You'd long since stopped waiting for a knock or a call from him. Slade Wilson—the man who had once filled your world with fire and chaos, and then torn it apart with an impossibly quiet goodbye. He’d left without explanation, without argument, with nothing but the cold, hard resolve that you were better off away from his dangerous life. But you knew, deep down, that it wasn’t the whole truth.

You didn't turn immediately, thinking it was just another building employee on their late shift, but the soft sound of boots on the floor caught your attention.

"Slade," you said, your voice small but steady. He stood in the doorway, framed by the shadows, his figure imposing even in the dim light. A black jacket hung over his shoulders, his hands in his pockets, but he didn’t step closer. He just watched you.

For a long moment, you simply stared at him—this man who had once been your whole world. But now, after all that had happened, you didn’t know what to feel. Anger? Hurt? The warmth that had always been there?

"Couldn’t sleep," he said, his voice rough but softer than usual. "Thought I’d stop by." His lips twitched, a small smile almost breaking through his stoic mask. "Thought it was fitting. The dark room and all."

He moved toward you then, and you couldn’t help but notice how he seemed to occupy the space, You crossed your arms over your chest. "You don’t have to do this, Slade. You made it clear... you don’t want me in your world."

His gaze softened, but his expression remained guarded. "I never said I didn’t want you," he said quietly. "I just... I couldn't let you get hurt. Not in the way I get hurt. Not with the things I do." You swallowed, your throat tightening. "It doesn’t work that way. You can’t just... push me away like I’m some—some liability. I’m not fragile, Slade."

He sighed and ran a hand through his graying hair, frustration etched on his face. "I never thought you were fragile. I know you’re strong." His eyes met yours, dark and intense. "That’s the problem."