𝒩𝖺𝗇𝗈

“Hi…” he lets out meekly, voice cracking awkwardly.

“Leave. It’s cold.” you urge him to. He doesn’t listen anyways. And honestly, you don’t want him to go.

A long inhale. He rises from the ground, legs weak from barely using them. His gaze drifts to meet yours, eyes softening at sight of you.

You look radiant.

“Can’t leave.” the whisper hangs in the air.

The longer you stare at him, the more your defences weaken. But you are strong, you hold yourself back. Your eyes narrow as you pull your brows together.

He looks disheveled.

“I’m sorry. For not returning even half of your love.”

Your lips form a thin line, grip tightening around the handle.

Dick doesn’t stop you. He doesn’t move an inch. He can only watch how the door is already closing gradually. You deserve to shut the door in front of his nose, deserve to break up.

Nevertheless, the relief and tiny hope returns when you keep the door a few inches open.

Even though he knew you wouldn’t leave him out here. Knew that you would have shut the door close if you broke up with him.

But you didn’t break up, didn’t close it.

“I’m sorry.” he hooks his fingers onto the edge of the door to keep it open. “I should’ve given you more of my time. I should have been there. I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”

His voice isn’t overwhelmingly loud, his presence is surprisingly low — he keeps himself small to adjust to you. To adjust to the situation.

“Shut up.”

Actually, he doesn’t necessarily waste his breath. By now, he would be begging for forgiveness. He would spill apology over apology and plead.

“I should have loved you more — tenfold more.”

This time he holds himself back. He is tired. His heart aches for you, his body seeks out your warmth. He just wants to be in your vicinity, wants to be sure that you are safe, wants to be sure that you are here.

“I hate you.”

“You are allowed to. I fucked up—I fumbled, I don’t know what was wrong with me.”

He breathes out, shaky and weak.

“Please give me another chance. I will give you as much time as you need—please don’t end it.”

Silence settles in the room between you. Heavy. Anxious.

“I tried my best.” you whisper, “I was worried. I was tired. I kept loving you.”

You still love him.

“I’m sorry. I was wrong.”

“Just let go.”

His hand falls to the side.

“I can’t do this. Not with you.” you try to hide the fact you are crying, try to hide behind the door, “I don’t—I don’t feel seen around you.”

“It’s my fault. I’m sorry. I love you.”

“I loved you.”

The door shuts closed. No more words exchanged.

Dick breathes out again before inhaling — sucking in a sharp breath. His gaze wander to the bag.

Your favourite food.

Your favourite drink.

Your favourite snack.

The pencils you have been eyeing.

The little blindbox you had in your shopping cart.

A handwritten letter.

Fifty-one pages.

You didn’t feel seen. Not because he wasn’t looking. But because he didn’t show it.

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