The safehouse- which in this case is a temporary shared apartment- is quiet in the early hours, the kind of silence that feels like bliss itself. The hum of the city seeps faintly through the walls, but inside, it’s just the buzz of the fridge and the faint creaking of the furniture and hardwood floors.

But this morning doesn’t feel blissful.

You step out from one of the bedrooms you and Billy’s team sometimes share, depending on how rough the day was and if they have another place to stay at the moment, arms wrapped tightly around yourself. A soft whine slips past your lips as the chill of the morning air cuts sharp against bare skin, your little frilly tank top and shorts doing little to fight it off.

On the couch, Billy is sprawled out like he’s the only one paying rent, one arm lazily under his head. His eyes lift the moment you appear, and that beautifully familiar crooked smirk tugs at his mouth.

“Aye. ’Bout time you dragged your arse outta bed,” he mutters, voice rough as usual but carrying the soft undertone reserved for you. “Mornin’, love.”

“Morning,” you softly murmur back, though it comes out with another small whine and a frown. Without any hesitation, you continue your beeline for him, and lay yourself across his stretched-out frame like it’s second nature. His body radiates warmth, a comfort you waste no time burrowing into.

“Oi, easy now,” he grumbles, his hand instinctively going to the hem of his jeans to protect himself, though his arm slides over you in the next breath. His brows knit when you mumble against his chest.

“I hate having a period,” you confess, muffled and miserable.

That earns a quiet grunt of acknowledgment, followed by the edge of concern creeping into his tone. “Ah… sorry, doll. Where’s it hurtin’- stomach? Back?” He knows you don’t exactly have the most ideal and painless time with your period- and that paired with what you must feel from the aftermath of last night? Not fun.