He always brings an extinguisher

A man keeps showing up at your door with a fire extinguisher. Good product. Works fast. There's always a fire when he arrives, and he always puts it out, and you always thank him. Then he leaves. A while later the flames are back, and so is he, invoice in hand. You never once asked who kept starting them.

Lay it out plainly and the mystery's gone. The cigarette creates the discomfort. The cigarette is the only thing that seems to fix it. Then the relief wears off and the discomfort's back on schedule. Nothing good enters that circle from outside. It set every fire it ever put out.

Once you see it, walking away costs you nothing worth keeping. You're not losing a firefighter. You're evicting an arsonist. The calm you're growing into is what a house feels like when nobody's starting anything. God keeps watch at that door now. This house was built for quiet.

Some part of you may still listen for the knock. That's normal, and it fades as you keep leaving it unanswered. When it comes, say two words out loud. Not buying. Then go back to whatever you were doing and let him stand on the step. He can keep his extinguisher.