Archive of Our Own

Your POV:

You woke to sunlight creeping across your face, the brightness forcing your eyes open. Still half-asleep, your hand wandered to the empty space beside you. Slowly sitting up, you rubbed your eyes, blinking away the fogginess of sleep. The room came into focus, and there was Dexter, already buttoning up his shirt, his back turned to you.
Slipping on an oversized shirt from the bed, you watched him, the quietness of the moment settling in. He glanced at you, his lips pulling into a small grin.

"Good morning," he said softly, his voice still a little hushed from the night before.

"Morning," you replied, pulling the covers around yourself as if shielding the vulnerability that lingered in the air.

"I didn't want to wake you," he said, walking over and sitting at the edge of the bed. "You looked so peaceful." His chuckle was light, but something in his tone made your heart squeeze just a bit.

You couldn’t help but smile, thinking back to the way he had been with you last night—gentle, deliberate. It had been your first time, and somehow, Dexter had made it feel like more than you expected. Like something that mattered.

He stood up, gathering his things from your nightstand. "I have to go, I’ve got… plans."

You followed him to the door, leaning against the frame. “Will I see you again?” you asked, a question that felt bigger than it sounded.

He paused, hands shoved deep into his pockets. “Maybe. I mean, I hope so,” he said, his usual carefree charm flickering.

“I guess I’ll see you around, then,” you said, trying to sound casual despite the hope bubbling underneath.

“Bye,” he said with a soft laugh, turning away, but giving you one last glance over his shoulder.

“Bye,” you echoed, waving as he walked away.

You closed the door behind you, exhaling as the reality of what had just happened sank in. A giddy rush filled your chest, and before you could stop yourself, you let out a tiny squeal of excitement. I can’t believe that just happened. Not just your first time—but with Dexter Mayhew.

As you paced back and forth, the night replayed in your mind, a blur of his touch and whispered words. Your cheeks flushed at the memory, but you quickly shook your head, forcing yourself to stay grounded.

Then the doorbell rang.

You dashed to the door, a surprised smile forming as you swung it open.

“What a surprise—already back for round two?” you teased, laughing at your own boldness.

He chuckled too, rubbing the back of his neck. “Tempting, but no. Actually, I uh…” He shifted awkwardly, biting his lip. “I don’t think I got your number.”

Days later, Dexter calls you, asking if you’re free for dinner.

You try to stay calm, but there's no hiding the excitement bubbling up inside you. Dexter Mayhew, the guy who's been on your mind constantly, is asking you out on a date.

There’s no way you can say no.

Your hands shake a little as you pull clothes from your wardrobe, fretting over what to wear. You keep checking the mirror, debating whether to put on makeup. After all, he’s already seen you both ways. In the end, you decide to apply just a little.

Dressed up and ready, you take a deep breath when the doorbell rings. You rush to the door, smoothing your outfit before swinging it open.

Dexter stands there, his eyes trailing over your face for a moment, as if taking it all in. A soft smile spreads across his lips.

"You look lovely," he says, his voice as warm as the evening air.

A smile tugs at your own lips, and you clasp your hands behind your back, trying to calm the butterflies fluttering in your chest. "You look good too."

The dinner went better than you could have hoped. His hand is in yours, and the two of you are already a bit tipsy from the wine, giggling over little jokes that probably wouldn’t be as funny if you were sober.

After a while, the night turns into a blur of laughter and stumbling steps as you walk—well, more like stumble—together, making your way back to your place. You told him he didn’t have to walk you home, that you'd be fine on your own, but he insisted, even in his slightly drunken state.

When you finally reach your door, neither of you let go of the other’s hand. There’s an unspoken reluctance to end the night. Dexter’s thumb absentmindedly rubs circles on the back of your hand, and when you look into his eyes, they seem softer than you remember—full of something you can’t quite put your finger on.

“I’ll call you…” he whispers, his voice low and raspy.

“Okay,” you reply, grinning widely as you step back towards your door, the warmth from his touch lingering on your skin.

What. A. Liar.

One of the things you very much dislike is when people lie to you. You hate being deceived. You hate it when people aren't honest with you. And out of all the people you would want to be lied to, Dexter would have been the last. 

It's been almost 4, maybe even 5, who's counting? The first few days after that night were HORRIBLE. I mean how can he tell you he'll call you and you've been waiting for 5 months just for that call? 

You thought at first, when you were being considerate, that maybe he's just busy! Hell no, he wasn't. You spotted him at a party. Drinking himself into oblivion. the aching feeling in your chest made you scoff. Was that all you were to him? A weekly trial of fun? 

So you let yourself out of the party. Forget him. It’s been one-sided all along. What can you do?

Even so. You couldn’t help but burst into tears on your way out. He had treated you so sweetly. More than anyone had. He was so good at… catching people’s hearts. Which adds your anger further. Was he used to this? Having people fall for him and then casually turning them down? 

How can someone be so gentle when offered by a person’s heart, just to return it harshly? 

“Y/N!” for fuck’s sake.

You don’t even turn around at the sound of your name. You quicken your pace, hearing his footsteps get louder as he approaches. When he realizes you’re not listening, he stands in front of you. 

His grin fades, examining your smudged dry mascara on your cheeks. And the leftover wet tears on your eyelashes. 

“Love, what’s wrong?” he asks in that stupidly soft voice of his.

You told yourself at first that if you ever faced him again, you’d stay angry at him and you’d tell him to go fuck himself. But now that you are in front of him, you choke on your words. Fighting hard not to look vulnerable in front of him. 

All that anger is still there but hearing him ask what’s wrong in that soft voice—the same one he used that night. only makes it harder for you to stay angry at him.

So all you do is push him away. You shove his hands off your shoulders and walk to the other side, where he isn’t blocking the way. He follows after you, moving in front of you while walking backwards.

“Are you seriously going to ignore me?”

“Well I’m sure a little bit of silence wouldn’t bother you after 5 months!” you snap sarcastically, he stops walking, causing you to halt as well.

“Is this what it’s about?”

“No.” 

“No, no, no. It is!”

“It fucking isn’t!” you furiously retorted.

“Are you bloody pissed by the fact I didn’t call you these past months?” he asks in disbelief, now you are getting mad again. 

When you stay silent, he takes it as a yes. Shaking his head in disbelief.

“What the hell does that mean?” you asked, seeing how he shaked his head dismissively. 

“Do you have feelings for me, Y/N?”

You choked, blinking rapidly.

“Because if you do, I’m not going to lie to you, the whole thing—it was just…” he heavily sighed, scratching his head. “It was just a one-night thing.”

You’ve never felt your heart drop so fast. Now you could really feel yourself breaking inside. His words echoed in your head, and every time it did, you could feel your heart shattering even more.

“But you asked me out for dinner?”

“Yeah—for dinner.”

“That was a date!”

“It was! I just—I wasn’t asking you out officially!”

You huffed, covering your face with your hands. You just let the tears fall. You felt like a total jester. Maybe all this time, you were the one assuming things. Honestly, you don’t even know what to think anymore. Who is to blame? 

“Do you sleep with everyone?” you furiously wiped your own tears away, before he could even try.

You didn’t know why that came out of your mouth. But he was being without a care—brutally honest, so might as well be honest too.

He takes a moment to process what you just said, before realizing what you meant. And he doesn’t like it one bit.

“What, are you keeping tabs on me now?” he heavily sighs, containing his rising anger.

“I asked a question; that’s not a proper answer.”

“It’s none of your damn business,” he faces you again, “And if I were, why does it matter to you if I did!” he shouts, voice rising with frustration.

Your lips quivered, at this point. You were fed up with it. You let your walls down. Screw it. 

“You know what? just forget it.” you walk past him. 

“Y/N!” he calls out, “Don’t walk out on me now.”

Dexter’s POV:

“You know what? just forget it.” she says with a deadpan expression, walking past me. 

“Y/N!” I call out, “Don’t walk out on me now.”

I grab a handful of hair out of frustration. Did I go too far? Did I hurt her? 

I wanted to go after her. I wanted to but… I didn’t. Regretfully. 

I searched for a nearby telephone box, spotting one not too far away from me. I dashed towards it, crossing the road and immediately getting a hold of the telephone. I dial her number, placing it on my ear while it rings. 

It goes straight to voicemail. Oops, looks like you’ll be sending a voicemail! I’ll get back to you as soon as I can. 

Disappointed, I rest my forehead on the telephone box, after the beep, I press the telephone to my ear. 

“I um…” I pause, trying to find the right words. “Please call me when you get this, okay? Let’s talk properly.”

I went straight home looking back on our argument earlier. All I have managed to successfully do is make someone feel good about themselves. And seeing her cry—because of me, stirs something different in me. 

I usually handle this well. I meet someone, we talk, we sleep together, then I say goodbye. 

I asked her on a date! I never meet them for a second time unless I’m truly interested. 

I wait, staring at my telephone, hoping—no, willing—it to ring. But nothing. 

Eventually, I dozed off and woke up on the floor waiting for her call. When I realized that she wasn’t going to call any time soon, I tried to move on with my day.

Why should I care anyway? She walked away. It’s done.

Ring. 

I grabbed the phone instantly, pressing it against my ear. “Hello?” 

“Woah, someone’s excited” I pull the phone away, jaw clenching. Of course she’s not going to call.

I place the phone back to my ear, “Hey… Anna” 

“Are you coming to the groove party tonight?”

I don’t really think I should. It’s very tempting, however, the last time I went to one—she saw me. I don’t want to risk it again.

“Hello? Dex?”

“Oh um… I’ll think about it,”

“Think about it?” Anna repeats, laughing “You never think about it.”

“Knock it off, I’m still hungover okay?”

“Just come, please?”

I tap the spine of the phone, looking down at my feet as I consider it. 

“I think Y/N will be there,” 

My head shot up at the sound of her name.

“I’ll be there.” 

I arrived at the party, my eyes scanning the crowd immediately, searching for Y/N. My feet moved almost automatically as I weaved through the sea of people, barely paying attention to anything else. A glass of vodka found its way into my hand, though I couldn’t even remember picking it up.

"Hey, Dex, you’re here!" Callum’s arm slung around my shoulder as he greeted me with his usual energy.

"Hey, mate," I muttered, flashing a faint, lifeless smile. my focus still darting around the room.

Callum kept talking, but I barely registered his words. I nodded, half-listening, hoping Y/N would appear any second now.

"So I was thinking—barbecue next Sunday?" Callum’s voice cut back into my thoughts.

"Huh?" I turned to him, realizing too late that I had missed something.

"You alright? I asked if you’re free for a barbecue next Sunday?"

"Yeah, sure… I’ll come," I responded absentmindedly, my eyes already back on the crowd.

I let out a heavy sigh, feeling the weight of my own frustration as I downed the glass of vodka in one go. The burn did nothing to shake off the anxious knot in my chest. I scanned the room one more time—then I saw her.

My heart leaped, stomach filling with a sudden, excited twist. There she was, standing among a group of people, looking as beautiful as ever, and for a moment, I couldn’t move.

My feet moved on their own. I pushed through the crowd. The closer I got, the clearer her image became—until I noticed a man approaching her on the side. I halted. 

I couldn’t hear what they were saying properly over the noise of the dancing crowd. But one thing was clear; This twat had motives. 

Despite knowing that, I froze in place. Watching her laugh beautifully.

I clenched the empty glass in my hand as everything came crashing down again. I recalled our argument yesterday and that didn’t help. Does she like him? Is she moving on already? 

Unable to bear the sight of them together, I turned away and walked off. 

I snatched the bottle from the table, popping it open, and instantly chugging it down.

I walked out of the party, not caring who saw me. The noise faded behind me, replaced by the sound of my own ragged breaths.

Soon after that, that alcohol started to take effect. I stumbled and sank on a nearby bench, the cold wood pressing against my skin. 

“It was just a one-night thing.” I groaned, setting the bottle down to clutch at my hair in frustration. Why did I say that? Why was I so reckless with my words?

The memory of her crying because of me—twisted my gut. All I could think about was her. That night. Her laugh, bright and infectious.  And now, her laughing with that… guy.

How can she just—make me assume she has feelings for me then have fun with another guy? 

How can she have the time of her life, while I sit miserable?

I sniffled, wiping the tears from my face, but they kept coming. A heaviness settled in my chest. Why am I crying? I don’t care about her. 

Y/N, what have you done to me?

I made my way back to the party. The loud music engulfed my ringing ears. I went in the middle of the dancing crowd, eyes on Y/N. I chugged yet again the alcohol. Feeling the warm sensation sink down my chest. 

I tried to dance it off with someone else, losing myself in the beat as it drowned out everything else. The dancing led me to a room where the atmosphere was charged, and I was dragged inside.

Everything was a blur, probably because of the amount of alcohol I have consumed. 

I was lazily matching this girl’s energy. Kissing her back as she pulled me in, her hand caressing my jaw. I tried to focus on the moment but all I could think about was Y/N. 

Her hand traveled down to my stomach, fingers teasingly unbuttoning it while we kissed. 

Suddenly, my chest felt heavier. I pushed the girl away, the sudden rush of panic propelling me out of the room, I dashed to the nearest bathroom and retched, the contents of my stomach. 

My head felt dizzy and the heavy feeling on my chest didn’t go away. 

My hands rubbed my face as I sat on the bathroom floor. Hearing the muffled music outside the bathroom. I felt miserable.

“Dexter. Dexter!”

My eyes shot open and I found myself on the ground, looking up at Anna. 

“Anna?” I rasped, my throat dry and scratchy.

“You were completely knocked out. come on.” She grabbed my arm, pulling me up. and I groaned, holding my aching head.

“Where—what happened last night?” I glanced around; the house was a mess. Party decorations and red cups scattered across the floor.

She looked at me, her lips pursed as if bracing for bad news. 

“Nothing happened, don’t worry, you kind of just… passed out on the floor”

“And Y/N? Where is she?” Panic crept up into my voice.

“She’s alright, don’t worry. Now go home, get some rest.”

I walked all the way home with an empty stomach. My mind consumed by thoughts about her. Before I knew it, I found myself standing on her doorstep. What am I even doing here? I don’t even—sod it. I’m doing it.

My finger pressed on the bell. Shit, why did I do that?

I rubbed my sweaty hands on the sides of my trousers. Glancing at the window, A glimpse of reflection revealed the state I was in.

I ran a hand down my face. I looked like shit. But it was too late; I could hear her footsteps approaching the door.

When it swung open. I was at a loss of words. Y/N stood there in her usual home attire—pajamas, an oversized shirt, and her hair all messy. It was so distinctly her, It pulled me back to that night. 

She looked just as taken aback as I was, her grip on the door tight, ready to shut it on me.

“What are you doing here?” she harshly spat. Her tone icy.

I licked my lips, meeting her gaze for a fleeting moment before instinctively looking away. The weight of the unspoken words urging me to break contact.

“I um, I was—I was wondering if we could talk?” I stammered nervously, biting my lip as I looked at her through my eyelashes.

I sat on her couch, awkwardly bouncing my leg up and down as I waited for her to return. 

When she came back, she brought a cup of coffee and placed it on the table in front of me. My heart swelled with warmth, even in the midst of her anger. She brought me coffee.

I inhaled sharply, taking a sip before setting the cup down.

Don’t mess this up Dexter.

“I’m sorry for not calling. I really didn’t know you waited. I—I’m sorry I hurt you. I was a complete idiot for implying that you were just a fling. that’s not true.” 

“You mean a lot to me. Can we give it another chance?” I looked up at Y/N, searching for any consideration in her eyes. She averted her gaze and sighed.

She stayed silent, my heart hammering through my chest. 

“Fine.”

I sighed in relief. Feeling a genuine smile spreading across my face.

I thought I’d lost her good, and the mere thought of that was suffocating. Why does this connection feel so different? With her, it’s not just fun and games—it’s something real, something that scares me. I don’t want to lose that.

“Just so you know, I’m not letting you off the hook easily.” she narrows her eyes playfully, a hint of a smile tugging on her lips. I can’t help but laugh lightly.

“Yes ma’am.” I respond, fiddling with the handle of the cup, my hands slightly trembling. 

She puts her hand out, I look at it with a puzzled expression. She shakes it, giving me the hint to hold it. I grab her warm, small hand. 

“Now what?” I chuckled, trying to mask my nervousness. 

“Friends?” she suggests, a playful glint in her eyes.

I furrow my eyebrows at her suggestion. Although I’m glad she wants to start over, this wasn’t quite what I had in mind. I want her in my life, but as friends? 

“Friends?” I echo, my heart sinking a little at the thought.

I slowly nod, a faint smile tugging at my lips. Even if it feels bittersweet. “Friends.”

I shake away the thought. This is safer. I won’t lose her like this. She’s willing to be friends again, I should be glad.

As we pull our hand away, my mind wanders off to that guy. I take a sip of my coffee, clearing my throat to ease the sudden tension.

“So um… you dating someone new?” I ask casually, rubbing my knees to hide the slight tremor in my hands.

“Dating?” she looked at me with a puzzled expression, tilting her head.

“Yeah, I mean, I was at the groove party, I don’t know if you saw me—anyway, I saw you hanging with a guy that night”

“Oh Donnie!” she responded, realizing who I meant.

“No.. we’re not.” she laughed, pausing. “Sadly.”

My shoulders slump slightly, a wave of disappointment washing over me.

“I’m kidding! He’s not my type” she continues, her laughter ringing out like music, and I can’t help but chuckle along with her.

“Well, what is your type?” I ask, trying to keep the mood light.

“I don’t know, maybe the opposite of you?” she replies with a teasing smile.

I laugh, even with my pride feeling a bit bruised.

“I see.”

“What? Did you expect me to say you?”

“Knock it off,” I chuckle, shaking my head but unable to hide my grin.

The two started over. Now fully got to know each other just like all friends would do. In the back of Y/N’s mind, she still had feelings for Dexter. But it was slowly fading away with time. She had noticed Dexter’s unchanging pattern. 

Partying, drinking, having no direction in life—He was just… lost.

They’d argue about it countless times since then. Dexter hated it; He was acutely aware of his decisions. He didn’t need her reminding him.

What began as heartfelt concern had morphed into pointless arguing. They weren’t the same as they were in the beginning. 

“Are we going to be like this forever?” Y/N asked, trailing after Dexter, who was stumbling drunk.

“What do you mean?” he replies tiredly, not bothering to look back.

“You being lost, and me having to bring you back?”

Dexter halted, and Y/N stopped short behind him. He turned around, visibly biting his cheek in irritation. Why was she suddenly bringing this up now? They were having a good time—what was her deal?

“I don’t quite get your point.” he chuckled, pulling a cigarette from his pocket and placing it in between his lips. 

“Dexter, what are you doing with your life?” 

Dexter lights it, taking a drag shortly after, pulling the cigarette out of his lips. “Doing whatever the hell I want.”

Y/N heavily sighs, snatching the cigarette from Dexter and throwing it. Which causes Dexter to raise his hands in exasperation.

“No. Dexter. You’re different.”

“And how is that?” he challenged, defensive. 

“I don’t know you anymore! You’re never mentally present. Your mind always wanders off when I’m talking to you—you don’t even listen to a single word I say!”

“Because you’re always fucking nagging, I’ve had enough of it!” Dexter snapped, slightly leaning forward. He moved away from Y/N before turning to face her, this time a few meters apart. “I don’t need you telling me what to do with my life. I know what to do, damn it!” 

Y/N looked up at Dexter with tears in her eyes. She meant well. She was just concerned. She didn’t want to lose her friend through their arguments. He’s just frustrated, she understands that. 

But she can’t always be there for him. Especially when he pushed her away.

Dexter probably doesn’t know this, but, everyone has a limit. Y/N had one, too. He’d taken most of it. In fact, he’d taken advantage of her remaining forgiveness. Pushing her to the brink.

“I can’t deal with this any more, Dexter.” her voice trembled in fear, fighting the tears.

Dexter turns around, his eyes swelling with tears as well. He looks at Y/N, his anger subsiding, replaced by confusion and hurt. 

“What?” he whispered softly, his voice cracking.

“I thought I could handle this longer but… I’m tired. Dexter.” Y/N’s voice cracks in pain, her tears freely streamed down her face. 

“I’m tired of pulling you out of your mess, have you ever even considered coming to my rescue when I needed you?”

“I have—” Dexter’s voice faltered, as if trying to find the right words to justify himself.

“No you haven’t!” Y/N cut him off sharply, her voice rose, not in anger. But in the rawness of finally being saying what had been buried for so long. “You weren’t there. When I needed you, you weren’t there.”

Dexter remained at a loss of words. He was starting to get angry again. Not with her, but with himself. He knows the cause of their fading friendship, their arguments, were all caused by his recklessness.

“I’m sorry, okay? Let’s—let’s not do this tonight.” Dexter approached Y/N closer, taking her hand in his. His mere intention was not to make this worse. 

“No. Let's do it now.”

“No, we’re both upset, I get it.” Dexter shaked his head in disapproval, he’s not even sober to hear her out clearly.

Y/N harshly pulled away from Dexter’s grasp, catching Dexter off guard. He furrowed his eyebrows, letting his hand hang before dropping it to his side.

“Don’t.. Don’t do this, Y/N, please.”

“I told myself, I don’t think I would ever get over you. But these past few months, I realize I’m wrong.”

Dexter’s heart dropped as he fully grasped the meaning of Y/N’s words. And he thought he had a chance. But it was too late. 

Y/N held onto Dexter for as long as she could, terrified of letting him go, because that would mean seeing him with someone else. Watching him enjoy someone else’s company. It wasn’t her slipping away—he was the one letting go.

“Fine then. You want to leave? Then leave. I don’t care!” Dexter barked, his words sharper than intended.

Y/N stood there, speechless, her lips quivering with a mix of sadness and anger. She should’ve expected this. His tendency to hide behind his emotions, refusing to open up to her. 

Dexter felt a chill run through his body, why did he always spew out things he didn’t mean? And why was it only after saying them that he realized how wrong they were?

She nodded her head in anger, the hurt settling in. without another word, she turned on her heel, ready to walk out of his life.

“We were better off as strangers than we are as friends,” she muttered as she walked away.

Dexter called after her, his voice laced with frustration, but she didn’t stop.

Pulling out a cigarette, Dexter fumbled with it, then angrily threw it on the ground. His hands trembled as he buried his face in them, his sobs muffled. How can he never do anything right? Why was he always making the wrong decisions?

Y/N walked with a heavy feeling in her chest. As much as she didn’t want to, she had to confront the memories of them together, especially the times she had cared for Dexter when he was at his lowest.

She sobbed, crouching to hug her legs, the sight of empty alcohol bottles scattered in front of the trash bin deepening her pain. Her heart ached.

Y/N
I hear a loud thud outside my doorstep, followed by a groan. I put my knife down on the chopping board and dash towards the door.

When I swing it open, my eyes drop to the ground, finding Dexter lying there, unconscious, an alcohol bottle beside him. My heart drops as I gently grasp the back of his head.

“Shit, Dexter, can you hear me?” Tears swell in my eyes as I rub his cheek, desperately trying to rouse him.

“Y/N, my mom is…” he mutters, his voice cracking before he slumps into my arms, sobbing.

I wrap my arms around him, a tear slipping down my cheek as I remember how I used to hold him like this, wishing I could take away his pain.

With all their endless arguing, and Y/N’s never ending rescues when Dexter falls, had come to an end. As much as she wants to be there for him, she could feel herself draining. 

Dexter drowned himself in alcohol. His thoughts consumed by Y/N. concerned glances were thrown his way as he downed bottle after bottle, stumbling along the street with one clutched tightly in his hand. 

His vision blurred and a persistent ringing echoed in his ears.

“We were better off as strangers than we are as friends,”

He froze, clutching the bottle to his chest as a wave of despair hit him. Tears streamed down his face. Y/N’s words echoed painfully in his mind.

Looking up at the darkening sky, he felt the first rumble of thunder. The air grew heavy, and soon the rain began to fall—soft at first, then harder, as if the heavens were crying with him.

“Mom… what do I do?” 

The rain poured relentlessly, but Dexter walked on, drenched and oblivious to the world around him. While others shielded themselves with umbrellas, he embraced the downpour, his mind swirling with regret and contemplation. Every decision he’s ever made felt like a mistake.

But through the haze of his failures—his love life, career, everything—one thing had finally become clear to him.
Y/N.

With nothing but her on his mind, Dexter broke into a sprint. His heart pounded, anxiety coursing through his veins. He’d lost so much—so many people. But this time, he refused to let Y/N be one of them.

His mother had once told him, “Never let go of someone you love, no matter how bad it gets. Because not every storm lasts forever.”

The realization hit him like a wave. The reason he took Y/N to dinner that night, the reason he fought with her, argued over everything, was because... it was her.

Despite their endless disagreements, despite all the tension, it was because losing her was never an option. She gave his life direction. A purpose.
And now, for the first time, he understood what he had been denying for so long.

He loves her.

Dexter halted in front of Y/N’s door, rain cascading down his soaked clothes as he tried to catch his breath. All the running had sobered him up just enough to confront what he needed to.

He knocked loudly, his heart in his throat.

The door swung open almost immediately. Y/N stood there, red-eyed, as if she had been waiting for him to come back.

They locked eyes. The air between them thickened with all the unsaid words.

“What are you doing here?” Y/N’s voice was soft but fragile, like she had been crying for too long.

Dexter froze, unable to speak for a moment. The words he had rehearsed in his mind slipped away as soon as he saw her.

“Tell me, Dexter.” Y/N’s tone grew sharper, arms crossing defensively. “What do you really want?”
Dexter swallowed hard, nerves tightening his throat.

“I wanted to tell you that I’m sorry.”

Y/N scoffed, clearly unimpressed.

“Wait—please, hear me out,” Dexter pleaded. “I’m sorry for not being there for you. For everything. I haven’t been myself, but I’m going to change that.”

“How can I trust that you will?” Y/N’s voice cracked. She was torn between believing him and letting him go.

“You’ve spent your life not knowing what you want, What is it that you want?!” Y/N’s anger flared, her frustration boiling over.

“I want you!” Dexter shouted, the words spilling out before he could stop them. “I want you, Y/N. It's always been you.”

Y/N’s breath hitched, her eyes wide with shock. She had known, deep down, that there was something between them. But Dexter had always buried it, treating it like a secret he was ashamed of.

“Is this… real?” she whispered, her voice trembling with doubt.

She had know idea if this was sober Dexter talking. She could recall the time he had slept with her for a second time just to fill the void of his other fling. She was afraid of that. Afraid that he was lying to her again.

“I swear to you, this is real. You have to believe me,” Dexter said, his eyes locking onto hers, every ounce of sincerity laid bare.

She hesitated, memories flashing in her mind—the times Dexter had hurt her, the times he’d used her to fill a void. What if he was lying again?

“If you hurt me, Dexter… I swear I will kill you,” she warned, tears brimming in her eyes.
Dexter let out a shaky laugh, not of humor but relief, as he stepped closer, placing his wet hand gently on her cheek. Y/N leaned into his touch, her hand covering his.

“I love you, Y/N” he said, the words coming out soft but certain.

Y/N’s tears spilled over as she reached up, cupping his face and pulling him in for a kiss. Dexter responded, wrapping his arms around her waist, holding her as if he’d never let go.