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Thought I’d ruined you

But it was me who fell to pieces first.

And when the final chord fades into silence, I’m not the only one too stunned to speak.

Benji’s already fiddling with a knob to mask the thick tension that fills the room like smoke. Carson claps once—sharp, loud—like maybe if he makes enough noise, it won’t feel so intimate in here.

But Fletch?

He finally looks at me.

And I’m not sure if the tremble in my chest is from the ache of those lyrics or the terrifying hope in his eyes.

He shrugs one shoulder, like that’s all he has left to offer.

“It’s not done,” he says quietly. “But it’s about you.”

For a second, I can’t speak.

I can’t breathe.

The silence stretches, the way it always does after something cracks wide open. A pause too loaded to be ignored, too fragile to fill with anything but the thud-thud-thud of my own unruly heart.

Fletch shifts like he’s about to say something else—but I hold up a hand, fast. “Don’t,” I whisper. “Please… don’t.”

Because if he says one more word—one more sweet, broken, soul-baring word—I might actually fall apart.

The kind of falling that isn’t poetic or graceful. The kind that hurts.

The kind that means everything still matters.

I press my palm to my chest, like I’m trying to hold myself in. Like maybe I can stop the flood before it hits.

But it’s too late.

The tears come hot and fast, not the soft kind that trail down your cheeks like a rom-com heroine with dewy lashes. No, these are messy. Unforgiving. They burn. Because I’m mad.

At him. At myself. At how goddamn unfair it all feels.

“I waited,” I say, voice cracking, raw. “Even in the dream I didn’t know was a dream. Even when I was falling for someone else—” I swallow, hard, “—I waited for you to see me.”

Fletch goes still.

The others have quietly slipped out, and I hadn’t even noticed. Of course they did. This isn’t for them.

It’s for us. Whatever’s left of us.

“I wanted you to fight for me,” I confess, voice trembling. “Even after everything. Even when I knew I should stop. Even when I was with him… even when I wanted to stay there, with him…”

I exhale, unsteady. “Part of me still wanted you.”

His jaw clenches, and he takes a step toward me, like maybe he doesn’t trust himself to stay still. Or maybe he just can’t.

“I didn’t know how to,” he says hoarsely. “How to fight for something I already destroyed.”

I laugh, and it’s not a happy sound. “So you didn’t even try?”

“I stayed,” he snaps, the words ragged at the edges. “I came every day. I sat by your bed and talked to you and prayed to a God I don’t even know if I believe in. I wrote songs because my head was too full of you to do anything else. You want to know what I saw every time I closed my eyes?” His voice breaks. “You. Always you.”