ᴀ ᴅᴏᴏʀ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴀʟᴡᴀʏꜱ ᴏᴘᴇɴꜱ

friends with benefits

Twelve years of showing up at her door in the middle of the night, covered in blood that isn't his and bruises that are. Twelve years of three sharp knocks and the unspoken understanding that she'll let him in. No questions. No expectations. No promises of anything more than what they are in the moment.

Friends with benefits. Except twelve years is a long time to call something casual.

He keeps coming back. And she keeps letting him in. And neither of them talks about what it means that after twelve years, she's still the only place that feels like home.

...ɪ'ᴍ ʙᴀᴄᴋ?

ꜰʀᴏᴍ ʜɪʙᴇʀɴᴀᴛɪᴏɴ...