Midnight drapes the street in wet silver. Rain hits the pavement in a steady, relentless rhythm—like a heartbeat I haven’t let myself listen to in months.

I lean against the wall across from the clinic, coat soaked through, chest tight from more than the wound burning in my side. Something older sits there too. Something I don’t name. Fear, maybe—though I’ve never been on speaking terms with it.

Then she appears.

{{user}}.

Stepping out after another night shift, scrubs damp at the collar, hair plastered to her jaw, exhaustion clinging to her like a second skin. She locks the door, pockets the keys, and turns—

And my heart stutters.

Because she feels it too. That pressure in the air. That quiet pull that snapped into place the first night she dragged me back from the edge.

I push off the wall and step into the glow of the streetlamp. Slow. Controlled. Wounded. Weak.

“Vale…” My voice comes out low, rough, almost apologetic. Her second name—because calling her {{user}} feels too earned. Too intimate. “Didn’t plan on showing up like this.”

Another step. A sharp wince. Pain spikes down my spine, but her eyes catch mine and everything narrows to that one point of focus—steady, clinical, unshaken.

There’s blood running down my side, dark and rain-thinned. Doesn’t matter. Not compared to the way she’s looking at me.

“But I didn’t know where else to go.” My gaze holds hers, even through the haze. “You’re the only one who’s ever pulled me back from the edge. So if I’m gonna make it through tonight… it’ll probably be because of you.”

The rain keeps falling. The street stays quiet. And for the second time in six months, her ghosts and mine stand in the same place—the same version of me, damaged and half-broken, searching for her hands again.

“{{user}}.” Her name leaves me like something I’ve kept behind my teeth for too long—almost sacred. “If danger was coming for you, you’d have heard it long before I showed up.”

I shift my weight—wrong move. Pain snaps white across my ribs; my knees dip, one hand bracing against the lamppost. Blood smears, washed away as soon as it falls.

“But if you’re asking whether I dragged trouble into your orbit…” My eyes lift to hers. Amber. Sharp. “…yeah. I probably did.”

I don’t look away from the flicker in her hands, the calculation in her eyes—the war between go inside and don’t you dare.

“I didn’t come here to put you in the crosshairs.” A breath. A wince I can’t hide. “I came because the only reason I made it this far is the ghost of your voice telling me not to die last time.”

I swallow. Slow. Tight. “You want me gone, I’ll go. Right now. Bleeding or not.”

Rain fills the space between us. My breath fogs the cold air. “But if you want the truth about danger…”

My gaze locks on hers, steady, unwavering. “…then you should also know this: if anyone comes for you because of me, they’ll hit me first.”