I loved someone who didn't know what love was.

And slowly forgot how to love myself.

⸻

I started seeing a therapist after too many nights of not sleeping.

Not because of Gawin.

But because I couldn't recognize myself in the mirror anymore.

A 29-year-old man with a stable job, enough money, and plenty of friends —

yet slowly drained

by someone who didn't even know they were doing it.

⸻

"Who do you love?" the therapist asked.

I said,

"His name is Gawin.

Beautiful, smart, magnetic.

And he's never loved me back."

"Then why are you still here?"

I didn't know.

I used to think I stayed because I was patient.

Now I think I stayed because I had nowhere else to go

if I didn't have him.

⸻

Kevin knew I was in therapy.

He wasn't surprised.

He just said,

"He's not worth loving that hard, Joss."

I laughed.

"Maybe.

But once you're already in love,

'worth it' stops being the point."

⸻

One afternoon, Kevin asked,

"What if he gets back with his ex?"

I went quiet.

Then he said,

"Would you finally leave?"

I closed my eyes.

Took a deep breath.

And for the first time, I nodded.

"Yeah."

⸻

That night, I turned off my phone.

Switched to airplane mode.

Slept early.

The first night I didn't wait for a text from him.

⸻

But at 1:37 a.m.,

the landline rang.

Gawin.

⸻

I picked up.

"I can't sleep."

His voice, thin as breath caught in his throat.

"I thought you hated me."

"I tried.

Couldn't."

I didn't say anything.

He stayed quiet.

Then:

"Do you hate me?"

"No."

"Then... can I come over?"

I sighed.

"The door's unlocked."

⸻

He arrived at 2 a.m.

Hair still wet.

Eyes red.

Hands cold.

He didn't hug me.

Just walked straight into the bathroom.

I sat outside, lights off,

listening to the water.

Five minutes.

Ten.

When it finally stopped,

I stood up.

⸻

The bathroom door was left ajar.

He stood with his back to me,

a white towel slung low on his hips.

His hair still dripping down his bare shoulders.

I turned,

about to give him space.

Then I saw it.

A mark.

Not mine.

⸻

I froze.

My eyes locked on the faint bruise on his shoulder —

the kind I hadn't left.

The kind that wasn't from last night.

My heart pounded.

Not with anger.

With something worse.

A kind of pain that numbs you.

Cold, even in a warm room.

⸻

Gawin turned and saw me.

"What are you looking at?"

I didn't answer.

Stepped forward.

Pushed the door open.

"Joss—"

I kissed him.

No question.

No warning.

Just kissed.

Hard.

Deep.

⸻

I pressed him against the glass wall of the shower.

His skin was still warm from the water,

like holding fire.

He startled slightly,

but didn't pull away.

I pulled off his towel,

tossed it aside.

Not rushed.

But not gentle, either.

I leaned down and kissed the old mark —

the one that didn't belong to me.

I bit.

Soft.

He flinched.

"What are you doing?"

I didn't answer.

Just lowered my head

and left a new one beside it.

Deeper.

Darker.

Clearer.

"So you'll remember," I whispered.

⸻

My hands slid down his waist.

I lifted him onto the bathroom counter.

Cold tile against his thighs.

He gasped quietly —

but still didn't stop me.

I parted his legs,

hands firm at his knees.

My eyes fixed between his thighs

like I was trying to find something I'd lost.

Something I thought was mine.

But maybe I was only the first to touch —

not the one who gets to stay.

"Gawin," I said.

First time I'd said his name tonight.

He looked up.

Didn't flinch.

Didn't tease.

Just... silent.

I gripped his thighs gently.

"Can I come in?"

He nodded.

Barely.

I undid my belt,

pulled him to the edge of the sink,

and entered him.

⸻

No slow teasing.

Just a soft gasp

echoing off cold ceramic walls.

I held his hips,

moved slowly, steadily.

I wasn't angry.

Wasn't trying to hurt him.

I just needed to prove

that I still had a place here.

On this body.

In this night.

No script.

No words.

We knew each other too well for that.

I knew how he clenched when he was close.

Where he broke when touched right.

But tonight felt different.

I went harder.

Each thrust felt like clawing through my own pride.

I didn't want to bruise him.

But I wanted to leave myself behind.

On him.

In him.

If tomorrow he gave himself to someone else —

I wanted something left

that couldn't be erased.

⸻

Gawin tilted his head back.

Wet hair sticking to the mirror.

Eyes shut, lips parted, breath catching.

I kissed his collarbone.

Licked it.

Then bit.

Not hard enough to bruise.

But enough that he'd have to wear something with a collar tomorrow.

⸻

"Are you jealous?" he asked, lips barely moving.

I didn't answer.

I turned him, pressed his back to the mirror,

my fingers tracing down his spine.

"I don't have the right," I murmured.

"But you're jealous anyway."

I kissed him again.

Harder.

"You're still gentle."

I looked at him.

Eyes red.

Chest rising.

"Because I don't want to be the one who hurts you."

"Even though you're tearing me apart."

⸻

He breathed fast.

His hands on my shoulders —

not gripping.

Just holding.

I wrapped my arms around him,

our chests flush,

and felt his heartbeat —

chaotic, uneven, cracking.

"You still want to stay?" he whispered.

I didn't know.

I just knew —

if I didn't hold him right now,

I might disappear.

⸻

He leaned in, arms around my neck.

First time he reached for me tonight.

I pushed deeper.

He gasped.

Arched.

Bit my shoulder on instinct.

I grabbed his waist.

Thrust harder.

Faster.

The sound of skin against skin echoed across the bathroom.

Broken moans.

Dripping water.

Breaths that felt like drowning.

⸻

I felt him tighten just before he came.

I whispered:

"You're mine tonight, aren't you?"

Gawin didn't answer.

But he bit my shoulder again —

his answer.

And I fell with him.

⸻

I held him from behind.

His wet hair soaked into my chest.

I kissed the back of his neck.

"I'm tired," I murmured.

He turned to me.

Didn't speak.

Just held me tighter.

⸻

We didn't say anything after that.

I rested my forehead on his shoulder.

Still inside.

Still breathless.

I pulled out slowly.

Watched it drip down his thighs.

I cleaned him with a towel —

gently, like I was afraid he'd vanish.

Gawin didn't move.

Just sat there.

When I finished, I knelt before him.

Looked up.

"You okay?"

He nodded.

"Mm. Thank you."

I shook my head.

"Don't thank me.

Just... don't erase the marks I left.

That's all."

⸻

I helped him out of the bathroom.

He wore my shirt.

Said nothing.

I got in bed first.

He slipped in after.

Rested his head on my chest.

I stroked his hair.

For a long time.

Until he fell asleep.

For the first time,

I thought:

Maybe... he doesn't love me.

But he's letting me love him,

in the gentlest way I know how.

⸻

I know he doesn't love me.

I know there's someone else.

I know I should leave.

But I also know —

if I lose that look in his eyes,

if I'm no longer the one he calls at 1 a.m.,

then I don't know who I am anymore.

⸻