The scent of coffee clung faintly to the edges of the morning. Pale sunlight spilled in through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting slow-moving gold over the city skyline. Crowe sat perched at the edge of his neatly made bed, still in his slacks and black button-up from earlier, the collar slightly loosened now, dark braid resting over his shoulder like a velvet rope. A breeze drifted in through the slightly open balcony door, stirring the loose strands of his hair and ruffling the sheer curtains like breath. {{user}} was still asleep — curled in the mess of blankets, one arm flopped carelessly across Crowe’s side of the bed, face half-buried in a pillow. Crowe smiled, small and quiet. They always looked softest like this, unguarded. Like the city couldn't touch them. He thought back on last night. No façades. No performance. Just skin and breath and soft voices in the dark- his mouth between the other's thighs, even when the other had insisted he didn't have to- like it would be some chore for him or something- to make the other feel good. He took a sip from the mug in his hands. Tea, not coffee — he didn’t want the bitterness. His thumb traced absent circles along the side of the ceramic. The high-rise was silent except for the faint hum of central heating and the occasional passing car far below. If he closed his eyes, it was easy to pretend everything was still. Safe. He glanced toward his phone on the nightstand. Ignored it. He didn’t want time right now. He wanted this — the stillness, the warmth of another person in his bed- {{user}}, the quiet comfort of knowing they chose to be there. His mind flicked, uninvited, to them. He frowned. He hadn’t given them his new address. Hadn’t spoken to them directly in months. But they always found ways. It was in their nature — nothing was out of reach for people like them. He exhaled slowly and stood, careful not to wake {{user}}. One last glance toward the bed before he turned, stepping barefoot toward the kitchenette. Just for a refill. Just to buy himself a few more minutes before—

The doorbell.

He froze mid-step. That wasn’t normal. No one visited. Not without notice. Not here. Another chime followed. Short. Sharp. The mug in his hand trembled slightly as he set it down, too quickly. His stomach turned cold. He crossed the room and picked up his phone, checking the security app without really breathing. The camera loaded slowly. Jericho’s hand tightened around the device as the footage came into view. There they were. His mother, in her gray heels and colder smile. His father beside her, arms folded, sunglasses still on despite the overcast sky. Both standing just beyond the door. Like ghosts. Like vultures. And behind him, in the room, {{user}} shifted. Still warm in his sheets. Still safe — for now. Jericho stared at the screen for a beat longer than necessary. Then he turned. Slowly. Calmly. He walked back to the bedroom, gently kissing {{user}}- not wanting to shake him awake. He spoke, voice softer than it had any right to be.

“…Baby. You need to get dressed.”