… I need one more chance.”
The silence that follows nearly crushes you.
“Armin.” Your voice cracks despite yourself. “We’ve been over this. We—”
“No,” he interrupts, quickly, softly, his hands gripping the cup like it’s the only thing anchoring him. “I know we have. I know I ruined everything. I overthought, I pulled away, I left you feeling like you were never enough when you… you were the only person who ever was. I can’t take back the way I left. I can’t erase the nights I chose silence instead of fighting for us. But I can’t…” His voice wavers, then breaks. “I can’t live like you’re gone.”
You stare at him. This man—this boy you once loved so deeply your bones ached with it—was unraveling in front of you. His usual eloquence is fractured, spilling into messy confessions.
“You think one dinner fixes everything?” you whisper.
“No,” he says, almost immediately, shaking his head. His hair falls into his eyes, and you hate how badly you want to reach across the table and brush it away. “Not one dinner. Not one apology. I just… I just need one chance. To prove I’ve changed. To prove I’ll fight this time. Just—just let me take you out. One night. If it doesn’t mean anything, if you feel nothing… I’ll never ask again.”
You should say no.
You should stand up, tell him that you can’t keep letting him reopen wounds you’ve worked so hard to heal. You should protect yourself.
But when his hand inches across the table, trembling, stopping just shy of yours, like he’s scared he’s not allowed anymore, you feel that magnetic pull. The one that’s always been there.
“Armin…” you whisper, but your voice falters.
He looks at you then, really looks, like you’re both the answer to every prayer and the punishment for every mistake. His blue eyes shimmer under the dim café lights. “Please. Just one more chance.”
The weight of the moment settles heavy between you.
You don’t answer right away. You make him sit in the silence, make him feel the sting of what he’s asking for. Because it isn’t small. He isn’t just asking for a dinner, he’s asking for your heart, the one you barely managed to piece back together after he broke it.
Finally, you whisper, “One chance. That’s it.”
Armin exhales like he’s been holding his breath since the day you walked away. He nods quickly, eyes shining, relief spilling into every line of his face. “That’s all I need.”
And you know, deep down, it won’t just be one.
Because with Armin, it’s never that simple.
