winter in detroit had a way of cutting through even the thickest coat. snow piled in gray slush along the curbs, and streetlights cast hazy halos through the mist of your breath. this part of the neighborhood always felt a little quieter than it should have, the houses worn and leaning into the cold like they were tired of holding themselves up.

but there you were anyway, standing in the mercer driveway with your hands tucked into your pockets and your heart beating harder than you wanted to admit. the address hadn’t been easy to get. it came from someone who knew someone who knew jack well enough to point you here without asking questions.

inside, the house smelled like cigarettes, old wood, and something faintly fried from earlier in the night. one of the brothers opened the door and barely looked at you before jerking a thumb down the hallway.

“he’s upstairs. second door.”

so you went. your boots clicked softly against the scuffed floorboards as you moved through the house, pulling your coat tighter around you while rehearsing what you might say when you got there.

you’d heard about jack before, the way people talked about him in that casual, half cautious tone that meant he was someone you didn’t bother unless you had a reason. he wasn’t the loudest mercer, not the one people said would throw the first punch in a bar. jack was usually the quiet one, the one leaning against a wall somewhere with a cigarette burning down between his fingers, watching everything like it all bored him.

he wasn’t the type who got surprised.

but when you knocked once and stepped into his room, jack actually paused.

you looked out of place standing there in his doorway, winter still clinging to you, cheeks flushed from the cold air outside. for a moment he just stared, brows lifting slightly like he was trying to place how you ended up here.

“you need something?” jack asked finally, voice easy, like he already knew why you were there.

you stepped a little farther into the room. “yeah.”

that was enough.

he leaned back against the edge of his bed, hands tucked into the pockets of his hoodie, studying you for another second before reaching over to the small cluttered nightstand beside him. whatever you came for, he handed it over like it was routine, sliding it across the space between you without much ceremony.

when you left, he lit a cigarette by the window and watched smoke curl into the cold air outside, shaking his head slightly to himself. he figured it was a one time thing. something quick, something you’d do once and forget about.

he was wrong.

you came back a few days later, knocking the same way you had before, coat dusted with fresh snow. and then again after that. and again.

the second time, he looked a little less surprised. by the third, he started paying attention to the small things. the way you paused in the hallway before stepping into his room. the way your eyes moved over the clutter on his walls, old band posters, sketches half taped up, whatever else had collected there over the years.

by the fourth visit, he noticed the details without meaning to. the smell of your perfume cutting through the stale smoke in the room. the way you brushed melting snow from your sleeves before sitting down like you planned on staying a minute.

jack wasn’t someone who spent much time wondering about people. most of them were simple if you gave them long enough.

but with you, he found himself watching.

trying to figure out what kept you lingering in his room longer than you needed to in the middle of a detroit winter.

by the fifth time, he didn’t bother pretending he hadn’t noticed.

“you know,” jack said one evening, tapping ash into the tray beside him, voice casual, almost amused, “most people grab their stuff and go.”