Chapter 7: Crawling Back
The rain hammered against the windows of Y/N's apartment like accusatory fingers tapping on glass, relentless and cold. Eleven days had passed since the brutal fight, eleven days of hollow silence that had carved her out from the inside. She sat curled on her couch in the dim glow of a single lamp, wrapped in an oversized hoodie that still carried faint traces of Jay's cologne—a cruel reminder she couldn't bring herself to wash. Her eyes were swollen from constant crying, her body weak from skipped meals. The unsent draft from him lingered in her mind like a lifeline she both craved and feared.A sharp knock echoed through the quiet space at nearly 1 a.m. Y/N froze, heart pounding. She shuffled to the door, peering through the peephole. Jay stood there, soaked to the bone, black hair plastered to his forehead, eyes red-rimmed and haunted under the hallway light. Water dripped from his jacket onto the floor. He looked exhausted, broken in a way that mirrored her own wreckage.
She opened the door slowly, the chain still attached at first. "Jay... what are you doing here?"
"I can't breathe without you, Y/N," he said, voice hoarse and cracking with raw emotion. Rain continued to pour behind him, soaking his shoulders. "These weeks without you have been absolute hell. The practices feel pointless, the lights on stage are blinding but empty. The members ask what's wrong and I have no answer because the only thing that made sense was you. I f*cked up. I know I did. Please... let me in."
Her hand trembled on the door. Every rational part of her screamed to slam it shut, to preserve the fragile shards of dignity she had left. But the pull was magnetic, the loneliness a black hole that his presence promised to fill, even if only temporarily. She unlatched the chain and stepped aside.
He entered quickly, pulling her into his arms before she could protest. His clothes were ice-cold against her skin, but his embrace was desperate fire. "I'm sorry," he whispered repeatedly into her hair, his breath warm against her neck. "I'll do better. I swear on everything—on us, on the dreams we talked about on that rooftop, on the future we planned."
Tears streamed down her face as she clung to him, hating herself with every fiber of her being for how quickly she folded. The relief flooded her like a drug, washing away the eleven days of dust and emptiness. They didn't speak much more. Words felt too dangerous. Instead, the tension ignited into something primal and urgent.
Clothes scattered across the floor in a frantic trail from the doorway to her unmade bed—his wet jacket, her hoodie, shirts and jeans discarded without care. Their bodies collided with raw, desperate need, as if physical closeness could erase the pain, the lies, the distance. His hands roamed her skin with familiar hunger, kisses deep and bruising, breaths mingling in gasps that drowned out the rain outside. In those moments, it felt like connection again, like the early days when everything sparkled with possibility. He moved with intensity, whispering her name like a prayer, holding her as if afraid she might vanish.
Afterward, they lay tangled in the sheets, his arm wrapped tightly around her waist as if anchoring himself. The room smelled of rain, sweat, and fading cologne. Jay traced lazy patterns on her arm, the same way he had in the hotel room weeks ago.
Jay: [text sent right after, while still beside her] You're everything to me. I'll do better this time. No more excuses. You're my escape, my real. I can't lose you again.
Y/N stared at the message on her phone, glowing softly in the dark. She typed back with shaking fingers.
Y/N: I missed you so much it hurt to exist. But I'm scared this will just repeat.
Jay: It won't. I promise. Let me prove it to you.
She wanted to believe him. God, the hope flickered so brightly despite the ashes surrounding them. But deep down, a quieter voice whispered the truth—she was crawling back into the same fire that had burned her before. Self-loathing settled heavy in her chest as she curled closer to him, listening to his heartbeat. The cycle had her firmly in its grip once more, pulling her deeper into the familiar warmth that always, inevitably, turned cold again. Tomorrow the doubts would return, the excuses would pile up, but tonight she let herself drown in the illusion of being chosen.
As sleep finally claimed her, the song's lyrics echoed faintly in her mind: the insanity of returning, the casualty she was becoming. Yet in his arms, it all felt worth it—for now.
Join Qfeast to read the entire story!
Sign In. It is absolutely free!
