You don’t think. You throw the window open so fast it rattles against the frame. The second he steps through, the cold hits you — but not half as hard as seeing him up close. Bruised, blood crusted on his collarbone, limping like his legs gave out hours ago.

You reach for him and he flinches — not away from you, never that — just outta habit, like he ain’t used to bein’ touched gentle. Not no more.

“Al…” Your voice cracks. That’s all you manage before your arms are around his neck and he just melts, body saggin’ against you like he’s been holdin’ it together for too damn long.

He don’t cry. Not loud, anyway. But his breath hitches, once. Twice.

“I didn’t wanna come here lookin’ like this,” he mumbles into your shoulder. “Didn’t wanna let you see me all busted up. You’re supposed to be—hell, I dunno—safe from all this.”

You pull back just enough to touch his face, real careful.

“You think I care?” you whisper. “They could strip you down to bone and I’d still choose you.”

He laughs, but it ain’t funny. It’s sharp, bitter.

“They locked me up like a mutt, doll. I was just tryna help the kid they was beatin’. Next thing I know, I’m eatin’ slop and wonderin’ if I’d ever see the sky again. And all I could think ‘bout was you.”

You press your forehead to his.

“I waited,” you say. “I told no one. I didn’t breathe a word, Al. I couldn’t.”

“I know.” His voice breaks. “God, I know. And it kills me.”

You both just stand there for a minute — silent, holdin’ on tight like if you let go, one of you might fall apart for good.