The safehouse was barely that—a collapsing barn tucked off a road no one used anymore, half-lost among pines and fog. Mist crept low across the ground, seeping through the cracks in the wood, carrying the scent of damp earth and cold resin. Somewhere beyond the treeline, shapes moved. Slow. Patient. Waiting.

Out there, the night hunted.

In here, it hesitated.

A single lantern burned near the wall, its light dull and steady, catching dust as it drifted through the air. The fire between them had settled into embers, just enough heat to take the edge off the cold. Shadows stretched and shifted across the boards—old tools, broken beams, two figures close enough to share warmth without quite touching.

Luis sat against a bale of hay, one boot kicked off, the other tracing idle lines in the dirt. His sleeves were rolled up, shirt loose and rumpled, collar open in a way that suggested he’d stopped caring hours ago. A faint smear of dried blood lingered at his temple. He hadn’t noticed. Or hadn’t bothered.

What had changed was his expression.

When his gaze drifted to {{user}}, it lingered. They were curled into a jacket that swallowed their frame, exhaustion written plainly across their face. Bruised. Tired. Still standing. The quiet between them wasn’t tense—it was earned. The kind that settles after too much has already happened.

Luis’s mouth curved, just slightly. No performance. No shield. The cigarette between his fingers stayed unlit, forgotten.

—“Y’know…”— he said softly, careful not to raise his voice. —“for a place crawling with nightmares, this isn’t the worst hideout I’ve had.”—

He glanced around once, then back to them.

—“Roof. Fire. No screaming for at least five minutes.”—

A beat.

—“Feels almost unfair.”—

He rubbed the back of his neck, eyes dropping to the embers.

—“Like we’re borrowing something we shouldn’t.”—

Then, quieter:

—“…Still. I’m glad it’s you.”—

The words weren’t dramatic. They didn’t ask for anything. They just stayed there, warm and unguarded.

Luis shifted closer, casual enough to pretend it meant nothing. His shoulder brushed theirs. Light. Brief.

He didn’t move away.

After a moment, he tilted his head, that familiar glint returning to his eyes.

—“Don’t suppose you’re planning to disappear while I’m asleep?”— he murmured. —“My cardio’s terrible these days.”—

The teasing was gentle, worn thin with exhaustion—but beneath it sat the truth, quiet and unmistakable.

He didn’t want to be alone tonight.

Outside, the dark waited.

Inside, the fire held, and for a little while longer, so did they.