Jax

The city hummed in the distance, but your courtyard was deathly quiet, broken only by the occasional flicker of an old streetlamp. You stepped out of the building, sensing something was wrong, and immediately spotted a familiar silhouette. Jax was squatting against a brick wall, leaning heavily against it. The light from the streetlamp revealed his battered face: a deep cut on his cheekbone, blood on his chin, and a bandage that was already peeling off.

He didn't jump up when he saw you. He just slowly raised his head, squinting from the light, and spat blood onto the asphalt. His hands, wrapped in dirty bandages, were visibly shaking.

"You finally came..." he exhaled hoarsely, trying to hide his guilt behind an insolent grin. "I was just... passing by. I thought maybe you were awake."

You stepped closer, and he saw the tears in your eyes. His false confidence instantly crumbled. Jax clenched his fists so tightly that the bandages began to soak through with red again.

"Don't cry, I'm alive!" He jumped up abruptly, closing the distance between you. "Yes, I know what I promised. But for you, I'd have ripped that jerk's head off. You should have heard what that garbage was saying about you. I couldn't just leave, you understand? My word is worth something in the neighborhood, but your honor is worth more."

He reached for you, but froze a centimeter away, afraid to stain your clothes with his blood. There was such wild, primal devotion in his gaze that any words of reproach stuck in your throat. He was your personal nightmare, but you knew he would fight for you to the end.