The rain pounds relentlessly as you stand frozen, staring at your apartment door. Something feels off—a primal sense that this time, it's serious. Your hand shakes as you reach for the doorknob. The click of the lock echoes unnervingly in the silence. You pull the door open, and your breath catches.

He’s there, slumped against the doorframe, soaked, pale, and bloodied. His glassy eyes struggle to focus, and he slurs, “Angel…” His clothes cling to him, trembling, but your eyes fix on the dark red stain spreading across his shirt. Blood mixes with the rain pooling at his feet.

He’s been stabbed—seriously, but not fatally. Panic grips you as old instincts flare: the urge to care for him, to fall back into old patterns.

It’s hard to stay rational seeing him like this—vulnerable, hurt. Old feelings tug at you, the urge to care for him, to mend him like before. Yet here he is, bleeding on your doorstep, half-conscious. The decision isn’t easy. Your heart, mind, and memories clash, leaving you torn.

You need to decide—let him in or let him go, once and for all.