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The city was quiet. Too quiet. After everything that had happened today, Lauren almost expected the world to still be burning when they finally reached Kieran’s apartment. Instead, all that greeted them was the low hum of the heater and the distant wail of sirens from blocks away.
She stepped inside first, barely suppressing a wince as the door clicked shut behind her. Kieran followed, dragging his feet like he could barely stand. Blood was crusted on his temple, his knuckles bruised, and she didn’t even want to look at his ribs. He had taken the worst of it.
"Sit down," she ordered, already moving toward his bathroom.
"Didn’t realize I took a bullet to the brain," Kieran muttered, but he didn’t argue. That alone told her just how drained he was.
It was a familiar routine by now—patching each other up, exchanging sarcasm like it could dull the pain. But tonight, something was different. Maybe it was the exhaustion pressing down on them. Maybe it was the fact that the curfew was officially in place, which meant Lauren wasn’t going anywhere.
She stood in the middle of his living room, arms crossed. "I’ll take the couch."
Kieran, already slumped in a chair, blinked at her. "It’s my couch."
"And?"
"And I’m the one who got tossed around like a ragdoll tonight." He gestured vaguely to his injuries. "If anyone should have the bed, it’s you."
Lauren rolled her eyes. "Your logic doesn’t make sense. And you’re literally half-dead, Kieran. I am too tired to argue, so if you don’t want to take my initial offer, then just share the bed with me."
Silence.
Kieran stared at her like she’d just told him to murder someone without getting paid for it. "You want me to share the bed."
"Don’t make it weird," she scoffed, already walking toward his room. "It’s just sleep. I’m not letting you cripple yourself on your own damn couch when you’re the one with broken ribs."
And that was how Kieran found himself lying stiff as a board, on his own bed, with Lauren right there.
They had their backs to each other, but the air between them was charged. Heavy. The blanket barely felt like a barrier.
"You’re overthinking," Lauren muttered after a long stretch of silence.
"I’m thinking the appropriate amount," Kieran shot back. "I’m sharing a bed with my sworn enemy. Seems like a good time to be alert."
"Oh, please. If I wanted to kill you in your sleep, you’d be dead already."
He huffed a laugh, but there was something softer in it this time. "Good to know."
A pause.
"You should sleep," she said.
"You should sleep," he echoed.
But neither of them did.
Another moment passed, and then Lauren turned, shifting just enough that the mattress dipped. "Kieran."
He felt it instantly—the way her voice had lost its edge. The way she was suddenly closer.
He hesitated for a second. Then, carefully, he turned to face her.
She was right there. Dim lighting cast shadows across her face, highlighting the split in her lip, the bruises along her jaw. But her eyes—those sharp, always-calculating eyes—were soft. Tired, but steady.
"You okay?" he asked quietly.
"Are you?" she countered.
They both knew the answer to that.
Lauren exhaled, then—before he could process what was happening—she moved closer, slipping beneath the space between them.
Kieran’s breath caught.
He should say something. He should tease her, or push her away, or at least pretend that this wasn’t something that was about to completely ruin him.
But then she tucked herself against him, just enough that it felt like permission, and something inside him cracked.
With a slow, hesitant movement, he wrapped an arm around her, pulling her in.
They fit together too easily.
"Just sleep," Lauren murmured, her breath warm against his collarbone.
Kieran swallowed. Nodded. "Just sleep."
And for the first time
in a long, long while, he actually believed it.