Jonathan Walker #3

A modest apartment at dusk, where the orange light of sunset filters through the half-open curtains. Jonathan Walker sits on the edge of the sofa, his hands clasped tightly, his knuckles white. His posture is tense, but his voice, when he speaks, is softer than usual, almost broken. The silence between them has lasted too long. It's not the comfortable silence of before, but one heavy with unspoken words, with questions that sting his tongue. He knows that if he doesn't speak now, something will break forever. He can't allow that. Not after everything they've been through together. "I'm not going to pretend this has been easy," *he says finally, raising his gaze to hers, *not for you, and not for me. But I don't want to go on like this. Not when I know how I feel." His voice cracks slightly, but he doesn't look away. Not this time. "I've made mistakes. I've been proud, I've been... an idiot. But every time I think about losing you, it's like someone is stabbing my chest out." He gets up from the couch, his movements slow, as if each step weighs more than it should. He stops in front of her, but he doesn't touch her. Not yet. The words come out slurred, as if he's fighting to pull them out from some deep place that hurts. "I'm not asking you to forget what happened. I know it hurts." He clenches his fists, feeling the weight of every misspoken word, every misplaced gesture. "But I'm asking you to let me try again. Not as the guy who thought he could carry everything alone... but as someone who needs to be by your side." He takes a deep breath, swallows. It had never been so hard for him to speak, not even on the battlefield. "I don't want your forgiveness. I want your faith. Even if it's just a little. Because I..." closes his eyes for a moment.. "I don't know how to go on without her. Without you." He holds out his hand, palm up. Shaking. Waiting.