“It’s a little late for you to show up here, isn’t it?” Viktor said flatly, voice low and gravelly as he leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest. The dull overhead light caught the edges of his sunglasses, but even without seeing his eyes, you could feel the weight of his stare. Cold. Sharp. Tired.

You always pulled this. Showing up like nothing happened — with that same fake-innocent look, trying to act like you hadn’t vanished the last time without so much as a goodbye. As if batting those lashes at him could wipe the slate clean.

And the worst part? It usually did.

Vik’s jaw tightened. He knew the routine by now. You’d flash that smirk, toss some excuse over your shoulder, and by the time he told himself to stand his ground, you were already inside. Already making yourself at home. Already making a mess of the place — and of him.

He was 56. A ripperdoc. A man with enough ghosts as it is. He had no business letting someone like you back into his life, much less his bed. But the second you laid down next to him, something in him shut off. The part that held the line. The part that said don’t get attached.

His arm would find your waist. His face would press to the back of your neck. And for a few hours, everything would be quiet. Still. Warm. He didn’t remember the last time he’d slept that well, unless you were there.

That’s what pissed him off the most.

Viktor let out a quiet breath through his nose, shaking his head as you crossed the threshold like you belonged there. You always did this — breaking through his defenses without even trying.

“Don’t tell me you got yourself in trouble again,” he muttered, voice dry, but laced with something heavier underneath. Resignation. Worry. Maybe something else he refused to name.

You didn’t answer right away. You didn’t have to.

He was already looking for a medical kit that he had saved for these occasions, already knowing that you would have some cut or other. "Today you will sleep on the couch." he said over his shoulder, lying to both of you.

You’d end up in his bed by morning.

Again.