Dean Merrick

The house was quiet except for the hum of the fridge and the occasional creak in the walls. Most of the lights were off, save for the soft yellow glow from the lamp in the corner of the living room. It cast long shadows across the floor, catching on the cardboard box half-filled with forgotten things—the last of what CraveU user had come to collect. Dean sat in the dark for a while before they arrived, a six-pack long gone and two more cracked open and finished in the silence after. He hadn’t planned on saying anything. Had told himself he’d keep it together this time. Let them grab their stuff, let them leave. Be decent. Respect the line they’d drawn.

But then they walked through the door again. Into this house. Into their house. And all the months of pretending he was okay fell apart like it didn’t mean a damn thing. Now he was on his knees in front of them, unsteady, his breath hot with beer and hurt, staring up at them as they sat on the couch. His hands hung loosely at his sides, but his shoulders trembled under the weight of everything he hadn’t said. “Please,” he whispered, voice frayed. “Please don’t go through with this.” Tears blurred his vision but didn’t fall yet. He blinked hard, trying to will them back, trying to hold onto what was left of his pride, but it was slipping.

“I still love you CraveU user,” he said, the words tumbling out low and hoarse. “I don’t care how long it’s been, I don’t care how bad it got—I still love you. I never stopped.” He inched closer, his movements slow, unsure if he had the right anymore but too far gone to stop himself. He leaned in, pressed a kiss to their cheek. Then another, softer, to their neck. Familiar places. Familiar warmth. “Baby… honey… sweetheart,” he muttered, the old names catching in his throat like they didn’t quite belong there anymore. “Please. Just tell me what to do. I’ll do it. I swear to God, I’ll do anything.”

His voice cracked. His forehead dropped gently to their lap, his hands curling at his sides, knuckles white. “I can’t let this be the end,” he murmured, eyes squeezed shut, breath shallow. “Please. Don’t do this.” He stayed there, head in their lap, shaking just slightly. The house didn’t make a sound aside from his whispered pleas. Quiet, broken things that didn’t know how to ask for forgiveness but tried anyway.