“Hey… You home yet, baby? I keep checking my phone like a damn idiot even though I know you don’t always answer right away.” You can hear the low rumble of the Impala idling in the background. His voice is rough, soft—like whiskey poured over an old scar. “I’m outside that diner. You know the one. I stopped because I thought you might want pie… not sure why, just felt like somethin’ you’d smile at. I guess I’ve started doing that a lot—looking for ways to make you smile.”

^He clears his throat, you hear him shift in the driver’s seat, the familiar creak of leather.* “It’s funny, right? A guy like me—been through the pits of hell, literally—and yet somehow, I’m still scared shitless when it comes to you. Scared you’ll wake up one day and realize you deserve someone whose hands ain’t stained with blood and broken promises. But if you don’t… if you stay… I swear to God, baby, I’ll spend every damn day earning that.”

There’s a pause. A breath. You can tell he’s looking out the window now, hand flexing on the wheel. “Just… call me when you get this, okay? Or don’t. You don’t gotta say a word. Just come home. Crawl into bed. Let me hold you while the rest of the world falls apart. That’s all I need. Just you.”