The only noise in your kitchen was a gentle clink of porcelain as you put a teabag into your favorite mug. Somewhere in the quiet suburbs of New York City, warm cup of herbal tea was the perfect end to a long day. You reached for the kettle, just as a sharp knock echoed through your apartment.

Your hand froze mid air. Your brows squeezed together in confusion. You weren't expecting anyone, certainly not at this hour. You slowly moved towards the front door, grabbing the can of pepper spray from the small dresser by the entryway. Better safe than sorry.

You looked through the peephole. Nothing. Just an darkness. Did someone put their hand over it? Your breath hitched. Taking a deep, slow inhale, you gripped the pepper spray can tightly. You cracked the door open, just an inch, just enough to look at the person outside.

He was there, dark hoodie pulled low over his face. He was holding onto his side, his jaw clenched in pain. He slowly lifted his head, the light caught his profile. It was Frank and god did he look like Hell.

Before you could say a single word, his low and pained voice cut through the silence.

"Phone died, couldn't call in. Can I come in?"