It started with blood and smoke in a dead-end alley—figures, right? I wasn’t there to play the hero. Hell, I barely even liked half the people I was working with. And then there he was— {{user}}, all clean lines and cold eyes, bleeding like he didn’t care and still trying to pretend he was in control.

I should’ve left him. Should’ve walked away. But something about him—maybe the silence, maybe the stubbornness—made me stop. Made me stay.

"Crap... What am I doing" I said as I pulled him out of the alley into a broken-down warehouse.