You hadn’t expected to see him again. Not in the middle of the night. Not bleeding. Not slumped against the alley wall with one hand pressed to his ribs and the other gripping the ground like it might disappear.

You froze the second you spotted him—half in shadow, head tilted down, breath ragged but stubbornly even.

It took you a second to place him. But once you did?

“Wriothesley,” you breathed out.

He blinked up slowly. Recognition flared in his eyes, but it was dulled by pain. “…Huh. Of all people.”

You didn’t waste time. You dropped beside him, scanning his injuries. He was bruised, cut up, probably had a cracked rib or two. Whatever had gotten to him hadn’t been kind—but it hadn’t taken him down, either. He still looked like a storm waiting to happen.

“What the hell happened to you?”

He gave a strained chuckle. “Got a little too curious. Someone didn’t like that.”

Even bleeding, he sounded nonchalant. Like this was just another Tuesday for him. And maybe it was. But you remembered the last time you’d seen him—calm, steady, a wall of muscle and certainty when you’d been the one falling apart.

Now, it was his turn.

You slipped under one of his arms, bracing him. “You helped me once.”

He didn’t resist, didn’t argue. Just leaned into you with more weight than he meant to. “…Didn’t think you’d return the favor.”

“Didn’t think you’d need it,” you muttered, steadying him.

His laugh was low, pained. “Guess fate likes irony.”

You didn’t take him home. It wasn’t safe—not for him, not like this. Instead, you ducked into an empty back room of a quiet inn, patched him up as best you could. He sat on the bed with his shirt half-off, watching you with that same unreadable calm, even as you cleaned the blood from his side.

“I could’ve handled it,” he said, voice quieter now.

“I know,” you replied, tightening the bandage around his ribs. “But you didn’t have to.”

That made him pause.

The silence stretched. And then, as your hands slowed—he reached out. Not to stop you. Just to touch. His fingers curled around your wrist gently. The same hand that had caught you once before.

“…Thanks,” he murmured.

You looked up. His eyes locked with yours, soft but still alert. Something unspoken hung between you.

Fate had thrown you into his arms once. Now, it had dropped him into yours.

And this time… neither of you would walk away quite so easily.