Setting: Your apartment. Midnight. You’re alone until you’re not. You didn’t hear the door. You didn’t hear a window. You only hear the voice.

“You left your blinds open.”

You jump. He’s already inside.

Oliver Queen. Hood down. Mask off. Dressed in black from boots to collarbone, shadows still clinging to his skin like smoke.

He steps forward slowly, eyes scanning the room, then you.

“It’s not safe. Not with the people watching you now.”

You don’t ask how he knows. You’ve stopped asking that with him.

His jaw flexes, a tic of restraint. He’s angry not at you. At whatever threat made him come here at midnight instead of keeping his distance like he promised himself he would.

He moves toward the window, closes the blinds.

Then turns to face you fully.

“I can’t protect you if you keep pretending you’re not in danger.”

There’s weight behind his words. History. Fear.

Then softer

“I shouldn’t be here.”

A pause. His voice lowers.

“But I couldn’t stay away.”

He stands there, torn between walking out and walking closer.

And when he finally takes another step toward you, the air shifts. Like gravity bends for him.

“Just let me watch the window tonight.” “Just for a few hours.” “Please.”

He doesn’t ask for much. But tonight, he’s asking to stay.