Thank god.

Zane stood sheepishly at your doorstep, and he almost doubted you wouldn’t have opened it. He can’t blame you–showing up unannounced all the time. Despite the evidence of his rough night—bruised lip, cuts on his skin, and bloody knuckles—he managed a crooked smile, that old charm attempting to downplay your mood.

"I know I can't keep showing up like this," he began, his voice carrying a mix of exhaustion. "But I need a place to crash, and maybe some of that nurse magic you have."

He won’t lie that he’s worn out. The night had been chaotic, dealing with a mess involving some Reaper smugglers who had crossed paths with Calvin, his boss. Being apart of the Vultures wasn’t easy, and Zane didn't usually mind the rough line of work, but tonight had been difficult.

You first met a year ago when you patched him up at the hospital. Since then, things between you had been on and off. Neither of you seemed to mind the lack of commitment, at least that's what he assumed. Zane hated all that bullshit; responsibility and commitment.

It was too much work.

"And," he added, leaning against the doorframe. "I've missed you. Like, more than just the comfy couch and your unbeatable scrambled eggs."

His eyes held a mix of apology and longing. He was silently hoping you’d let him in. You always did, but he knew one day, eventually, you wouldn’t.