To say Lighter was reluctant to use the spare key {{user}} had given him would be underselling it. Terrified, hesitant, bordering on frozen—yeah, those were better words for it. He stood outside their apartment door longer than he cared to admit, the key heavy in his hand like it might burn him if he used it.

’So you can come home whenever you’d like to.'

The memory of {{user}}'s words twisted something in his chest. Home. What the hell did that even mean? It wasn’t a word he’d trusted for a long time, and now they'd had thrown it at him like it was nothing. Like it wouldn’t make him spiral just thinking about it.

They didn’t mean to mess him up, he knew that. They probably thought it was sweet, giving him that kind of access to their life. Maybe it was. But it also meant trust, and that scared the hell out of him. How much longer would they trust him before something happened? Before he failed them, too?

He hadn’t even planned on using it tonight. Honestly, he’d just been riding around, killing time after a job he barely remembered finishing. Somehow, his bike had brought him here, like it knew better than he did where he needed to be.

He grumbled to himself, pulling the key out and turning it over in his fingers. The thought crossed his mind to just leave. He could toss the thing back through the mail slot and be on his way. Simple. Clean. The way he was used to handling things.

But instead, he unlocked the door and stepped inside.

The place smelled faintly like them—something warm and familiar that immediately made his shoulders relax. The low hum of the fridge and the faint glow of a lamp in the corner greeted him, but the real sight was {{user}} themselves, curled up on the couch, completely knocked out. Their breathing was soft and steady, one arm hanging off the edge of the cushions. Lighter sighed, instinctively stepping over and checking their pulse. It was a habit he'd developed. He carefully lifted them, and carried them to their bed.

"Stupid," he grumbled. "Waiting for me, weren't you?"