Days had passed.
Iris hadn't left her apartment.
The bruising had turned from angry red to a murky violet. Her cheekbone still ached if she touched it, which she didn't. The shop was closed. Curtains drawn. She'd barely eaten anything that wasn't crackers or leftover rice.
So when a knock came at the door, she almost didn't answer it.
Until she heard his voice.
"Come on, Iris. I know you're in there—I brought food. Real food. With, like, grease."
Jamie.
She shuffled to the door, blanket still draped over her shoulders like a second skin, but before she could reach it—
"HEY, BACK OFF!"
A thud.
"What the hell—"
Crash.
Iris yanked the door open just in time to see Jamie with his arm hooked tightly around someone's neck, slamming them into the hallway wall.
"Jamie, STOP!"
Both men froze at the sound of her voice.
Jamie blinked, arm still up, breathing hard.
Tony wheezed. "Okay—ow. Can we not fight me today?"
"Jamie, let him go!" she snapped, pushing past the doorway.
Jamie hesitated, then dropped Tony with a grunt.
Tony staggered back, rubbing his shoulder. "Jesus. What is your deal?"
"I thought you were one of those assholes from the other day," Jamie snapped.
"Yeah, well, I'm not, just bad timing!"
But his voice trailed off the second his eyes landed on Iris.
"…Holy shit," Tony muttered.
The bruise was darker now, crawling beneath her eye like spilled ink. Her skin looked washed-out, lips pale. She stood barefoot in the doorway, arms tight across her chest.
Tony's face shifted. "What the hell happened to you?"
Jamie immediately stepped between them. "Don't."
Tony raised his hands. "Hey. I'm not starting anything."
"You're looking at her like you're about to," Jamie growled.
"Enough!" Iris yelled, stepping forward and planting herself between both of them now. "Both of you—stop! Please."
The hallway went still.
Even the overhead light flickered like it was holding its breath.
She sighed, softer now. "Jamie, it's okay. He didn't mean anything."
Jamie shot Tony one last warning glance, but he nodded. "Fine. Whatever."
Tony exhaled. "You okay?"
"No," she said honestly. "But Jamie brought chicken, and that's a start. So you can go"
The apartment smelled like takeout and faint mint from the tea she still hadn't put away. Jamie plopped the bag on the coffee table and kicked the door shut behind him.
"I got beer," he said proudly, pulling two cans out of a plastic sack. "And chicken. We're eating like champions tonight."
Iris cracked the faintest smile. "Your the best."
He looked at her and gave a soft, crooked grin. "Yeah. am I."
They settled into the couch, and for a little while, it was easy to forget.
Laughter drifted between bites. He told her about a rude customer who mistook lace for a doily. She told him about a sewing machine that tried to kill her last week. The warmth came back, slowly. Tentatively.
Meanwhile…
Tony leaned against the stairwell railing, scrolling to Adam's number.
He hesitated.
Then hit Call.
The line clicked once.
Then: "What?"
Tony whistled low. "Did you know Iris has a black eye?"
Silence..
"…What?"
"Yeah. I don't know what happened, but it's not small. And was a lunatic was guarding her like a damn pit bull. He beat the crap out of me"
Adam's voice was ice. "Is she okay?"
Tony exhaled. "She looked like she's been locked in for days. Wouldn't even let me get close."
A pause.
Then: click.
Adam had hung up.
.
.
The phone on the counter buzzed.
Iris glanced over at it and saw Adam's name flash across the screen.
She didn't pick it up.
Jamie raised a brow. "You're not gonna answer?"
She shook her head, grabbing another piece of chicken. "Nah."
The phone buzzed again.
Then again.
Iris grabbed it—finally—and answered with a sigh. "What?"
On the other end, his voice was quieter than she expected.
"Are you drunk?"
"Yup."
A pause.
"…Are you safe?"
She laughed, just a little. "Why? You gonna come storm the place?"
Another pause. Then:
"Not if you don't want me to."
Her throat tightened.
"I'm fine," she whispered.
He didn't believe her. She could tell.
But he said nothing.
And neither did she.