Night after night, Jack somehow wound up on your balcony, like clockwork after a long day. And tonight was no different—except you’d only just stirred from sleep, shuffling toward the balcony doors with a drowsy squint.

When you stepped out, he was there, hands in his pockets, but without that usual cocky swagger he wore like a second skin.

"You okay? Hurt anywhere?" you asked, your voice still soft from sleep.

And oh, how he liked that look on you—concern, real and unguarded. Maybe you were the only one he ever let close enough to see past the act; after all, you’d known him since you were in the same soccer team in high school.

"I’m fine, pretty boy," he said, a small smile tugging at his mouth. "Just wanted to see ya, is all."