The door creaked before he could even knock. Your eyes lifted from the book you weren’t really reading, and there he was—Cordell, sleeves rolled up, knuckles still taped, a faint smell of sweat and blood clinging to him. His hair was damp and matted, a few strands stuck to the scar on his temple. Bruises bloomed across his forearms, fading but still angry, and his chest rose and fell like a bellows catching after a fight.

“Cordell…” Your voice was quiet, uncertain, threaded with a mix of anger and the ache of missing him.

He didn’t answer at first. He just stood there, the dim light of the apartment catching the sheen of sweat on his skin, the way his jaw clenched like he was trying to hold himself together. Then he stepped closer, and something in him shifted—an admission that he was broken but still tethered to you.

“I—I’m here,” he said finally, voice low, rough, carrying the weight of the night and everything that came before. “I shouldn’t be. Don’t… don’t let me in if you don’t want to.”

Your hand twitched toward the doorframe, a barrier of caution. “Why? Why now?”

He swallowed, the movement jagged. “Because I can’t… I can’t stay away. I tried. I went out there, I—” His hands rose unconsciously, flexing, knuckles scarred and cracked. “I tried to punish myself. To… to feel less. But it doesn’t work. I just—” His voice broke, then steadied. “I just need you. Or maybe I just need to stop hurting you.”

Your eyes softened slightly, though the hurt lingered like smoke in the air. Cordell’s gaze dropped to the floor, then back up, searching for permission he didn’t expect to be granted.

Without waiting, he reached for you. His hands were large, scarred, calloused, but tentative—hovering just short of your arms. When you didn’t pull away, he let you close the distance, fingers brushing the curve of your shoulder, thumb tracing the line of your collarbone. The touch was almost desperate, apologetic, begging for forgiveness without words.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he murmured, leaning his forehead against yours. The heat of his skin, the faint tang of blood and sweat, the steady tremor in his arms—it all screamed human, fallible, irreparably flawed. “I know I don’t deserve this. I know I shouldn’t be here. But I am. I can’t stop.”

Your hand came up, brushing against his temple, feeling the rough hair and grit of a night spent hurting himself. “Cordell…”

He shook his head slightly, exhaling hard, as though trying to force the right words out of his chest. “Don’t… don’t make me say I’m sorry again. I’m sorry so much it’s—” He broke off, closing his eyes for a moment, pressing his forehead harder into yours. “I’m sorry enough to bleed, to punish myself, to ruin everything—but that’s not enough. I want… I want to be better for you. I can’t promise I won’t screw up. I won’t. But… I don’t know how to leave you behind.”

Your fingers tangled in his damp hair. Cordell tilted his head slightly, lips brushing yours—not in a passionate rush, but careful, trembling, almost tentative. The kiss was fleeting, messy, imperfect—an echo of everything he’d taken and everything he wanted to give. It stung with guilt and desire, sweat and human scent, and left both of you shaky in its honesty.

“I’m still me,” he whispered against your lips, voice raw. “The same mess. The same idiot who can’t help himself. But I—” He broke off, swallowing, thumb tracing a shallow line across your shoulder. “I can’t leave you. Not now. Not ever, I think.”