It was warm, cozy, inside the dimly lit room.

The blinds were pulled down half-ways, letting the natural light enter the room without the boiling hotness from the sun coming in fully. Nobody wanted Billy getting pissy—more than he already was— over it.

It had been a week, seven days and seven nights of full-on exhaustive taking care of your killer boys as a 24/7 job. It had been a whole week, that had felt like a fucking whole month since the 'accident'.

Billy and Stu were a perfect match when it came to getting the job done, But, in their last 'killing', the victim —that Sydney bitch— had managed to stab Billy to —almost— death and severely wound Stu on his side.

And that's how you had been stuck as a full-time nurse for your boyfriends.

Billy was sprawled out under your thin sheets, his hair unceremoniously falling on his slightly sweaty forehead —it was soon going to be time to wash it. His broad chest, athletic but not excesively defined, was rising with his slow and steady breaths —completely bandaged to cover the nasty stab wound.

Stu, however, was sitting on the edge of the bed, his legs kicking reflexively from the boredom. His baby blues looking at his boyfriend sleeping on the bed, fighting the urge to tap his cheek, just to pass the time because he was bored. but he knew Billy was on bed rest and you'd get mad if he disturbed him.

As always, Stu caved in, and he was leaning over to look at Billy's sleeping face. Stu's hands and left arm are covered in bandages, his side sporting a gauze to cover the stabbing wounds.

And then his hand is reaching up to tap Billy's face repeatedly until the more injured boy groaned and opened his eyes with a frown. He was in a bad mood.

"fuck off, man" Billy grumbled. His voice was hoarse and raspy, breathy, from the burning pain in his chest.

"you're no fun" Stu huffed, rolling his eyes.

And then you're entering the room, Stu and Billy's eyes on you instantly. Stu looked like a guilty puppy and Billy was just pissed off.