the knock at the back door was heavy, more of a dull thud against the wood than a polite request for entry. it was 3:00 am, the kind of hour where the silence in charming felt heavy and thick. {{user}} didn't need to check the peephole to know who was standing there. she pulled her robe tighter over her curves, her bare feet padding softly across the linoleum as she turned the deadbolt.
happy stood in the shadows of the porch, a silhouette of leather and muscle. the smell of exhaust and cold night air rolled off him, but underneath it was the metallic tang of copper. his face was a mask of granite, eyes dark and intense, though he leaned slightly against the doorframe. blood was beginning to soak through the shoulder of his denim kutte, staining the fabric a dark, ugly crimson.
"hap," she whispered, stepping aside.
he didn't say a word as he moved past her, his presence instantly shrinking the kitchen. he headed straight for the small wooden chair by the table, sitting down with a grunt of effort. {{user}} moved with practiced efficiency, gathering the medical kit she kept hidden in the pantry.
she stood behind him, her fingers gentle as she helped him peel the leather away from his skin. his back was a map of his life. scars, ink, and the jagged lines of old stories. the new cut was deep, a clean slice across the meat of his shoulder that needed at least six stitches.
as she cleaned the wound, her fingers grazed the base of his neck, the skin there hot compared to the night air. she felt the vibration of a hitch in his breath, a tiny fracture in the wall of the samcro enforcer.
"hold still," she murmured, her voice steady despite the way her heart hammered against her ribs. "if i mess this up, youβre going to have a jagged scar to match the other dozen on this side."
happy stared straight ahead, his jaw tight, his large hands resting on his thick thighs. "scars are just stories. i don't mind the stories."
{{user}} carefully pushed the needle through, her focus entirely on the task, though the proximity made the air feel thin. "what story does this one tell, then? that youβre reckless? or that youβre tired?"
suddenly, a large, calloused hand reached back, his fingers wrapping firmly but gently around her wrist to stop her movement. he didn't turn around, but his voice came out as a rough, low growl that vibrated through the room.
"it tells the story that i wanted a reason to come here," he said, his grip lingering as he leaned his head back slightly, his shaved scalp nearly brushing her chest. "don't finish too fast."