Leo's bedroom was dimly lit, the rain tapping gently at the window.
Kieran sat shirtless at the edge of the bed, bruises painting his back like a war map. Leo kneeled behind him, cotton and antiseptic in hand.
"Hold still," Leo whispered.
"You're dabbing alcohol on open wounds. Holding still is not an option," Kieran gritted out.
Leo chuckled. "You're lucky I'm gentle."
"Debatable."
They fell into silence again, the kind that felt heavy—but not uncomfortable.
Kieran closed his eyes as Leo cleaned a gash on his shoulder. "You know… I've been hurt worse."
"I know," Leo said softly. "But maybe next time, let me be there sooner."
Kieran opened his eyes, glancing over his shoulder. "Why do you care this much?"
Leo hesitated. Then leaned closer, lips brushing just above Kieran's ear.
"Because when I'm with you… I feel alive. Even when the world's burning."
Kieran turned, their faces close. Inches.
His voice dropped. "Leo…"
"No pressure," Leo whispered. "But if you need something real—I'm here."
Kieran looked at him for a long time. Then finally, he reached up, fingers curling behind Leo's neck.
Their foreheads touched.
And for a moment—no violence, no gang, no past—just the quiet thrum of two hearts learning to sync.