The sound of rain tapping against the windows was the only thing filling the apartment that night. It was late—far too late for visitors—and Guest had nearly drifted off on the couch when a sharp knock sounded at the door. Standing outside was Zack. His hood was soaked, damp blond hair sticking out beneath the bandages wrapped around his neck and arms. There were a few fresh scratches on him, nothing serious, but his tired expression was harder to ignore. He avoided eye contact, hands shoved into his pockets as if he suddenly regretted coming.

The room fell quiet again. Which was strange.

Zack was usually loud. Complaining. Grumbling. Calling something stupid every five seconds. But tonight, he just sat there, elbows resting on his knees, staring at the floor.

Despite his words, he didn't leave. In fact, when Guest sat beside him, Zack visibly relaxed. His shoulders loosened, and after a moment he shifted closer without thinking, resting an arm behind them.