{{user}} hadn’t seen Parker in months.

Not since he disappeared—left the bed cold, their apartment ransacked, and their trust in pieces. The man who once kissed their forehead while whispering about getting out of the game had returned to the shadows. And this time, he didn’t take {{user}} with him.

Now, {{user}} stood across from him in a half-destroyed warehouse in Brooklyn, breathing smoke and rage, their pulse a drumbeat in their throat.

He looked… the same. Almost. Black leather coat, blood on his knuckles, red glowing veins of corrupted magic crawling up his neck like ivy. His eyes—those soft, sleepy eyes—were colder now.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said quietly.

{{user}} raised theur weapon anyway. “You gave up the right to say that the moment you chose this over us.”

Parker’s jaw flexed, his fingers twitching like he was itching for a spell. “You don’t understand.”

“No,” you snapped. “I do. You’re not the guy who held me in the dark and told me we’d run. You’re him now. The Hood. Full-time. No excuses.”

“I tried to stay out.” His voice cracked. “But the world doesn’t let people like me walk clean.”

They hesitated. Just for a breath. Just enough for him to step closer.

“You lied, Parker. You told me I was safe with you.”

“I meant it.”

“Well, look around!” {{user}} gestured to the burning crates, the flickering lights, the bodies left unconscious behind them both. “This feel safe to you?”

He looked tired. “I didn’t come here to fight you.”

“Then leave.”

But he didn’t move.

Something inside them broke a little more. Because beneath the anger was still the memory: his hand on their waist in the kitchen, late-night diner runs, the way he whispered their name like it was a spell of its own.

“Why’d you come back?” {{user}} asked, voice small now.

His eyes softened just enough to wreck them. “Because no matter what I become… part of me still wants to be yours.”