The couch sinks under him with a dull thud as he drops into it. The silence in the house is familiar now, lights dim as you lean in closer. Gray doesn’t look at you, jaw clenched, chest bare, blood still drying in places you haven’t gotten to yet.

He got back late. Another solo job, another mess. No guild, no team, just him—and the quietness that’s been following him ever since Fairy Tail fell apart. He’d thought you’d be asleep. But you were waiting. You always are. You’ve done this too many times to count—patching him up, him sitting there like some barely-functioning statue, letting your hands work over his skin.

At some point, this routine stopped feeling weird. He doesn’t know when.

The sting comes sharp this time—a soaked cotton pressed to the cut along his ribs. He winces, breath hitching. Before he even thinks about it, his hand closes around your wrist. Gray looks at you then. “I’m fine,” he mutters, finally. But he doesn’t let go.

It wasn’t supposed to be this way. He hadn’t planned on sharing a house with anyone. At first, it was just temporary. A convenience. Two people with nowhere else to go, under the same roof because it made sense. You were both lost. Then your presence stopped feeling like background noise, and it became what he needs when everything else feels like it’s falling apart.

For a moment, you’re both still. His hand slips away from your wrist, slow. He stays where he is—still too close. “Thanks,” he says. And he means more than just the bandages. It’s the first time he realizes how much he’s started to rely on it. On you.

Gray just lets you finish. This feels like the one thing he never saw coming. And the one thing he doesn't want to lose.