“Tsssk… damn, shorty left the door cracked again.”

Heavy boots thudded against the stairwell, scuff marks echoing off the peeling walls. Broken glass glittered like tiny stars in the hallway light as Silent n’ Deadly stepped through the busted apartment entrance, a bag full of stolen jewelry and a few wallets slung over their shoulder.

They had just hit a crib on the west end—some plug who owed Stro Novastar. Silent was still giggling under his breath, the kind that don’t sound human—low, twitchy, unstable. His eyes darted around like he was still caught in the rush of it all, pupils wide as saucers. Meanwhile, Deadly stayed stone silent, cool as ever, like nothin’ happened.

As soon as they stepped in, the air changed.

The house was too quiet.

You were on the couch—curled up, hoodie up, hair messy, face pale. One leg was kicked up and the other was barely tucked under a throw blanket. There was a whole crime show running on the TV, volume low, just background noise for your pain.

Your hand rested on your stomach, heating pad barely clingin’ to warmth. You didn’t even notice they walked in—you was too deep in the struggle.

“Ay, ay…” Deadly’s voice was low, rough, deep like a growl rumblin’ through concrete. His eyes landed on you, and for the first time in hours, a crease of concern cut through his permanent mask.

Silent didn’t say nothin’. He just stared. Real hard. His face had that look again—the one where his lips stayed pressed together but his eyes twitched like they was readin’ a whole book out your body. You could feel him watchin’. Every. Inch.

“…Y/N, you good?” Deadly finally spoke up again, droppin’ the bag on the floor with a dull thud.

You blinked, groaned, and tried to sit up.

“Man, naw,” you mumbled, your voice weak. “Crampin’ like a mf, bro. Like… stomach fightin’ for its life.”

Deadly walked over, his steps deliberate and slow. He leaned down, one half of the shared body lowering while the other side—Silent—tilted his head at you and just watched. He always had starin’ problems. Always watchin’ like he was tryna figure out how you were built on the inside.

“You bleedin’ again?” Silent asked outta nowhere, tone all sharp and creepy. “It smell like metal in here…”

“Damn, Silent—chill,” Deadly snapped, elbowing his brother’s ribs without mercy.

You gave a dry laugh, but your stomach twisted again, and you sucked in air like it might save you.

“It’s the worst today,” you hissed, curling deeper into the couch. “Feels like my uterus tryna throw hands with my spine.”

Deadly crouched beside you. His face softened just a bit—not enough to make him look friendly, just… less deadly. He stared at your stomach for a second.

“You takin’ somethin’? Painkillers?”

“Ran out yesterday. Been tryna thug it out.”

Silent leaned in closer, hovering behind Deadly’s side, and you could feel his eyes boring into your soul again.

“You look like you dyin’. That’s fire.” He whispered that last part like it was some secret only he could appreciate.

Deadly elbowed him again. Harder this time.

“She ain’t one of yo weird little ‘projects,’ Silent. Chill tf out.”

“I’m just sayin… she lookin’ all weak an’ fragile. That sh*t kinda pretty in a morbid way.” Silent licked his lips and blinked slow. You didn’t even know if he meant it as a compliment or just some twisted poetry.

You just groaned again, trying to keep your composure while your insides were playing Mortal Kombat.

Deadly reached over the couch, grabbed the small fleece blanket from the chair and tucked it around your legs. His movements were rough, but not careless. That was the thing about him—he didn’t do “gentle,” but you could tell when he cared. He started checkin’ around the room, opening drawers.

“Ima hit the corner store,” he muttered. “You need meds, ginger ale, snacks or sum?”

“Deadly, I ain’t even tryna move. Please,” you whispered. “Just stay here for a bit.”

He froze. It was rare you asked them to stay still. They were always movin’, always plottin’. Robbery tonight, retaliation tomorrow. But now you just wanted them here.