CRAVES

THE HOUSE THAT WAS NEVER MEANT FOR TWO

The taxi smelled faintly of peppermint and damp leather. Rain drummed against the roof with patient fingers.

Amelia sat sideways in the back seat, one hand pressed against the stranger's shoulder to keep him from slumping forward every time the car rounded a corner. His breathing remained shallow. Too quiet. Every few minutes she leaned closer, searching for another rise of his chest. It always came. Barely.

The driver stole another glance through the mirror. "You know him?" She shook her head. "No." "You picked him up from the street?" Another nod. He exhaled through his nose. "My wife would've done the same." Neither of them spoke after that.

The apartment building looked older at night. Its faded cream walls glistened beneath the rain, every c***k collecting thin streams of water that disappeared into the broken pavement below. The taxi stopped. The engine died. Silence settled between raindrops.

Amelia reached for her purse. She counted the notes once. Then again. Her shoulders sagged. The driver noticed. "You can pay the rest another day." She looked up. "I don't even know your name." "You'll learn it if we meet again."

He stepped out first. Together they struggled with the unconscious stranger. He was heavier than he looked. Solid. Every muscle in his body felt carved from stone. Halfway to the entrance, Amelia's foot slipped. The stranger lurched forward. The driver caught most of his weight. "You alright?" She nodded quickly, brushing rainwater from her face before grabbing Bryan's arm again.

Three flights of stairs suddenly felt like a mountain. By the time they reached the apartment door, Amelia's lungs burned. Her fingers fumbled with the keys. The lock clicked. Warm air greeted them. Small. Simple. Home.

The driver lowered Bryan carefully onto the bed inside the tiny bedroom. His eyes wandered around the apartment. Nothing expensive. Nothing decorative. Just books. Plants on the windowsill. A sewing kit beside the sofa. Medicine lined neatly on the kitchen shelf. Everything had its place.

"You're a tidy one." Amelia laughed softly. "I can't afford to lose things." He smiled. "Good night."

The apartment became quiet again. Rain tapped gently against the window. She stood in the middle of the room, staring at the stranger occupying the only bed. "...Now what?"

The first aid box sat where she'd left it earlier. She carried it over. The man's coat was ruined. Heavy with rain. She peeled it away carefully. A strange symbol had been stitched into the lining. Not a brand. A crest. Silver thread woven into black fabric. A crown. Surrounded by thorn-like vines. Her fingers brushed over it. Expensive. Everything about him whispered money. Everything except the fact that she'd found him bleeding alone in an alley.

She unbuttoned his shirt just enough to expose the wound. The bandage she'd wrapped in the alley had already turned crimson. She pulled it away. Her breath caught. The wound... it had changed. The torn flesh looked smaller. Not healed. Just... closing. Slowly. As if invisible hands were stitching it together beneath his skin. She blinked. No. She leaned closer. The edges twitched. Then settled.

The room fell still. Amelia sat frozen, waiting for it to happen again. Nothing. Only the rain. "I'm seeing things," she whispered more for herself than anyone else. Exhaustion played tricks on people. That had to be it.

She cleaned the dried blood away with warm water. His skin was cold beneath the cloth. Not cool. Cold. Winter cold. She pressed the back of her hand against his forehead. No fever. Just that impossible chill. Another mystery. The basin slowly filled with pink water. She wrung out the cloth again.

As she reached across him, something caught her eye. A thin silver chain rested beneath his collarbone. She hesitated. The pendant had slipped beneath the fabric. She couldn't see what it was. Curiosity tugged at her. She left it alone. Some things belonged to strangers.

Fresh bandages replaced the old ones. She stepped back. "There."

The room looked different with someone else inside it. Smaller somehow. Her tiny apartment had always belonged to one person. Now every glance landed on the unfamiliar man sleeping in her bed.

She wandered into the kitchen. The kettle whistled. Steam curled toward the ceiling. She poured one cup of tea. Then looked toward the bedroom. Out of habit... she reached for a second cup. Her hand paused. "...Right." She returned it to the shelf.

Outside, thunder rolled across the sky. The lights flickered. Once. Twice. Darkness swallowed the apartment. Amelia sighed. "You've got to be kidding." She searched the drawer by memory until her fingers found a candle. A single flame bloomed. Soft gold spilled across the room.

The stranger's face emerged from the shadows. For the first time... she really looked at him. Not because he was handsome. Though he was. There was something older about him. Not in age. In stillness. His expression carried a strange kind of weariness, the sort that sleep alone could never erase. A loose strand of dark hair rested across his forehead. Without thinking, Amelia reached out. Her fingers stopped just short. She drew her hand back. "Don't be weird." She smiled at herself.

The tea cooled untouched. The rain softened. Midnight slipped quietly into morning. Sleep eventually found her in the wooden chair beside the bed, a blanket pulled around her shoulders. The candle burned low.

Hours passed.

Then... the man's fingers moved. His eyes opened. Not suddenly. Slowly. Deliberately. He didn't sit up. Didn't make a sound. His gaze settled on the unfamiliar ceiling. Then drifted toward the young woman asleep beside him. Her head rested against the chair. One hand still lay close to the edge of the mattress, as though she'd fallen asleep making sure he was still there.

Bryan remained perfectly still. The scent of fresh blood lingered faintly beneath layers of soap and rain. His jaw tightened. His throat moved once. He closed his eyes again and fell back to sleep. Not from exhaustion. From restraint.