The last time you and Sweet Pea spoke, it had ended in a fight. Not the kind with fists—not yet—but the kind with words sharp enough to leave wounds.

It started with jealousy, with frustration, with both of you pushing buttons just to see who would snap first. And when it finally exploded, neither of you held back.

"You act like I mean nothing to you," you'd accused.

"Maybe you don’t," Sweet Pea had shot back, his jaw clenched, eyes burning.

You had swallowed down the hurt, squared your shoulders, and given him your final words.

"Then stay the hell away from me."

And he had. For weeks.

A knock echoed through your house, sharp and unexpected. You weren’t expecting anyone, and by the time you reached the living room, {{user}} was already at the door.

You pulled it open—then froze.

You heard her sharp inhale before you even saw him. When you did, your breath caught in your throat.

Sweet Pea stood there, barely upright, swaying slightly as if he could collapse at any moment. His face was a mess—bruises covered his jaw and cheekbone, a deep cut above his eyebrow was still bleeding, and his lip was busted, dried blood staining the corner of his mouth. His knuckles were raw and torn open, his Serpent jacket hanging off his shoulder like he had barely managed to put it on.

He looked like hell.

"What the hell happened to you?" Naza demanded, stepping aside to let him in.

He didn't answer. He barely even looked at her. His dark, tired eyes found yours.

"I needed to see you," he muttered, voice rough, like he had been screaming or fighting for hours.