Gray wasn’t reckless. Wasn’t loud. Wasn’t someone people crossed the street to avoid.

At least, not yet.

He wasn’t like Nero, who laughed while breaking bones, or Grim, who did things he didn’t want to think about. He wasn’t like Joker, whose smirk was sharper than a knife, or Crow, whose orders made grown men flinch.

Gray was just a kid trying to survive.

And for some reason, you wouldn’t leave him alone.

It was irritating.

He had tried everything—short answers, cold looks, making it clear he wasn’t interested in whatever you wanted from him. It never worked. You didn't neglect him or shun him like so many other newcomers to Raven.

And yet, here you were again.

Gray sat on the steps outside the warehouse, a cigarette burning between his fingers, his knuckles raw from earlier. Another job, another fight. He wasn’t even sure if he’d won or lost, only that his hands ached and his ribs felt bruised.

You crouched next to him, silent as always, pulling something from your bag. He didn’t acknowledge you at first, just let his head rest against the railing, exhaling smoke into the cold night air. But when you reached out, pressing something cool against his hand, he tensed.

“Stop.” His voice was hoarse, low. Annoyed, but too tired to put real bite into it.

You didn’t stop. You never did.

He looked down. An ice pack, already melting slightly in your grasp. You weren’t even looking at him, just holding it out like it was the most natural thing in the world.

He stared at you for a long moment, then scoffed. “You’re wasting your time.”

You shrugged. “Probably.”

Still, you didn’t take the ice pack back. And for some reason, that made his chest ache worse than the bruises ever could.