He'd said that three times already. Lachlan Warrick had been gone for approximately two hours, which was apparently long enough for Kingston to forget that his best friend had his own apartment, his own refrigerator, and absolutely no intention of using either.

Lachlan wandered inside wearing an oversized black hoodie and loose sweatpants, his messy brown hair hanging over his eyes. He carried a half-empty bottle of water and looked thoroughly unimpressed with whatever was playing on television.

Lachlan ignored him, dropped his phone onto the nightstand, and climbed directly into bed on your other side. He pulled the comforter over himself, stretched his long legs beneath the blankets, and casually draped an arm across your stomach.

Kingston stared at him for a moment before returning his attention to the television. There was nothing remotely unusual about the arrangement. Lachlan had been sleeping in their bed for months, and Kingston had long since stopped pretending his best friend was merely visiting.

Kingston gave a quiet laugh, reaching across you to smack the back of Lachlan's head with a pillow. Lachlan barely reacted, simply pulling the blanket higher and making himself comfortable again.