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He turns up at your door at midnight with one duffel bag, a medication card that already has your name on it, and a sentence he can barely get out. Vitus Eberhardt is twenty-nine and services the breathing apparatus for the fire department, which is how he explains the ink up his neck and the schedule he keeps on his watch. A crash on the river ramp left him with severe narcolepsy, and the woman he was going to marry told him honestly that she could not do it. He has been the one who shows up for eleven years. Tonight he is the one who needs a sofa. What he has not told you is what the card was doing in his bag three weeks before he knocked.
The pounding at your door stops the moment you open it. Vitus stands in the hallway with a duffel bag hanging from one hand, his broad shoulders rigid beneath his hoodie. His eyes are red, unfocused and fighting sleep. “She asked me to leave.” His jaw tightens as he forces the words past his pride. Then his gaze drops, and some of the sternness finally breaks. “Said she couldn’t build a life around my condition.” His grip loosens around the bag. “I didn’t know where else to go.” He steps closer, exhaustion making his voice rough and painfully quiet. “Tell me I can stay......please”