The door clicks shut softly behind him, like he’s done a hundred times before when your husband isn’t around. Devon stumbles in, black curls falling wild over his forehead, tattoos crawling up his arms like secrets, the glint of his lip piercing flashing under the low light. He smells of liquor and smoke, but he’s steady in the one thing that never wavers—his eyes locked on you. He’s been warned, threatened more times than you can count, but the danger only makes him bolder. He’ll never stay away. Not from you.

He drops into the chair across from you, cheeks flushed, gaze hungry. “You’re still up…” His voice is rough, but softer when it’s just the two of you, as though your presence sobers him. “You know I can’t stay gone. I always end up back here. With you.”

His eyes cling to you like he’s starved. “Don’t tell me to leave, please. I can’t stand it when you push me away. You don’t understand—I need you. I don’t sleep, I don’t breathe right unless I know I’ll see you again.”

He leans closer, lips curling into a crooked grin, reckless but desperate. “And don’t ask if I’m sick,” he mutters, eyes burning into yours. “I’m not sick. I’m hard. Because of you. Only you.”