It was a relief to be able to look outside and not see someone staring back at you. Before that relief, though, was a few minutes of fear. Jack's parents pounded on the door, shouting threats until it all went silent—presumably they gave up. All three of you watched a car drive off down the road at an alarming speed, and the familiar, quiet blanket descended upon the street once more

You took advantage of their absence and went out for a walk, giving Greg and Gabby some alone time—as well as giving yourself some much needed fresh air and solitude.

Winter was preparing to get into full swing, and Gabby made sure that you were wrapped up in a thick coat. She wouldn't tell you whose coat it was, and instead told you, 'It's the warmest we've got, so you should be alright.'

You weren't that bothered about its original owner, though. A coat was a coat, and you didn't have the mental capacity to care about using someone else's coat. As long as it kept you warm, you were grateful to have been given it.

No breeze swept through the streets, brushing away the decaying leaves that had long dropped from the branches of the trees above. Very few cars were driving around (everyone was at work), and the only people you saw were a group of school children being shepherded to a nearby park for a PE lesson. You let out a small chuckle, easily picking out the ones who were eager to run and those who would rather be inside where it was a lot warmer.

Hands tucked deep inside your coat pockets, you turned corner after corner, mindlessly wandering. You had no idea where you were going, and you should have been worried about getting lost, but you weren't. Maybe the incoming fog would consume you. That would be nice.

Maybe I could walk all the way home. The town Greg lived in was one over from yours, so surely you could be there by nightfall. You weren't sure if exhaustion would bother you, but you had no idea which direction your town was, and the only street signs you could find led you further and further into the settlement, right to the town centre. There was nothing you could do but follow the signs.

Right. Left. Right. Left. The vibrations of your foot coming into contact with the pavement reverberated through your bones, providing a comforting rhythm of sensory input that allowed your mind to become as blank as it could possibly be. You knew that thinking of Jack would only make you upset, and there weren't any new thoughts that you could have; your head had been running in circles for days now. What else could you think of? Work? You were due back in under twenty-four hours, so that would consume your thoughts tomorrow (and you refused to stress about it until you were officially working again).

The sound of an ancient, grumpy car engine caught your attention. Trying to subtly glance over your shoulder, you saw that an old, K-reg Peugeot was trying its best to park properly on the kerb before promptly giving up a good six inches or so away from the pavement.

You kept walking. It wasn't your problem. And then it was your problem, because an elderly woman shouted, 'Excuse me, are you from around here? I need to find a resident.'

'Sorry, ma'am, but I'm not a local,' you said, stopping turning around. 'Maybe I could—' Your voice died in your throat. You recognised the old dear, and after a rapid spew of names you said: 'Marigold? Is that you?' It was the owner of the antique shop where you had purchased Jack's pocket knife, leading to your eventual meeting. (The firework that set your relationship in motion. Maybe you should thank her.)

The woman's face lit up. '(Y/N), dear, just the person I wanted to see!' She shuffled closer, grandmotherly concern etched deeply into her wrinkled features. 'There's a young man in my car. I found him wandering through town; the poor thing doesn't look very good, but he seems to know you. Is he a friend of yours...?'

Glancing into the car, you found yourself squinting before your eyes widened and realisation poured in. A man was sat in the passenger seat, staring down at his lap so his face was obscured, completely ignoring the world around him on purpose. You didn't need to see his face to realise that it was Jack.

Your heart rate increased at such a rapid level you were surprised it kept beating, and the ground underneath you began to spin as your head felt as light as a feather. It was as though all the stress and strain that had burrowed into your skin was being expelled from your body, leaving you free and loose.

He was safe.

All of a sudden, it became more or less impossible to keep yourself composed, and with the little strength you had left, you choked out, 'Yes, he is.'

'Charming!' If Marigold noticed your change in demeanour, she didn't comment on. 'I'll pass him into your care, shall I?'

'Yes. Please.' You watched as Marigold tottered off back to her car, opening the driver's side door. You didn't what she said, nor could you lip-read, so you watched as Jack's head perked up and snapped over to you. In the span of a few seconds, he clambered out the car, ran around the front and threw himself at you in a tight, desperate hug. From what you saw as he sped towards you, his clothes were torn and splattered with desiccated mud, and around three-quarters of his exposed skin was covered in scratches and dried bloodstains.

'(Y/N)! Are you okay? You look so tired, what's wrong?' He leant back, hands cupping your face and moving it from side to side as he examined you further, coffee-coloured eyes darting around and scrutinising every cell of your skin.

'I'm fine,' you said, grabbing his hands and gently removing them from your face so you could link your fingers with his. 'Seriously, Jack. You've been gone for over a week and your first reaction is asking if I'm tired?'

He hung his head, letting it softly fall onto your shoulder. 'I'm sorry,' he murmured. 'I really am. I didn't mean to take so long.'

'You can save the explanation for when you tell Greg and Gaby, not just me.' Pulling him closer, you placed a chaste peck on his jaw. 'Don't ever do that to me again.' You glanced over his shoulder, ready to thank Marigold for finding Jack and keeping him safe, but she was gone, as was her car. You weren't given long to ponder on it, as Jack spoke again.

'I'm tempted to if I get a kiss each time I come back.'

Sense of humour still intact.

'Didn't I promise you all the kisses in the world once we were together and I'd broken up with Socks?'

'You broke up with them?'

'Yeah. The night of the party on the way home. We haven't spoken since.'

Jack seemed to relax once you said that, and he asked, 'So...you're single?'

'I suppose so. I won't say no if you still want to go out, though.' You felt yourself smile, relishing in the euphoric warmth that came with Jack's presence. That familiar feeling of home was so overpowering, but it didn't bother you in the slightest, and you could feel it recharging your inner battery.

Is this what people mean when they say that home is a person?

'Do we have to do the formal thing, or is it a mutual acknowledgment? I have to admit, I've never done this before.'

'We can leave it as a mutual acknowledgment—unless you want to do the formal thing...?' Grasping both of his hands in your own, you forced a serious look on your face. 'Jonathon. Would you do me the honour of becoming my boyfriend?'

He suppressed a laugh, giving your hands a light squeeze. 'Why yes; and would you do me the honour of becoming my partner?'

'I shall have to accept your proposal.'

'Splendid! Now, my dear partner—' Jack leant in close so that your foreheads were almost touching—'who told you my full name?'

'Your, uh, parents let it slip when they came round this morning,' you admitted with a nervous chuckle. 'They came round a few days ago asking to see you. Gabby and I lied and said you were in Australia, they found out after sitting outside the house, got mad and had a go at me this morning. It's alright, though! I gave them a rollocking.'

'They won't have liked that. I'm sorry you had to deal with them.'

'It's fine. I don't think they'll be lining up to see me anytime soon. I think I left a bad impression on them. Do you want to go back to Greg's so you can clean up? I don't want any of your scratches to get infected.'

'Yeah, I probably should. By the way, you look incredibly cute in my coat.'

Greg's reaction to seeing Jack on his doorstep was a lot different to yours. He stared at him for a second, the winter sunlight accentuating the large bags under his eyes, and he said: 'You're a fucking idiot, you know that?'

'I—yeah, I know. I'm back in one piece, though!'

'Through a miracle. Get in.' Jack was tugged over the threshold and pulled into a quick hug before Greg let him go. 'Go get a shower, mate. You're grafted.' Greg gave you a look and ever so slightly tilted his head towards the living room.

You watched as Jack made his way towards his old room, pausing to make a quick detour to the kitchen to greet Gabby, and you were hurriedly pulled into the living room by Greg.

'Where did you find him?' he asked in a low voice. 'Has he told you anything?'

You shook your head. 'I told him to wait until he got here, just in case it's something he doesn't wanna keep repeating. He was on the streets when a friend of mine found him and drove him around looking for your house. He didn't...he didn't look good.'

'So you know nothing?'

'I know nothing. All we can do is wait.'

Your conversation was slashed short as Gabby rushed in, eyes wide and welling with tears. She didn't say anything, but it wasn't rocket science for you to guess what caused her tears. Wordlessly, you opened your arms, your own eyes misting over, and Gabby sobbed silently into your shouldering pure relief. Greg joined in, too, holding the pair of you close. All the anxiety and fear that had piled upon the three of you was gone, making way for repose.

The three of you calmed down relatively quickly; there was no point crying when Jack was safe and having a shower. You lingered around in the kitchen-diner, two boxes of first aid supplies on the table next to you that were ready and waiting to be used.

Jack returned, dressed in a fresh pair of clothes. The mud was gone, as was the blood.

He beamed when he saw you sat at the table. 'Hey. What's all this?'

'First aid. C'mon—sit down. Let me see.' You didn't need to say what you wanted to see. It was obvious that you meant his injuries.

The smile fell from Jack's face and, with a facial expression that reminded you of a sad puppy, sat next to you and rolled up the sleeves of his hoodie and pulled his trouser legs up to his knees. His bare skin were littered with lacerations: most of them were thin, with varying lengths and deepness, but one near his elbow had been professionally cauterised, leaving it looking red and tender. Another on his thigh, a short cut, had been lazily stitched up, and one of the stitches was starting to come out.

'When did you get these?' you questioned, opening the first aid boxes and rummaging through them, searching for the tube of germolene that was in every household in the country. 'And what happened to this one?'

'Three or four days ago? Maybe? It's, uh, quite a long story.' He laughed sheepishly.

'That's fine, I can listen. Gabby! Greg! Come here!'

Once they arrived in the kitchen, taking their seat on the other side of the dining table, Jack started his story regarding his whereabouts.

'The morning after the party, I got a text message trying to blackmail me. It pissed me off, and a friend showed up.' He winced when your finger came into contact with a raw wound. 'Do you...remember what happened before I came back?'

You nodded. 'Yeah.'

'Good. It was Kage that showed up. I told him about your memory loss, and he said that Chernabog was probably pulling the strings and messing with people for fun, so when Ophelia showed up, we decided that we were the best people to stop him, and we may or may not have gone to challenge a demonic god.'

There were three different reactions to this information. You lowered your head and pressed your forehead against Jack's hand, eyes closed and breaths deep and slow in an attempt to calm yourself. Gabby let out a string of breathy curses, and a small thud echoed through the kitchen—probably Greg's head hitting the table.

Greg spoke first. 'If you lost that challenge I'm gonna send you back there so you can win.'

'Greg!' Gabby cried, 'that's not the right response!'

'It's fair, though! If you're gonna make us think you're dead, at least have a good fucking story to go with it.'

'Don't worry; we didn't lose. I don't think Chernabog will be bothering anyone for a long time.'

'What was it like?' you asked. 'Fighting a demonic god?'

He mused over his answer for a little while, then replied with: 'Difficult. Thankfully Kage is one of the best fighters ever, and some of the things I learnt while working for the boss came in handy. If it wasn't for both Kage and Ophelia, I probably would have died.'

'I guess we have them to thank.'

'We probably won't be able to speak to Kage for a while. He's on a happiness high.' He grimaced, and you couldn't tell if it was because of Kagekao's reaction to beating Chernabog, or because you had decided that the badly stitched cut on his leg was more important than the shallow scratches that made up the majority of his wounds. 'Shit, (Y/N), be gentle.'

'I-I'm sorry!'

'It's fine. I'll deal with the stitches—have a break, okay? Anyway, that's, uh, all there is to what happened, really. There's no longer a demon interfering with our lives.'

'So...relaxed life from now on?' Greg said hopefully. 'Normality?'

'Normal life from now on,' Jack repeated. 'No more crimes, demons, or weird behavioural issues.'

The conversation seemed to end there. Greg and Gabby moved to the living room, and you stayed in the kitchen to help Jack stitch and bandage the gash on his leg. The two of you worked quietly, with Jack occasionally giving you directions and teaching you how to sew a wound.

'You know,' you began, 'it really sucked when you weren't here. I had no idea what to do with myself.'

'Did you miss me?'

'Of course I did. Promise me you'll never, and I mean never, do anything that dangerous ever again.' You gave him a firm stare, placing your hand over his. 'I mean it. Promise me.' Earlier, you had already told him to not be as reckless in the future, but you wanted conformation that it certainly wasn't going to be a common occurrence.

'I promise. Though, I can't guarantee that I'll be able to keep it.' The smile on his face and chuckle in his words made your heart melt a bit, but it wasn't enough to distract you from what exactly he had said.

You let out a long, dramatic sigh, hoping to play him at his own game. 'Well,' you lamented, 'I guess that's good enough. But if you can't keep that promise...then I guess you don't want to stay with me for a while. That's fine; I don't mind being alone in the middle of the woods.'

'I can stay with you? At your place?'

'Obviously. There's more then enough room for the two of us.'