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Harley had been staring at the same spot on the floor for two hours. A tea-brown spot on the hardwood floor that no amount of scrubbing and re-varnishing could erase. A hideous scar, a reminder of who had been here once, and who could be here again.
The clunk of ceramic on glass dragged Harley’s attention towards the table for a moment, and her eyes locked for a moment more with Roman’s. Normally, those dark eyes were cold as a polished Tiger’s Eye, but now they had a glint of sympathy, or as much as he could manage.
He lifted his hand away from the mug he’d brought and stepped away, back out of Harley’s sight and away from her mind. Harley pulled herself upright, pulling the mug towards her with both hands and tucking her knees under her hoodie. She set the mug on top and inhaled deeply. Sweet, with a hint of vanilla and anise, a tea mix Roman usually drank that turned bright orange when milk was added. Harley wasn’t fully in the mood, but the thought was nice.
“Don’t worry about rent this month, Isley,” Roman’s voice reached her through a propped door.
“You don’t have to do that,” Red protested. Her voice wavered though. This hadn’t been the first time, just the first time he’d gotten all the way in.
Harley’s hand came up to her throat, fingertips treading the band-aid plastered over the nick in her neck. It was small, and she’d said as much to Roman. It didn’t matter to him; small or not there was blood, and thus there would be a band-aid. Harley found the kindness bizarre, especially from him.
“I do,” Roman corrected. “Your girlfriend’s stalker breaking into your apartment is the definition of unlivable. You can stay here until I’ve got the security updated. Tif and I have another safehouse.”
“It’s still overkill,” Red sighed.
“With him, overkill is better than being unprepared,” Roman argued softly. “I should know. Let me know if you need anything. I might be able to bring Mali down. She looks like she could use it.”
Harley buried her face in her hoodie collar. Mali would be great right now, with her little mismatched eyes and perpetually angry face. It would certainly be a step up from the tea-brown spot she’d found herself staring at again. She understood, on some level, that Roman didn’t feel right leasing this place to anyone else, but she couldn’t imagine he liked looking at the damn thing.
The front door opened and closed, and Red slipped in, looking around an apartment that was much too big and much to sparse for either of their tastes. She settled on the couch beside Harley and settled an arm around her.
“You good there?” she asked.
“You can see where Zihan died,” Harley croaked, lifting her head from her collar.
Red glanced over to the tea-brown spot and sighed. “Besides that,” she said. “You’re not hurt, right?”
“Nothin’ hurt but my feelings,” Harley answered. “Nothin’ wounded but my pride.”
Red leaned her head on Harley’s shoulder and sat for a long minute in silence. Harley appreciated that silence, the lambs-ear softness of her long red hair, the light tension of her hand, the slow roll of her breaths, the faint scent of oleander floating around her. Her hands tightened around the mug, looking down to appreciate the careful paintstrokes around the outside, carefully painting out a flock of lunar moths.
“Red?” Harley tested, and she felt the hand on her shoulder tense just that little bit.
“Mm?” she hummed, like she knew what Harley would ask.
“Are you okay?” Harley asked.
“Yeah,” Red sighed. “It’s not your fault, Harl. He’s just a dickhead. Imagine being such a dickhead that Roman will put you up in a luxury apartment for free.”
“An apartment he’s gotten into,” Harley muttered.
“Once,” Red insisted. “And once was all it took. Give that asshole some credit, he never gives someone a second chance to hurt Tiffany.”
Harley nodded. She hated this though, even with Red’s reassurance. Everyone treating her like she’s a fragile little girl…and she felt like one. Just…at everyone’s mercy. Him, Red, Roman…even her own anxieties.
“It was nothing you did,” Red said softly, “you are not in charge of his emotions.”
“Easy to say,” Harley scoffed.
Harder to think, she added to herself, harder to stop coping with his rage by making herself small. She’d promised no more when she walked away, but that wasn’t going perfectly.
“Take your time,” Red insisted. Her other arm snaked around Harley’s waist and she pecked Harley’s cheek. “I’ll be here, when you’re ready.”
Harley cracked a smile and took a sip of the drink. Sweet, warm, comforting. She wasn’t fully in the mood, but it helped just that little bit.
“I need you here,” she said, hearing her voice breaking.
“I know,” Red sighed into Harley’s shoulder. “And I’m here.”