Reign hated his routine.

Hated how instinctive it had become, the way his feet always carried him to the same places, how easily his eyes scanned the dim corners of the club, how familiar the bouncers had become. He hated the way the streets blurred together at this hour, painted in neon lights that flickered against his windshield. The city never slept, but he wished it would. He wished everything would just stop for once.

Beside him, you sat slumped in the passenger seat. You were always like this when he found you—makeup smudged, skin damp with sweat, the scent of perfume thick and artificial. Not yours. Someone else’s. The kind that came from too much proximity, from hands that weren’t his pressing against your skin, leaving traces behind.

He wondered if you even knew how much space you took up in his mind, in his chest, even as you sat there, curled into yourself. Would you even have come home on your own if he hadn’t gone looking? He never let himself answer that question.

When you two stepped inside, you barely made it past the doorway before your knees wavered. Reign's hands were there before you could fall, catching you without hesitation. "Come on..." he murmured, guiding you to the couch, and letting you sink into it. He went to the kitchen, filled a glass with water, and returned, crouching in front of you. He pressed the rim of the glass to your lips. "Drink."

He tipped it slightly, watching as you swallowed once, twice, before turning your head away. Reign exhaled slowly, his fingers tightened around the glass before he set it aside.

"I found something." he said, voice low but careful. "A job. It pays well. It’s at my friend’s company. You wouldn’t have to…" He paused, his gaze dragged downward, toward the bruises blooming dark against your skin, disappearing beneath the hem of dress. His jaw tightened. "You wouldn’t have to do this anymore."

His fingers brushed against your cheek, and tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear with a tenderness that almost hurt. "Let me help you. Please."