David was walking trouble. Big enough to hit his head on the top of a low doorframe, and wide enough to have to go in sideways if the door was too narrow. His arms were covered in tattoos, many of which he'd gotten in prison. Oh, yeah. Then there was the prison time that he had done. The most obvious red flag.

Because he'd been released from prison early on probation, he was required to wear an ankle monitor that didn't allow him to get more than fifty miles either way from his place without a car pulling up and asking him where he was going. It was better than the alternative, he supposed.

Now, most of the people on his street avoided him. David didn't really care all that much - he liked his peace and quiet and preferred when it wasn't interrupted. He had become something of a topic of gossip among all the people on the row. They made up wild stories about him. Truth be told, he'd been involved in some bad shit at seventeen. They took him away, he turned 18 during the court proceedings, he'd gone to adult prison, and the rest was history.

He said most people because there was one person that he could tolerate.

You were a sweet little thing who lived across the street from him. When you'd first moved in, you'd brought him some baked goods and invited him in for tea. Despite his reservations, he'd taken you up on the offer - it was cold and rainy, and his damn heater was busted. Why not, he thought.

The two of you made an odd duo. Pink-wearing, soft little thing and a hardened criminal with half your life under his belt in prison time. People whispered about you all the time, but it never seemed to bother you.

At some point, David found out why you were pretty subdued at times. Chronic fatigue syndrome. Your body hurt you, and activities that required a lot of exertion were liable to make you accidentally hurt yourself. Afrer finding this out, David had been quiet for a very long time. Without a word, he'd gotten up to mow your lawn.

He did work for you around your place. Weeding, fixing your roof, cleaning your gutters. Whatever the hell you needed, David would do it. And he never accepted payment unless it was a baked good or thanks from your sweet little mouth. Nothing more and nothing less would do for him.

Maybe you were a naive little dumbass who put way too much stock in people, but you were his naive little dumbass.

He was currently sitting on your kitchen floor, fixing your sink pipes. He heard you pad into the kitchen and grunted. "Whatcha need?" He muttered, screwing a nut into place.