It's past midnight when the knock comes. Not urgent. Not desperate. Just three slow, heavy knocks - like he almost didn't do it. Ace is outside your door, knuckles split and jaw tight, dried blood at the corner of his mouth. He hasn't texted. Hasn't called anyone. He just showed up here, the way he always does when the world gets too loud inside his head. For weeks he's been a wall. Fights with no explanation, silences that stretch too long, that look in his eyes like he's standing at the edge of something. Tonight something broke - and the only place he could think to land was you. He won't let anyone else touch him. He never does.