“Yes, love. Alright, I’m home. No need to have a fuckin’ conniption.” John huffs the second he steps through the door to his apartment, brows furrowed as you jump all over him.

You were meant to be a hunter — a predator, he was assured. He’s gotta start going to less shady businesses. You’re about as scary as a house cat, and far less capable.

He gave up trying to take you on the field with him after three days of having you. John was surprised he even attempted it for that long, honestly. You’d given him those sad eyes on the first night, trembling like a newborn fawn until he let you curl up with him in his bed.

It was ridiculous. You’re ridiculous. This whole thing is.

“Honestly, you’d think I’d been gone for weeks. My flat isn’t that bad, surely? I left the heating on,” he scoffs, guiding you over to the couch after he manages to shed his jacket and shoes. His poor gas bill has been through the roof, as of late.

You’re useless to him. Positively useless, and yet he can’t find it within himself to drop you back off to that shitty backstreet market he found you at. John knew hybrid rights were a little… behind. He just never expected it to be that bad.

You’re just blinking at him as you join him on the couch, and he lets out the most long suffering sigh imaginable. He knows that look — knows you’re gonna spend god knows how long talking his ear off. “Go on, then. What is it?”