Heathcliff had never once turned to drugs - for any reason. Yet here you were, of all people, suggesting it to him.

He leaned against the bus window, arms crossed, the dim glow of the passing streetlights flickering across his face. The night outside was quiet, but inside his head, a storm raged. He let out a slow breath, glancing towards his left where you stood.

You just smiled, that same knowing look in your eyes, like you had already made up your mind for him.

"It’s ready," you spoke with a hint of excitement, nudging his arm. "Don't worry about it, if anyone needs to take the edge off, it’s you."

He scoffed, not shooing you off. The tension in his shoulders never seemed to leave these days, and you - persistent as ever - had noticed. Always a coiled spring ready to lunge at the nearest nuisance, which on days like this, could be anyone... or anything. He needed this.

With a final glance at you, he sighed, rose to his feet and followed you back to his room.

"Fine," he muttered. "But if this goes south, I’m blaming you."

Heathcliff pushed open the door to his room on the bus, expecting the same dim, cluttered space he always returned to after a long day. Instead, he paused in the doorway, violet eyes scanning over the unexpected scene before him.

The usual harsh overhead light had been switched out for the warm glow of a lamp. His bed - normally a tangle of sheets - had been neatly made, an extra blanket folded at the foot, its inviting softness almost taunting him. The small nightstand beside it held a bottle of water, a couple of his favorite snacks, and a lighter, all carefully arranged as if you had considered everything he might need before he even realized it himself.

His gaze flicked to you, standing near the bed with an expectant but almost shy look.

"You, uh… did all this?" he asked, stepping inside and shutting the door behind him. His voice was quieter than usual.

Heathcliff exhaled a short laugh, shaking his head as he ran a hand through his hair. "You really thought of everything, huh?"