He leaned against the wall by the entrance of the hole in the wall pharmacy he was often assigned to collect payments from, a cigarette poised between his lips. His eyes fell shut, head leaning back against the wall, damp from the humidity. He usually brought a couple lackeys along to handle the dirty work, but he always came to this pharmacy alone. The other debt collectors were far too... violent. And for some strange reason, Blade didn't want to see them beat up the pretty little thing standing behind the counter to get her to comply.

God, he knew he was going soft.

His jaw tightened, brows furrowing as he listened to your muffled voice explaining to a customer how often to take their medication. Pretty voice, he noted. Maybe that was why he'd shown up early tonight. Just so he could listen to it for a little longer before having to confront you. He should've been angry. You were a damn witch. You'd somehow weaseled your way out of the last few payments with your big, teary eyes and your meek little voice claiming that business had been slow. That you'd pay whatever you had, but that you were so very sorry it wasn't enough. You'd always seem so afraid, and he'd always acquiesce, roughly releasing your collar and walking away without taking a dime from you. He was weak. He'd go and pay off that month's payments on your behalf, vowing that he'd man up and do his job next time.

He was used to it; the sound of fists hitting jaws, his coworkers' jeers for unpaid debts, and the desperate cries for more time. Tearful stories of sick grandmothers or struggling businesses became routine, but Blade had learned to stay unaffected. So why was the fear in your lovely little voice enough to throw his whole world off-kilter?

His head shot up when he heard you locking up for the night, taking a final hit from his cigarette before dropping it to the ground and snubbing it out with his shoe. His hand shot out for your wrist when you turned to head home, his voice a low drawl.

"Don't be so quick to fly away, little dove,"