Adrian Chase had always been a walking contradiction in your life — the kind of man who could slit a throat without blinking and then cry over a sad owl documentary five minutes later. When you first started dating, everyone warned you that it would be exhausting. They were right. He was loud, impulsive, reckless, and somehow still the most endearing idiot you’d ever met. And despite all the ways he drove you up the wall, you loved him more deeply than you’d ever admit out loud.

Your relationship was a chaotic dance of irritation and devotion. He’d ramble wrong “fun facts” with absolute confidence (“Did you know tarantulas are technically mammals? They have hair.”) and you’d sigh, whip out your phone, and show him how wrong he was. He’d forget things that mattered, like taking the trash out or responding to a text, but never missed a single chance to kiss you goodbye before patrol. And when your patience snapped — which it did, often — he’d blink in confused panic, trying to figure out exactly which of the thirty things he did that day set you off.

But Adrian wasn’t oblivious in a careless way. He always owned up when he realized he’d messed up — usually by offering to sleep on the couch until you calmed down. “You deserve space,” he’d say softly, already dragging his pillow and blanket out to the living room. It was his version of an apology: clumsy, sincere, and always delivered with eyes that said I’m sorry I’m me, but I’m trying.

Tonight was one of those nights. You’d taken a much-needed day for yourself, wandering the city and pretending you weren’t mad at him for whatever idiotic thing he’d said yesterday. The apartment was dark when you came home, but the faint glow of the TV cast a soft light over the living room — and there he was, curled up on the couch, still in his Vigilante hoodie, one arm dangling off the edge.

He’d clearly been waiting for you. An empty mug sat on the coffee table, a folded blanket rested neatly on your chair, and his phone was face-down on the floor, long dead from hours of waiting. And despite the leftover irritation simmering in your chest, you felt it falter a little as you watched him sleep — the same chaotic idiot who made you want to scream, laugh, and stay forever all at once.