was past midnight when he heard the faint knock.

When he opened the door, there she was, leaning against the frame, her long black hair falling messily over her shoulder, her dark eyes half-lidded with a look that could only be described as trouble.

"You really need to stop showing up like this," he muttered, but he still stepped aside.

She walked in without a word, her gaze flicking over his dimly lit apartment like she was searching for something—something only she knew. She didn’t belong here, with her too-sharp smile and the faint scent of smoke clinging to her clothes. And yet, here she was. Again.

He watched as she trailed her fingers over the books on his shelf, then the mug on his counter, like she was leaving invisible marks on everything she touched.

Finally, she stopped in front of him, tilting her head just slightly. “You always let me in.”

His jaw tightened. “You never give me a choice.”

Her lips curved, but the smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Liar,” she whispered, stepping closer—too close. Close enough that he could count the faint freckles dusted along her pale skin. “If you wanted me gone, you wouldn’t have made me tea the last time. Or let me sleep on your couch the time before that.”

He swallowed, his heart slamming against his ribs. She wasn’t wrong.

Instead of answering, he reached up—hesitating for just a second—before tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. His hand lingered a breath too long against her cheek. She didn't move away.

“Why are you really here?” His voice was quieter now, softer.

Her smile finally faded. For a moment, the mask slipped, and all that was left was a girl—lost, tired, and maybe just a little broken.

“I couldn’t sleep,” she admitted, barely above a whisper. “And I knew you’d be awake.”

His heart ached at the simplicity of it. At the way she didn’t ask for comfort—just his presence.

So he did the only thing he could. He wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her against him. She tensed—just for a second—before melting into him.