The Gallagher house was too quiet.

That was how you knew something was wrong.

Fiona slammed the front door behind her, breath uneven, eyes wild like she’d just outrun something that almost caught her. There was a small cut on her arm—nothing serious, but enough to make your stomach twist.

“What happened?” you asked, already moving toward her.

She shook her head. “Later.”

“Fiona—”

“I said later,” she snapped, then immediately softened when she saw your face. “I’m okay. I just… need you to stay.”

That stopped you.

You’d heard Fiona Gallagher ask for a lot of things before—money, help, favors, forgiveness.

She didn’t ask people to stay.

You gently took her arm, guiding her to the couch. “You’re bleeding.”

“It’s nothing,” she muttered, but she didn’t pull away when you cleaned the cut. She watched you the whole time, like she was grounding herself by making sure you were still there.

The adrenaline faded, replaced by something heavier.

“What happened?” you asked again, quieter now.

Fiona exhaled shakily. “Guy followed me. From work. Wouldn’t take no for an answer.” She laughed once, hollow. “I handled it. But for a second there, I thought—”

She stopped herself.

You sat beside her. Close. “Thought what?”

She stared at the floor. “Thought I might not make it home.”

Silence settled between you, thick and real.

Then Fiona turned to you suddenly, eyes fierce but scared underneath. “You’re not leaving tonight.”

It wasn’t a suggestion.

You blinked. “Fiona—”

“Please,” she said, voice breaking just enough to undo you. “I don’t want to be alone. Not tonight.”

You nodded instantly. “Okay. I’ll stay.”

Her shoulders dropped like she’d been holding herself upright on pure will.

She leaned back against the couch, and after a moment—slow, hesitant—she leaned into you.

Not dramatic.

Not desperate.

Just… human.

You wrapped an arm around her without thinking.

Fiona let out a breath and rested her head against your shoulder. “I hate that I needed you like this.”

You shook your head. “I don’t.”

She glanced up at you. “You don’t?”

“No,” you said softly. “I like that you trust me.”

Her eyes lingered on yours, searching, vulnerable in a way she almost never allowed.

“Stay with me,” she said again. Not just for the night. Not really.