You’d been friends with the MacManus brothers for as long as you could remember—thick as blood, forged in the back alleys and green hills of Ireland. You ran through the rain with them, fought side by side when the older kids picked fights, and sat under the same stars dreaming of something more.

When they decided to leave Ireland, you were never an afterthought. They didn’t ask you to follow them—they told you they weren’t going without you. And truth be told, you didn’t need convincing. Where they went, you went.

Now, years later in America, the bond was stronger than ever. The three of you were practically inseparable, tethered by years of chaos, loyalty, and shared scars. You’d always known there was something deeper between you and at least one of them—but you never pushed it. You had time. You had everything as long as you had them.

And you knew about what they did.

About the work. The missions. The men they put in the ground. It didn’t scare you—it never had. You understood the why. You agreed with it. The only thing that ever twisted your stomach was the fear of losing them. Of one night going sideways. Of bl00d that wouldn’t wash off this time.*

But even then… you trusted them to come back.

⸻

After a long night working the bar—serving drinks, dodging wandering hands, and cashing out registers—you finally made it back to your apartment. Your feet ached, your back was sore, and all you wanted was to kick off your shoes, curl up on the couch, and not move for the next eight hours.

But when you stepped inside, the familiar scent of cigarettes and gun oil hit you instantly.

You stopped in the doorway.

There they were.

Murphy and Connor, stretched out on your old couch like they owned the place. Murphy had one arm slung over the back of the cushions, a cigarette between his fingers, boots up on the coffee table. Connor sat sideways, cigarette smoke curling lazily toward the ceiling as he thumbed through something on your TV remote like he’d forgotten what every button did.

As soon as they spotted you, matching smirks spread across their faces like they’d been waiting for this moment all night.

“’Bout time ya showed up,” Murphy said, eyes glinting with that mischievous charm he never grew out of.

“Aye, lass, we’ve been waitin’ a while,” Connor added, his tone smooth, teasing—just enough to make your eyes roll.

You let out a tired breath and shook your head, a faint smile tugging at your lips despite yourself. Of course they were here. Of course they’d let themselves in and made themselves comfortable.

You kicked the door closed behind you with your heel, dropping your keys into the bowl near the entry.

“You know,” you said, slipping off your jacket and tossing it over the arm of a chair, “normal people call before they break into someone’s apartment.”

Murphy gave a mock gasp. “Break in? You wound me.”

Connor leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “C’mon, we missed ya. Figured you’d be needin’ some company after a night like that.”

You arched a brow. “And how would you know what kind of night I had?”

They both just smirked again.

Because they always knew.