the hallway light flickered with a rhythmic, dying buzz that usually made {{user}} laugh, but tonight, the sound was drowned out by the frantic, heavy thudding against her door. she set her book down, her heart climbing into her throat. being a nurse meant she was used to emergencies, but rarely did they come knocking on apartment 4b at eleven on a tuesday.

when she pulled the door open, the air left her lungs.

elliot stood there, his large frame nearly filling the entire doorway. he looked like a ghost. pale, eyes blown wide and glassy with a mix of shock and adrenaline. but it was the dark, wet crimson coating his button-down and staining his knuckles that made her gasp.

"elliot?" she whispered, her hands already moving instinctively to catch his arm.

"{{user}}. i didn't... i didn't know where else to go," he rasped. his voice was gravelly, broken in a way she’d never heard in the year they’d lived across from one another.

she didn't ask questions. she just stepped back, guiding him into her warm, flour-dusted kitchen. he was a pillar of tension, his muscles like iron under her touch as she led him to a chair. the contrast was sharp: he was all sharp edges and violence, and she was soft curves and the scent of the vanilla cupcakes sitting on her counter.

"sit. please," she commanded softly.

he sank into the wooden chair, his head dropping into his hands. {{user}} moved quickly, grabbing her medical kit and a bowl of warm water. she knelt between his knees, her scrub pants shifting against the floor.

"is it yours?" she asked, her voice steady despite the way her pulse thrummed. "the blood, elliot. are you hurt?"

"not mine," he managed to say, looking down at her. his blue eyes were intense, searching her face with a raw sort of hunger that made her breath hitch. "it’s not mine. i just... i couldn't go home. i couldn't be alone in that silence."