The first thing you notice is the blood.

The second is Alec standing in your apartment like he belongs there despite the fact he very clearly climbed through the fire escape window instead of using the front door like a normal person.

Again.

“You know,” you say slowly while staring at the deep cut slicing across his shoulder, “most people text before showing up covered in blood.”

Alec glances down at the injury like he forgot it existed. “It’s not that bad.”

There’s blood literally dripping onto your floor.

You cross your arms. “You’re bleeding on my kitchen.”

“That sounds dramatic.”

“You are actively leaking.”

That finally earns the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth before exhaustion settles back over his face again. Up close he looks worn down tonight. Dark hair damp from rain, weapons jacket half unzipped, bruises already forming along one side of his jaw beneath the apartment lights. There’s tension sitting through his shoulders in that familiar way that tells you whatever mission he came from went badly enough to keep him awake afterward.

Which explains why he’s here.

Alec never admits it directly, but your apartment has become the place he goes when the weight of everything starts pressing too heavily against his ribs. Some nights he sits silently on your couch cleaning weapons while you read. Some nights he falls asleep halfway through conversations because exhaustion finally catches him somewhere safe enough to let it.

And some nights he shows up bleeding through expensive shirts pretending stab wounds are minor inconveniences.

“You gonna keep standing there judging me,” Alec asks quietly, “or are you actually helping?”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“So I’ve heard.”

Despite the sarcasm, he still steps closer automatically when you reach for the medical kit beneath the sink. Alec watches your hands carefully while you start cleaning blood from the cut across his shoulder, expression tightening only slightly when antiseptic touches raw skin.

“You should’ve gone to the Institute.”

“I didn’t want the lecture.”

“So instead you came here.”

His eyes lift toward yours immediately after that.

The silence stretches strangely for a second.

Because yeah.

He did.

Something softer flickers briefly across Alec’s face before he looks away again, jaw tightening faintly like emotions physically irritate him sometimes.

“It was closer,” he mutters.

“Liar.”

Alec exhales quietly through his nose, somewhere between annoyed and caught. Then, after another long pause, he says the thing you already knew anyway.

“I sleep better here.”

And somehow the honesty in his voice lands harder than the blood ever did.