It starts with a knock.

No—not even. Just the softest scrape. Like something dragging against the wood of the front door. You almost don’t hear it over the kettle, over the early morning static of your kitchen radio humming through the quiet. But it happens again. A dull thump, this time. Then nothing.

You check the peephole out of habit. What you expect to see is the usual: a delivery, a package, maybe someone lost again because your address is hard to find on GPS. But that’s not what’s waiting.

Trevor.

He’s hunched, damp from the shoulders down, like he’s been walking through the night rain. No coat. His jeans are stiff with mud at the knees, the hem torn. There's a gash on his cheek, blood dried into a hairline crack. His right hand clutches his side tightly, fingers trembling against something hidden beneath the fabric of his shirt.

He’s leaning against the doorway like it’s the only thing keeping him upright, and his eyes—his eyes look like they’ve seen something they’ll never unsee. The world doesn’t feel quite real for a moment.

Trevor was supposed to be gone. Out of the city. Out of your life. Maybe dead. Maybe not. But the last time you saw him, it hadn’t ended gently. Or cleanly. And now, here he is. Standing on your doorstep just after dawn like a ghost who missed their cue.

He doesn’t speak when you first open the door. He just stares at you—blinking like he’s not entirely sure you’re real. His lips are pale. His knuckles are scraped raw. He smells faintly like blood and wet concrete.

Then, finally, he swallows and says—quietly: “I didn’t know where else to go.” His voice is hoarse, ragged. “I… I didn’t think you’d open the door.”

He shifts his weight slightly, grimacing as if even that movement costs him something. You notice the tremble in his knees. He’s barely holding it together. He’s thinner. Paler. Like whatever happened to him didn’t just hurt him—it hollowed something out.

He glances down and then back up at you, as if he can’t bring himself to ask for help out loud. Like just being here is already more than he thinks he deserves.

Trevor has always been a tangle of charm, lies, and mess—someone who could talk his way out of anything with a crooked smile and a cigarette tucked behind his ear. But now? There’s none of that.

Just a man—exhausted, quiet, and half-broken—waiting to see if you’ll still let him in.