Complacent [Duplicity Niall]

(This is the day of chapter 15 of Complicity, gonna keep adding the little reminders of where we are in the story up here)

The next morning, I wake up to the sound of shuffling and the faint clink of a spoon against a ceramic mug. I groan, burying my head back in my pillow.

“Didn’t you sleep at all?” I mumble, voice muffled by the fabric.

“Nope,” Niall answers simply, sipping his coffee like he’s immune to the concept of exhaustion. I peek one eye open to see him sitting on the edge of his bed, still in the same clothes from last night, scrolling through his phone like it’s the morning paper. His hair is sticking up in every possible direction.

“Congrats, I guess.” I sit up, stretching, and wince as my sore muscles protest. Last night had been… a lot. The club. The bathroom. Aven. The dead guy. Hiding in a stall with these two idiots. The walk home, with Niall swaying against me, half-whining, half-laughing about how I never let him have any fun. Then, of course, me giving him the last bit of Xanax I had tucked away, because even if I knew better, I still handed it over.

He has anxiety. I'm just helping him. He needs it.

Come on Madison.

“You gonna shower?” I ask, already reaching for my hoodie.

“Nah.”

“Nice. Love that for me.”

I don’t push it. If I’ve learned anything in the past few months, it’s that if Niall wants to rot, he’s going to rot. Nothing I say will change that. But still—

“You stink.”

He flips me off without looking up from his phone.

I roll out of bed and grab one of Liam’s wiped phones from the pile we keep in a shoebox under the couch. Every couple of days, we switch them out. New number. New device. Just in case. I key in the number and then walk over to the whiteboard by the door, where last night’s number is still scribbled in fading marker.

Wiping it off with my sleeve, I scrawl out the new one and step back.

“Going out,” I announce.

Niall barely glances up. “Where?”

“Groceries.”

“I’ll come.”

Of course he will. I sigh dramatically, as if I hate the idea, but really, I don’t mind. It’s just that whenever Niall tags along, the trip that should take thirty minutes turns into an hour and a half because he stops to talk about literally everything we come across (back when we weren't fugitives, he would stop and talk to literally anyone he made eye contact with. Now he mostly had to keep his head out of that).

“Get ready,” I say.

He looks down at himself. “I am ready.”

“You’re wearing the same clothes from last night.”

“And?”

“You smell like tequila and ass."

“That’s my natural scent.”

I grab one of the couch cushions and throw it at his face. “Shower, you disgusting frat boy.”

He groans, letting the cushion fall to the floor. “Fine. But only ‘cause I don’t want people thinking you’re walking around with a homeless man.”

“You basically are.”

I hear him cursing under his breath as he hauls himself up and heads toward the bathroom. I shake my head and grab my boots. By the time he’s out, still towel-drying his hair, I’ve already got my jacket on and my hands shoved deep into my pockets.