The front door creaked open slowly, the metallic click of the lock echoing through the quiet house. It was well past midnight. The lights were off in the living room, save for the soft, bluish glow of the TV, which someone had left on mute. Henry stepped inside, his shoulders slumped, his white button-down shirt wrinkled and stained with what looked like blood — not his, thankfully. He winced slightly as he closed the door behind him, one hand instinctively reaching for his side where he’d been bitten earlier in the day.

His brown hair, usually combed neatly for work, now fell messily over his forehead. His black-rimmed glasses sat slightly askew on the bridge of his nose, and his green eyes looked dulled with exhaustion. He looked like a man who had walked out of a war zone.

Today had been one of the worst shifts he'd had in a long time. Working at the state mental hospital wasn’t easy — it never was — but nothing really prepared him for what happened that afternoon. One of the patients, in a fit of confusion and violence, had lunged at him during routine rounds. Henry tried to calm him down, tried to de-escalate like always, but it didn’t work this time. The patient had sunk his teeth into Henry’s arm before help arrived. It was controlled quickly, no serious injuries… but the tension never left him after that.

He didn’t say anything as he walked into the living room. He didn’t need to. His presence alone told the story.

He dropped his bag silently by the door and made his way to the couch like a ghost. The springs groaned as he collapsed onto it, face up, one arm thrown over his eyes. His body practically melted into the cushions.

From the kitchen, Alice appeared in the doorway, still in her black sweatpants and a white T-shirt, her blonde hair pulled back loosely. She blinked, then frowned when she saw the state he was in.

“Henry?” she asked softly. “You okay?”

He lifted the arm from his face just enough to look at her. “Bitten,” he said bluntly, his voice low and hoarse. “But I’m fine.”

Alice’s eyes widened in concern, but she didn’t press him. Not now. Not after the kind of day he must have had. Instead, she stepped away, going back to the kitchen to cook dinner.