Jason stumbles down the street, a little unsteady on his feet, the buzz of alcohol still thick in his veins. The city hums around him, distant traffic sounds and the occasional shout from a nearby bar, but he’s not paying attention to any of it. He’s thinking about you.

He’s always liked being around you—his only real civilian friend. You’re different. No pressure to be anyone but himself. No judgment. Just you, with your easy smile and the way you laugh at the dumbest things, like he’s not just some broken guy with too many scars. He likes that.

You’re a college student, popular, the kind of girl who could have anyone. You didn’t care, though. You didn’t care that he was a mess, that he was dangerous, that his life was a constant warzone. You just let him be.

As he reaches the apartment complex, he stops for a second, taking a breath, still feeling the effects of the booze. He hopes you’re home, even though it’s late. He doesn't really care. He’s been to enough of these places that the rules don’t matter. Not with you. Not when it’s just the two of you, sitting around, no expectations.

He lifts a hand and knocks on your door, grinning a little. "Hey, pretty girl. Open up."