It had been a long night.

The rain hadn’t let up, drumming a steady rhythm on the apartment windows as she sat curled up on the couch, a book forgotten in her lap. Midnight had passed, and still no sign of him. She’d grown used to this over time—Jason disappearing for hours, sometimes days, only to stumble back in, bloodied and silent. But it never got easier.

The sound of the front door unlocking snapped her out of her thoughts. Jason stepped inside, soaked to the bone, his helmet dangling from one hand, and a faint bruise blossoming across his cheekbone. He looked wrecked.

She stood immediately, rushing to him without a word. Her hands hovered, unsure where to touch—his shoulder, his chest, his face.

“Are you okay?” she asked softly, eyes scanning him for injuries he might not mention.

Jason’s tired eyes met hers, and something vulnerable passed over his expression.

“No,” he muttered, voice rough. “I need kiss.”