Unclaimed

Rayan hadn’t slept.

The apartment was dark except for the flicker of the stove light and the soft hum of the fridge—domestic sounds that used to mean comfort. Now they just echoed. Winter’s mug was still on the counter, half-full with matcha she never finished. Her hoodie was draped over the back of the chair, sleeves stretched from where she used to tug them over her hands when she was nervous.

He sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, hoodie sleeves pushed up like he was ready to fight something. But there was nothing left to fight. Not after what he said.

Not after the look she gave him.

“You think I ruin you?” she’d whispered, voice trembling but sharp. “I thought I saved you.”

He hadn’t meant it. He hadn’t meant to say she was reckless. That she made him weak. That loving her felt like drowning.

But he had.

And now the silence was louder than any fight.

He pressed his palms to his eyes, trying to block out the memory, but it came anyway—her standing in the doorway, jaw clenched, eyes glassy, hoodie half-zipped like she couldn’t decide whether to stay or run. She didn’t slam the door when she left. That was the worst part. She closed it gently. Like she didn’t want to wake the ghosts.

He reached for his phone again. Typed. Deleted. Typed again.

I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry. I need you. Please.

He didn’t send it.

Instead, he curled into the hoodie she left behind, the one with her name stitched into the sleeve. It smelled like cinnamon and danger and everything he ruined

He whispered into the fabric like it could hear him:

“I didn’t mean to ruin us.”

And somewhere in the quiet, he remembered the way she used to fall asleep on his chest, fingers curled in his shirt like a lifeline. The way she’d say, “You make me feel like I’m allowed to exist.”

He used to carry her. Now he couldn’t even reach her.

It had been weeks since Rayan heard from Winter, no texts, no calls, nothing. He was falling apart. He wanted nothing more than to hear her laugh again, he wanted to hold her in his arms like they used to do. He barely ate, and the few times he did call, he went straight to voicemail. She had blocked his number. He mostly stayed in the bed, curled up with her hoodie, trying to find something to think about that didn't remind him of Winter. How she looked when he said loving her felt like drowning, the way she turned away before the tears could fall, the way that she closed the door silently when she left. And she hadn't looked back since. Rayan wondered if she felt the same, curled up crying. Probably not, she was always an independent woman. He hated the way that she looked at him like he had burned her. The self loathing was setting in, he hated the way that he couldn't make his body move. Like he had lost purpose without her there with him. He could barely look at his lock screen without getting teary eyed, a picture of Winter during the fall standing under a tree with falling leaves surrounding her, the smile on her face unmistakable. It was from the day that he took her to the harvest festival, he had never seen her so happy. Now he was laying on his bed, the phone being the only source of light in the dark room. He checked his phone. 11:27pm. He turned it back off. He wanted to see her, to hear her voice again. He wanted to hug her and forget all about the pained look that he put on her face. He curled tighter into her hoodie. If it wasn't for his temper he wouldn't be in this situation, he told himself. It was always his temper getting him into trouble, and this time he burned the person who usually got him out of it.

Winter was staring at her phone sitting at her kitchen table. It was 11:27pm. Her house had been untouched for months before the quarrel. She had practically lived with Rayan. Now, these past few weeks, she had been in her house like it could protect her from the ache in her chest. Coincidentally, she was also looking at pictures from the harvest festival. She had a picture of Rayan in a dried flower crown, him laughing despite telling her the dried flowers wouldn't come out his hair. She knew he had a bad temper, she was usually the one that pulled him out of the fire. But this time she had been burned. A part of her wanted to forgive him, the petty side wanted to keep the non-contact going. To see if he would actually try to text or call. She pulled up her call logs. Nothing. She went to her blocked, and there about 7 missed calls and voicemails. She clicked one. And Rayan's shaky voice came through the speaker,

"Winter... I'm sorry, I really didn't mean to say that. Please answer, or call me back." The next voice message,"Baby I'm sorry. Please call me back." The next one, " Baby I know my temper got the best of me, please. I don't want to see that look on your face again. Winter please..." She felt a tug at her heart. She had been mad at him when it happened. She left his apartment, tears streaming down her face as she walked to her house. She had wanted to cut him off completely, yell at him, but the look in his eyes when he caught himself. He looked like he had just poured alcohol on a cut. She sighed and debated with herself, then grabbed a jacket and walked out her door.

The night air bit at her cheeks as Winter stepped outside, jacket zipped halfway, keys clenched in her fist like armor. The street was quiet—too quiet. Her footsteps echoed against the pavement, each one a beat in the rhythm of her hesitation. She hadn’t been back to Rayan’s place since that night. Since the fight. Since the words that felt like knives. “Loving you feels like drowning.” She remembered the way her chest caved in, the way her throat burned from holding back the scream. She remembered the way he looked at her after—like he’d just realized he’d set fire to the only home he’d ever known. She had walked away with tears streaming down her face, hoodie zipped to her chin, fists clenched like she could hold herself together if she just kept moving. But now, weeks later, she was walking back. Not because she forgave him. Not yet. But because she missed him. Because she missed the way he made her tea when she was too tired to stand. The way he’d pull her into his lap during movie nights. The way he’d whisper, “You’re mine,” like it was a prayer. She missed the way he looked at her like she was the only thing keeping him tethered to the world. And maybe—just maybe—she missed being that anchor. Her phone buzzed in her pocket. Another voicemail. She didn’t check it. She already knew what it would say. “Please." She turned the corner, heart pounding. His apartment was still lit—dim, flickering, like he hadn’t changed the bulb in weeks. She climbed the steps slowly, each one heavier than the last. At the door, she hesitated. Then knocked. Soft. Barely audible. She heard movement. A pause. Then the door creaked open. Rayan stood there, hoodie wrinkled, eyes red-rimmed, phone still in hand like he’d been staring at her contact all night. He didn’t speak. Neither did she. She just stepped forward, into the doorway, into the ache, into the aftermath.She pushed the door closed behind her. And he dropped the phone. Wrapped his arms around her. Held her like she was breath. Like she was forgiveness. Like she was home.

Rayan was wrapped around her, burying his head in her hair. "Baby, I'm so, so, so fucking sorry." he said, voice cracking, "I- I swear I didn't mean to say that. I never want to see that look on your face again." He sounded like he was trying not to cry. Winter was shocked, she'd seen Rayan in a lot of states but never on the brink of crying. He was wrapped around her like he was scared she would run again. She wrapped her arms around him.

"I know." She said, rubbing his back slightly, "I know you didn't mean to."

"I'll get better at managing my temper I promise." Rayan said, voice still muffed by her hair. "Please don't leave me like that again."

"You have to watch your mouth." Winter said quietly.

"I will. I swear I will." Rayan said. "Stay here with me, please. I'm all yours. Please baby..."

Winter couldn't help but smile a little bit. It wasn't often that Rayan begged. And he was begging for her to stay with him. "Alright." she said. How could she say no when he looked like a kicked puppy?