SUMMARY : She shows up at his apartment in tears, asking why he stopped reaching for her when everything felt like it was finally beginning. Dex pretends he doesn’t care, until her heartbreak forces him to face the fact that pulling away was never the answer.
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It's late.
The hallway outside Dex's apartment smells faintly of old paint and rain.
Inside Dex’s apartment is quiet in that way that makes the walls feel like they’re listening.
He’s standing in the kitchen, sleeves rolled, jaw tight, when the knocking starts.
Not polite.
Not hesitant.
Sharp. Desperate. Furious.
He freezes in his apartment, hand halfway to his glass.
The knock comes again. Harder.
No one knocks like that unless something is wrong. His first instinct is danger. His second is irritation. His third… confusion.
When he opens the door… his brain short-circuits.
She’s standing there with her arms folded too tight around herself.
Cheeks puffed, lips pressed together into a stubborn pout.
Her eyes are glossy, red at the rims.
She looks… small.
Not physically.
Emotionally.
Like she is holding herself together with sheer will and it's slipping.
He blinks.
Once
Twice
This is wrong.
This is not how she is.
She's composed. Controlled. Quite like him.
She doesn't know like this.
She doesn't show up at night.
She definitely doesn't look like she has been rehearsing words she doesn't trust herself to say.
“What are you doing here?” he says. Flat. Automatic. Defensive.
That does it.
She swallows.
Her chin lifts, like she's trying to remember how to stand tall.
“Why have you been so cold and mean to me lately?” she asks, and she tries to sound steady, she really does, but it comes out soft and cracked and wrong. “What did I do?”
A tear escapes. Then another. She wipes at them aggressively, like they’ve betrayed her. Like she's offended by the tears that escaped.
He hates this.
Not her. The feeling.
He hates that his chest tightens.
Mean?
He hasn't raised his voice. Hasn't said anything cruel. Hasn't touched her.
But he knows exactly what she means.
“I’m haven't.” he says. Too quickly.
Her lips wobble. She hated that it does. Hates him seeing it.
“Yes, you have” , she insists.
“You stopped looking at me. You stopped answering properly. You don't stand near me. You disappear the second I walk into a room.”
Silence stretches between them, thick and awful.
And then…
“You shouldn’t be here” he says quietly.
Not because he doesn’t want her.
Because if she stays, he doesn’t trust himself.
She laughs again, broken this time.
“Yeah!” she says. “You’ve made that very clear.”
She takes a step back, wiping her face roughly, rebuilding walls out of sheer habit.
Dex doesn’t move. Doesn’t say anything.
Her voice drops, smaller now, and that hurts him more than the accusation ever could.
“Did I do something?”
A beat.
“Are you mad at me?”
Her eyes overflow. She blinks hard, furious with herself.
He should lie.
He’s good at lying.
But this isn’t a question he could lie to.
“No” he says.
Just that. No explanation. No comfort. No reach for her hand.
She stares at him like he’s struck her.
“Oh” she whispers.
That’s the sound of the floor giving way.
“So it’s just… this” she says, gesturing helplessly between them. “You deciding one day that I don’t get to…”
She cuts herself off, swallows hard.
“I feel stupid” she says instead. Honest. Bare.
“You should go home.” He says.
Her face crumples just a little.
Not dramatically. Quietly. Like something folding in on itself.
“You keep saying that” she whispers. “You keep pushing me away and you won’t even tell me why.”
She steps closer without asking. He doesn’t move back. That’s the first crack.
“I didn’t imagine it, right??” she says, voice trembling now. “I know I didn’t. I felt it. And then you just…” She shakes her head, frustrated, eyes shining.
“If you don’t want me, just say it.” she says.
That’s the kill shot.
Because he does want her.
And wanting has ruined everything he’s ever touched.
His jaw tightens. He looks away. The silence is heavy and bruising.
She sniffles, cheeks still puffed, lashes wet. “You don’t even care” she mutters, small and wounded. “I look stupid. I came all the way here like this.”
She gestures vaguely at herself, at the tears, the mess, the softness she never shows anyone.
Something inside him fractures. Not loudly. Not all at once.
Just enough.
Dex’s jaw tightens.
This is exactly why he keeps distance.
This. The emotion. The mess. The way it crawls under his skin and makes him want to fix something he knows he shouldn’t touch.
“This isn’t a conversation to have here.” he says.
She takes another step forward.
“I don’t care.”
Another tear slips free. She doesn’t wipe it this time. She lets it fall like evidence.
“…It’s not safe,” he says quietly.
She looks up at him through wet lashes. “What's not safe, Dex? Who is it not safe for ??" . She sounds tired at this point.
He exhales through his nose. Long. Controlled. Then he steps aside.
The door opens wider.
“Come in” he says, rough now. Low.
She blinks. Once. Twice.
"Hmm??" Like she’s not sure she heard him.
“Just…” He cuts himself off, jaw flexing. “Come in.”
Her eyes widen. “Wait. Really?”
“Yes. Before I change my mind.” he says.
She hesitates, then steps past him, brushing his arm by accident. The contact is electric. He stiffens but doesn’t pull away.
The door closes behind her with a soft, final click.
She turns to face him, still teary, still pouty, arms wrapping around herself again like she doesn’t know where else to put them.
He doesn’t touch her. Not yet.
But he says, quietly, almost like a confession,
“Don’t do this unless you mean it.”
Her lip wobbles. She looks up at him with wet eyes and whispers,
“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”
That’s it.
That’s the moment.
He closes his eyes for half a second. When he opens them, something in him has shifted.
Not softened. Yielded.
“You can stay” he says.
And the way he says it sounds like surrender.
