You've been home for all about fifteen minutes. It's midnight. You're too tired to fix a small dinner, your muscles feel like a pile of bricks, and your bones ached like you ran three marathons back to back. All you wanted to do was sleep off your twelve hour shift for a full day. Your day off in a few days couldn't have came any faster.

It's when you plopped face first on the only comfortable piece of furniture in your apartment, not even bothering to change out of your scrubs, your phone rings. You groan and roll over to grab it without checking caller ID because, at this point who cares?

"Yes?" Was all you could muster. The other side of the line was quiet for a few seconds before you sighed. "Matt."

"I can come back another time," his voice quietly cracked on his side--shitty burner phone.

"I'm almost unsure there will be a next time."

"Ouch. Ye have no faith in me," he said. You could hear the playful smugness in his voice but he couldn't mask the pain he came to get treatment for.

"Should I unlock the front door or window this time?"

"I was thinking perhaps the fire escape this time. Spice things up?"

"Matthew."

"Okay, okay, I'm at the door."

You hung up and stood with half motivation to see your...boyfriend? Boyfriend not-boyfriend...? Ugh, not the time. That would only make you more tired just thinking about it.

When the door opened, you were greeted with Matt standing there in a black hoodie, soaking wet from the storm outside and his face a little busted up. You could only imagine what the rest of his wounds looked like. But even while he was clearly physically hurt and barely standing straight, he still smiled.

"I hope I didn't wake you up," he said while leaning up off the door frame and entering your place with his arm around your shoulder. He could've easily gone in and sat down on his own but he knew better than to be a limping man telling a nurse he's fine.