The rain begins as a murmur.
Cold little drops speckle the sidewalk while Dave walks aimlessly, hands shoved deep into his pockets, jaw clenched tight. His head is a fucking mess. The wind carries the scent of wet earth and the distant sound of car horns, but everything feels muffled, like his mind is trapped inside a soundproof box.
He doesn't mind getting wet.
What really pisses him off is the sticky feeling in his chest—that crawling unease that hasn't let go since he saw those photos, those damn notes that reduced him to a goddamn case study in Heinz's mind.
"If it's not him… then what is it?"
"Fucking Heinz and his fucking questions," he mutters, kicking an empty can down the sidewalk.
He shouldn't care.
It shouldn't have hit him this hard.
And yet here he is, walking in the rain like the tragic hero of some cheap novel, because apparently his brain decided that being trapped in another dimension wasn't enough—he also needed to deal with paranoia, distrust, and the inescapable fact that Heinz pulls at him like some goddamn gravitational force.
And he hates it.
Because it's absurd.
Because he doesn't trust him.
Because he shouldn't give a damn what Heinz thinks of him.
But the image of his mocking smile, the feel of his hands on his skin, the sound of his ragged breath when they were together… all of it is still stuck in his head, like a catchy song he can't shake off.
"I hate you," he growls under his breath.
And he's not sure if he means Heinz, or his own traitorous brain.
A raised voice snaps him out of his spiral.
He turns his head and sees a couple arguing in a dimly lit alley.
The guy is tall, broad, and gripping the woman's arm too tightly. She tries to pull away, but he shakes her like a rag doll.
"I told you to get the hell out!" the man growls.
"Get off me, asshole!" she struggles, but he slams her back against the wall.
Dave reacts before he even thinks.
By the time he's aware of it, he's already grabbing the guy by the jacket and yanking him backward.
"Hey, genius, did they teach you manners in a cave, or were you just born an asshole?"
The guy stares at him, stunned—just for a second. Then his face twists in rage.
"Who the fuck are you? Stay out of this!"
Dave smiles. A sharp, dangerous smile.
"Name's 'the guy who'll rearrange your face if you don't let go.'"
The idiot doesn't hesitate before swinging a punch. Dave dodges easily and drives one into his gut. The man doubles over with a grunt.
"Son of a—"
Dave doesn't let him finish. He lands another hit, this time to the jaw. The man stumbles back, spitting saliva and blood.
"Anything else?" Dave asks, tilting his head with a mocking grin.
The guy glares at him, but when Dave steps forward again, he backs off.
"Go to hell," he growls, spitting on the ground before turning and storming off.
The woman rubs her arm and looks at Dave with something between gratitude and skepticism.
"I didn't need saving."
Dave shrugs.
"I know. I just felt like hitting someone."
She lets out a dry laugh and shakes her head.
"Men."
Dave smirks a little as he watches her walk away. Then he sighs and keeps walking.
The rain is falling harder now.
And without realizing it, his steps carry him back to Heinz's house.
Back to him.
He's not surprised.
It's like his body knows what his mind refuses to admit.
By the time he reaches the door, he's soaked. His shirt clings to his skin, his hair drips into his eyes—but he doesn't care.
What he does care about is that, somehow, after wandering the city, after getting into a fight with some idiot, after trying to convince himself that he doesn't need this, doesn't need him…
Here he is.
Again.