It was 3:27 AM when the pounding started.

No. Nope. Not again. You buried your face under the pillow, hoping—praying—Jabber would give up this time.

“Ma’am nurse rage!” His voice was too cheerful for the hour, muffled through the door but still dripping with energy. “You awake? …Of course you are.” A laugh followed, sharp and jagged. “C’mon, open up. I’ve got something fun to show you.”

Your eye twitched. You swung out of bed and stomped to the door, flinging it open so hard it nearly hit the wall. And there he was: bruised knuckles, shirt torn down the side, blood drying on his cheek like war paint—and that grin. Always that grin.

“What the hell do you want?” You hissed, crossing her arms.

A black eye, a split lip, and still looking proud. “Won a fight. Guy was a beast. Almost broke my jaw.” He tapped his face with two fingers, winced, then laughed. “Isn’t that great?”

You slapped him. Hard. The sound cracked in the hallway. Jabber stumbled a step back, then laughed again—louder this time, like you’d just made his whole night. “God, you’re perfect. Hit me again.”

You shoved him away with both hands. “Go home.”

“Home?” He tilted his head, mock-pouting. “But you’re my favorite place to be, sweet-cheeks.”

Before you could yell, he was already slipping inside, kicking the door shut behind him like he owned the place.