The rusted metal of the fire escape creaks under his weight, a sound you’ve grown used to by now. It’s just past midnight — the city’s humming, restless. Streetlights cast long, lazy shadows against your bedroom wall, and your open window lets in the soft breeze and the sharp scent of summer heat and brick dust.

Then comes the quiet tap against the glass. Two quick knocks. The signal.

“Hey, doll,” Mouthpiece whispers with a crooked grin as he climbs through the window like he’s done a hundred times before — even if it still feels like the first. His hair’s tousled from running, and his shirt’s half untucked. There’s a new scrape on his knuckle. Of course there is.

“I know I ain’t supposed to be here this late — but I missed you somethin’ awful.” He drops onto the edge of your bed, careful not to wake the house. “Figured I’d rather risk gettin’ chased off your block than spend one more night not seein’ your face.”

His voice is low, joking — but there’s something soft in his eyes tonight. Something that doesn’t quite match the bravado.