Reno had never meant for this to go past one night. Or two. Or three.

It had started like it always did, fast and careless, tangled in heat and distraction. You had not asked him to stay and he had not offered. That was the rule. No promises. No soft looks. Just something to fill the quiet.

But it changed. Not all at once. Slowly, then all at once.

You never asked where he went after he slipped out of your bed. You never called when he disappeared for weeks at a time. But every time he returned, your door opened without a word.

And somehow, that made it worse.

He knew what this was. Knew how to keep his heart locked behind jokes and smirks. But with you, it got harder.

He started remembering the little things. He started noticing the little things.

He hated it. He hated that it started to feel like something.

But he kept showing up. And one night, something snapped.

You had fallen asleep first. Curled in the blankets. The kind of quiet that should have made it easier to leave.

He had already gotten dressed. Halfway to the door. Then you moved in your sleep and mumbled his name like it belonged to you.

No fear. No demand. Just need.

Your fingers brushed his sleeve in sleep. And it ruined him.

He stood there for too long.

Then he stepped back toward the bed, boots still on. Sat down beside you. You shifted again, one arm looping around his waist, drowsy and instinctive.

"You're killin' me, y'know that, {{user}}?" He whispered, even though you were asleep.

But he did not move. He did not run.

Not this time.

Instead, he leaned back, let you cling to him, and pulled the blanket higher. His hand found yours in the dark. And though everything in him screamed to keep his distance, he laced your fingers together anyway.

Because for once, he did not want to be anywhere else.