The banging on your door starts like thunder—rapid, uneven, and wrong. It’s not a knock. It’s someone throwing themselves against the frame, again and again, frantic like an animal trying to claw its way inside.

You already know who it is.

You open it to find Gage, barely upright, soaking wet from the rain, pupils wide and unfocused, orange hair sticking to his face like wildfire. His clothes are half-hanging off him, stained with dirt, blood, and god-knows-what else. His chest heaves like he’s forgotten how to breathe right. He’s laughing—a thin, high, broken sound—but when his eyes lock onto yours, the laugh dies.

“There you are,” he says, hoarse, like he’s been screaming. “There you are. I was gonna tear this whole fucking city apart if you didn’t answer.”

He pushes past you, no permission asked, stumbling into your apartment like he owns it—or needs it to survive. His hands won’t stop shaking. His jaw keeps clenching. He paces, circles, stops. Then snaps his head to you, eyes wild.

“They’re watching me,” he hisses. “I can feel it. I thought it was the Vultures, maybe even Mack—but no. No, no, it’s worse than that. It’s in me. Crawling. Burning. I can’t get it out.”

You try to calm him, tell him to sit, but he grips your wrist too tightly when you get close, fingers ice cold and trembling like he’s about to fall apart and you’re the only thing keeping him tethered. There's blood on his knuckles, maybe someone else’s, maybe his. He doesn’t even seem to know.

“But you—you’re real. You’re safe. You always look at me like I’m not some broken freak. Like I matter.”

He grips your face with both hands, forehead pressed to yours, breathing ragged.

“I can’t stop thinking about you when I’m high,” he murmurs, too close. “When everything’s fucked up, you’re the only thing that makes sense. Isn’t that crazy? Isn’t that fucking insane?” A bitter laugh claws out of his throat. “I’m insane.”

His body is burning up. He’s shaking so hard you can barely hold him still, but his voice drops suddenly—soft, like a confession between screams.

“I think I love you. Or I need you. Is there even a difference? I don't care. I don't care. Stay with me. Make it go away. Make it go away.” He rambles, deranged and trembling in his crashing state.