gio

"It's literally 11AM. Why are you so grumpy?" She handed you one of the iced coffees. You took the coffee immediately despite wanting to stay annoyed at her for waking you up.

"You're lucky I tolerate you, you know?"

"Have you just woken up?"

She had clearly just taken note of the state of your hair, the smudged makeup you forgot to take off last night and the ridiculously oversized band t-shirt that you wore to bed.

"What do you think?" You asked rhetorically.

"Whatever. Big news." She said super excitedly and you had to take a huge sip of the iced coffee to keep up with her enthusiasm.

"Yeah?"

"I've managed to get us invited to Dean's house party tonight."

"Dean Di Laurentis?"

"Yeah."

"As in Dean from the off-campus house?" You asked and Hannah nodded, "Like ice-hockey Dean Di Laurentis?"

"God, yes! That Dean."

"How?" You furrowed your brows.

Dean was one of the most popular kids on campus, alongside his best friends.

He was part of a house of four guys who practically were God's around campus - well anyone who thought God's played ice-hockey and fucked a new girl each week.

Not to mention Dean was best friend's with Garrett Graham.

Yes. The Garrett Graham.

As in the Garrett Graham that you tried to avoid at all costs, since you'd hooked up with him that one time and caught feelings way too fast - even though he's explicit to every girl he hooks up with that he doesn't do feelings. And he definitely doesn't do girlfriends.

"I may, or may not, have hooked up with one of his friends." She squealed in excitement, but you felt like such a bitch for the way your anxiety peaked.

What if it was Garrett that she'd hooked up with?

You couldn't be jealous. It was stupid to even think about Garrett like that. No doubt in his mind you had just been a bit of fun on a night out, so he was free to do whatever he wanted to.

"W-who?"

"His name's Justin. He's a musician."

You felt even worse over the course of relief that spread over you.

"Justin said he would pick us up, here, tonight at 10pm." She smiled happily. You were so excited for her to have someone she could have like this. She was your best friend and she deserved everything.

"Wait... sorry, 'us'"? You slightly choked on your coffee.

You shook your head slowly.

"Yes!"

"Han, I can't go to a party." You mentally called yourself a chicken, but also just the thought of seeing Garrett make your palms clammy.

"Uh, yes you are. I need you there. Please? For me?"

Fuck.

Hannah came first. Your feelings didn't get to matter more than that.

"Okay." You nodded, not feeling any excitement at all. Instead, you just felt slightly nauseated.

At 10PM you were sat on your bed, nervously picking at the skin around your nails, waiting for Justin to arrive.

Hannah had come over half an hour ago, but had just gone back to go and pick up a few cans of beer from her room that she'd stashed there, leaving you to dwell on the night ahead.

You had managed to find a little black dress in the depths of your wardrobe. Simple, but effective.

It clung to your body perfectly and whilst you weren't too shy to admit that you looked hot, you were also so aware of your body and all the bits that you usually tried to hide away.

You blew out a shaky breath as your knee started restlessly bouncing up and down.

4 minutes later Hannah re-entered your room.

She was wearing a short, red, sparkly dress and a leather jacket over the top. She looked so good. Justin was going to fall to his knees for her.

She handed you a can of beer, which you immediately opened and drank from - just to try and ease some of the anxiety in the pit of your stomach.

"Ready? Justin just texted that he's here."

"Yeah." You nodded, trying not to show your nerves.

Outside, Hannah blushed as she approached Justin. He was standing by his car and smiled so wide when he spotted her approaching.

If only, you thought.

After you'd greeted Justin and given Hannah a knowing look of approval, you got in Justin's car and off you drove to the off-campus house.

You arrived at the party 15 minutes later. 

Justin took Hannah by her waist and they walked towards the house together - which would probably be the last time you'd see her tonight

You were still stood by the car, anxious to your core, clutching your can of beer like it was a lifeline.

This wasn't even that serious. It was just a party, in a house, with a guy that you genuinely couldn't stop thinking about ever since...

No. Not going there.

You can do this.

Just one foot in front of the other.

As you reached the top step onto the porch, the front door swung open.

As Hannah and Justin walked inside, a group of guys spilled out onto the porch, loud laughter echoing into the cold night air. Not loud enough to hinder the thumping bass music coming from inside.

And then him.

Garrett stepped down the porch stairs carrying a crate of beer against his hip like it weighed nothing.

Black sweater. Black cargos. Messy hair like he'd been running his hands through it all night already

Your stomach dropped instantly.

Fuck. Shit. Fuck.

He glanced over absentmindedly at first, clearly expecting nobody important and then his eyes landed on you.

Everything in his expression shifted.

Recognition?

Surprise, maybe?

You forgot how to breathe for a second.

"Y/N." He said softly.

You took note of the fact he'd maintained eye contact with you and hadn't grossly eye-fucked you, even though you were wearing your scandalous dress.

Before you could say anything in return, Garrett was bro-hugged by some new guys arriving - some of which rudely bumped into you on the way up the steps.

Garrett’s eyes flicked back to you over his friend's shoulder, like he hadn't finished the conversation you'd barely even started.

"Yo, G!"

"Whats-up man?!"

You smiled uncomfortably in his direction, before moving into the house like you hadn't once sworn never to come back here.

The music was awful.

You walked in the house and were instantly hit with the mix of alcohol, weed, sweat and smoke. Wonderful combination.

You ran your fingers over your arm, feeling exposed now that you were here. You turned back to the door to see if Garrett was following, but you'd lost sight of him.

Hannah cheered as she ran over to you.

"What took you so long?"

"Nothing."

"C'mon." She tugged you along with her before you had to fumble some excuse. "Want a drink?"

"Not yet." You shook your head.

Hannah introduced you to the group of people standing with Justin, who immediately wrapped his arm around her waist when she stood next to him.

You nodded politely through a string of introductions you'd forget within the next ten minutes. You had your best friend and that was all you needed.

An hour into the party you'd excused yourself from Hannah and her friends to go and get yourself a drink.

You didn't really understand the drink options available, so stuck to what you knew best and grabbed an unopened can of beer from the fridge.

Standing with your back to the fridge, you surveyed the room to see if you knew anyone else here.

First you noticed Dean, who was standing in the middle of the room making out with a girl you didn't recognise.

Then there was Josie, who was trying her best to get Dean's attention by wrapping her hands around his waist from behind. Think he's a little preoccupied, Josie.

There was Hannah, who was looking at Justin like he'd fetched her the moon on a stick. Go bestfriend.

You turned your head in attempt to look at a different part of the room, only to jump when some random guy appeared in front of you.

"Oh!" You placed a hand over your chest to satiate the panic.

"Sorry." He put his hands in the air, "Pretty girls shouldn't be standing alone."

You forced a small smile, "Thank you."

He got closer to you and you panicked a little when you realised you couldn't move any further back because of the fridge.

You could smell the alcohol on his breath, which meant he either didn't realise how close he was standing or just didn't care.

You cleared your throat and excused yourself, but before you could move anywhere backed you up further against the fridge.

"Where are you going?" He chuckled.

Nothing about this was funny.

You tried to look anywhere but him.

You suddenly felt trapped.

When you didn't respond, he brought one hand up to cup your jaw. He tilted your face towards him, forcing you to look at him, making your breath hitch in panic. To anyone else, it probably looked harmless. Cute, even. But panic had wedged itself too tightly in your throat to call for help.

"Hey."

The guy reluctantly let go of your jaw, allowing you both to look over to who was speaking to him.

Garrett.

His jaw was tight.

"Hey man." The guy nodded to Garrett.

"You okay?" Garrett's eyes met yours - completely focused on you.

"She's fine."

"I wasn't asking you." Garrett's eyes darkened when he eyed the guy, before softening when they returned to look at you, "Are you okay?"

You managed a small nod.

You just wanted to get out of here. Get out off this situation and get out of this house. It hadn't felt right since you'd stepped foot on the property. Every instinct in your body suddenly wanted out.

The guy scoffed like Garrett was overreacting. "Jesus, man. I was just talking to her."

"Leave." Garrett said.

"Whatever," he muttered bitterly. "Don't dress like that if you don't want attention." The guy gave you a filthy look as he turned to leave.

Your stomach soured.

Garrett moved instantly.

You saw the exact moment his restraint snapped. His jaw tightened and shoulders squared as he took a sharp step forward.

"What the fuck did you just say to her?"

"Garrett." Your voice came out quieter than you intended.

Although he was closer to you now, he didn't take his eyes off the guy.

You reached for Garrett's wrist without thinking, the contact making him freeze.

"It's not worth it," you said softly. "Please."

Garrett's chest rose heavily as he stared the guy down, fury practically radiating off him. Then his eyes flicked down to where your hand was wrapped delicately around his wrist.

Something in him eased. You visibly noticed the tension shift off his shoulders.

"Get the fuck out of my house."

The guy muttered something under his breath - no doubt a thousand curses to you - before finally backing off into the crowd. You hoped he did leave, for his sake.

You let out a shaky breath you hadn't even realised you'd been holding in.

Garrett immediately turned toward you again, all his anger disappearing from his face the second he looked at you.

"Thank you." You said quietly, feeling rather small, but safe, next to him.

Before Garrett could say anything, a stunning girl came over to stand beside you both. Her hand slid up Garrett's chest casually, like touching him was second nature.

"Hey Garrett. Want to finish what we started last weekend?"

Your hand immediately dropped from around his wrist and Garrett looked down at you instantly.

It made you feel weird watching them.

It couldn't be jealousy surely. You barely knew Garrett, and yet he made you feel safe. Protected. Wanted, you might even risk saying. 

"Excuse me." You whispered, deciding to move away so you could give them some privacy. 

You pushed through the throngs of people, trying to keep your head down and stay unnoticed. This is exactly why you don't like leaving the comfort of your dorm.

You were walking towards the front door, when a hand on your arm stopped you in your tracks. You were very surprised to turn around and find Garrett right behind you.

As soon as your mind caught up with the fact it was Garrett holding your arm, you felt like your body was on fire all over. One small touch and you were at his weakness.

"Are you okay?" You asked.

His hand was still wrapped carefully around your arm, like he was worried you'd pull away or leave.

He nodded his head, "Come with me."

He waited for you to agree before tugging you along with a smile.

Garrett's grip on your arm migrated down so he could hold your hand instead. The slow movement sent shivers across your body - his touch so gentle and meaningful.

You smiled to yourself when his hand slid perfectly into yours.

It had been so long since you'd touched him like this. And now that you had him again, it was impossible to remember how you'd managed without him. He just felt so damn familiar. And for someone as introverted as yourself, that meant more than anything else.

Garrett led you up the stairs, leaving the party behind.

You weren't even considering what other people must be saying, as they watched you get led upstairs by Garrett Graham, because you were too focused on the moment and how you felt.

This could very well be the last time you get to be near him like this, so you'd do your damn well best to savour every detail.

You walked down the hall and were led into his bedroom.

After stepping inside, Garrett locked the door behind them before immediately looking back at you.

"Just so nobody barges in," he said softly.

His hand dropped from yours then.

He walked over to the blinds and drew them closed, encasing his room in darkness until he turned on the soft, warm, glow of his bedside lamp. 

The music was quieter up here and you felt like you could hear your own thoughts again.

You fiddled with your hands, having not moved from the door because of how awkward you felt.

“I just need a minute, if you want to go back downstairs.” You said.

Garrett responded by throwing himself down on his bed with a groan, and you tried your best to avert your eyes from where his jumper rode up to show his stomach.

“No. I’d rather be in here.” He sighed, putting his arms behind his head and closed his eyes. You stood awkwardly at his door, wondering if it was okay to move in any closer. “You’re making me nervous standing over there.”

You laughed, “Sorry.”

“Come here.” He patted the bed space next to him. He shot up from his bed to open his bedside drawer, before pulling out an oversized purple hoodie - the one he’d let you wear last time you’d been here.

“What’s this for?” You asked when he handed it over to you.

“Thought it might be more comfortable than what you’re wearing at the moment.”

You hesitated before taking it from him, because it was unnerving how well he could read you and your body language.

“Thank you.”

“Course. If you open my wardrobe door, you can get changed without my seeing anything.”

You nodded before walking over to his wardrobe and doing what he suggested. A small smile tugged onto your face as the moment sunk in. It was insane to think where you were and who you were with, especially when you think back to where you’d been only hours ago.

You could hear Garrett shuffling around on his bed, and settled just as you finished getting changed.

You were nervous as you picked up your dress from the floor and closed his wardrobe doors, but it quickly settled when you saw Garrett sat on his bed setting up an old-fashioned chess board.

“You play chess?”

Garrett’s eyes focused on your figure for a moment as though he was trying not to be obvious, but you noticed the subtle twitch of his mouth and Adam’s apple.

His eyes focused back on the board in front of him, “Yeah.” It was endearing to hear his voice break with just one word.

“Can I play too?”

“Well I’m not playing by myself, L/N.” He teased.

You dropped your dress at the foot of his bed and climbed on so you could sit cross legged in front of his chess board.

You helped him set the last few pieces up, apologising when your fingers brushed his as you both grabbed the same piece.

“Get ready to lose Graham.” You said to diffuse the tension.

Garrett scoffed at your pre-game trashing.

“Game on, baby.”

You know he was just messing around by saying baby, but you couldn’t help but internally scream at how good it sounded coming from him.

Garrett let you move first, because he said it was the gentlemanly thing to do.

The game was slow. As it turned out, neither of you were very good at chess but it was also so easy with him like this. You barely spoke as you played, but you were also so comfortable.

It was halfway through the match when you decided to speak your mind.

“You never texted me after that night.” You moved your bishop to take one of his pawns.

Garrett fought back by taking your bishop with his castle.

“You never texted me either.”

The game came to a pause as you processed what he’d just said.

He had been expecting you to text him back?

Garrett looked up at you when he realised you weren’t plotting your next move. His face gave nothing away, almost like this conversation wasn’t as shocking to him as it was to you.

“What?”

“You disappeared after that night.” Garrett said.

“Because I thought you wanted me to.”

“Why would you think that?” He furrowed his eyebrows, almost looking offended.

“Garrett c’mon…”

“No, go on. Why?”

“Because you’re fucking Garrett Graham, that’s why!” You shouted across the small distance between you.

“So?”

“And I’m just…”

“Just what?” He urged.

“Oh fuck off. I’m not having this conversation with you.” You got up off the bed so quickly that the chess board rattled and the pieces rolled everywhere.

Before you could even make it to pick your dress up, Garrett had twisted you around to face him.

His chest was heaving from his heavy breathing - clearly the frustration of this conversation affecting him as much as it was affecting you.

“Do you regret that night?” He asked you.

“What— No, of course not.” You answered honestly, “Do you?”

“No.”

“Then why did you look at me like you hated me, tonight?”

“I don’t hate you.” Garrett spoke softly, as if the only way for his words to compute with you was to say them quietly.

“Could’ve fooled me.” You laughed.

“I don’t.” He repeated. “In fact, I’ve been trying really hard not to care about you.”

Your eyes searched his carefully, like you were trying to decide whether he meant it.

His face had become impossibly close to yours, his breathing as heavy as yours. The proximity was as overwhelming as everything he was saying.

“And has it worked?” You challenged.

Garrett looked at you for a long moment.

For a moment, everything's quiet. You seek refuge in Emily's office, currently empty as she closes the case with Tara. Closing your eyes, you take the brief second of silence to recenter yourself. If you let your mind stray too much, you can still see the girl you managed to save, at the last minute, before the Unsub decided her time had come.

Emily had to shoot him, what, arguably, wouldn't usually be ideal but, this time, you didn't feel for him at all. The victim had been, rightfully, skittish after, quiet and curling in on herself. You'd wrapped your FBI jacket around her, which probably did nothing to ward off the shaking in her bones, but at least it covered her torn clothing. She'd clung onto you on the way to the ambulance, and refused to let go of your hand when the paramedics said they should move to the hospital soon. You don't know if she'd seen something in your eyes, or if she'd felt just that little bit safer because you're a woman and were the first one on the scene. However, none of that mattered when you got into the ambulance with her and waited by her side until her mother arrived.

It was heartbreaking to see the way she fell into her mother's arms. That adult woman, crying on her mom's shoulder like a little kid after a fall in the playground. You couldn't help but put yourself in her shoes, and the entire drive back to Quantico was spent in such deep thoughts that you couldn't even remember where you passed by.

After a while, the door opens quietly. Emily walks in, in slow, yet assured steps, sitting next to you on her office couch. She doesn't touch you as you're still staring straight ahead, only waits, observing your face for a signal of what you need.

You place a hand on her thigh, letting her know you're there, even if your thoughts keep straying. She covers your hand with her own, a warm presence that relaxes your shoulders slightly, and doesn't say anything. For a long period, you just sit there in silence, Emily's scent in your nostrils enough to keep you from falling into a dark hole inside your mind.

When you get up, it's not an event. You pick up your bag that's thrown on the floor by the couch, then start gathering papers strewn on the small side table. Emily does the same, walking towards her desk to get her own things together. She's methodical, quick, and soon enough you're both ready to leave.

At the car park, she starts in the direction of the driver's side. It'd usually be an argument, a silly thing that you'd complain about just to get a rise out of her, her affinity for control even when driving, the way she always forgets to offer you the keys. Tonight, there's no discussion. You move to the passenger's side, knowing she won't open the door for you because you'd argue she'd be babying you, and that you can open your own door, thank you very much.

Wrapped in her jacket, the drive is spent in silence, except for the time she asks if the AC is too cold. You murmur that it's fine. She doesn't say anything else.

At home, Emily lets you be. You both move towards the bedroom, not wanting to spend another second in work clothes. On a normal day, you know she'd be all over you, grabbing your waist, kissing your shoulder. Sometimes, she'd start something, sometimes she'd just keep you close to her, constantly touching your skin like it's her lifeline. Tonight, she moves by herself.

You don't know whether to be thankful or resentful.

You know she's just trying to give you space, trying to help in any way she can and not overwhelm you. And, if you're honest, you don't even know what you need at this time. You're not sure if you want closeness or space, comfort or just her silent presence.

Sitting on the bed, you rest your head on both hands, sighing deeply.

After a beat, you hear Emily walking softly, getting closer by the second. She touches the back of your head, slowly moving her fingers through your hair. You feel like crying. You don't want to cry.

Still quiet, she leaves a kiss on your head. Then, you hear her footsteps fading a little, but not completely. Soon, the sound of the shower being turned on.

Like second nature, you take your clothes off, as if it's just any other day and you're about to shower with your girlfriend. From the outside, it could be just that. Inside, though, the room feels heavy with the things you haven't said, darkened from your thoughts that you didn't even have to speak about for Emily to understand.

Under the spray of hot water, Emily's hair falls down her back in a curtain of silver. She's always a sight, especially wet in the shower, like an ethereal image of some kind of heavenly being. She looks at you with those deep, brown eyes, so understanding and caring, not pitiful, not disdainful. She lathers shampoo on your own strands, washing your scalp in the way she does everything, precisely, efficiently.

She asks if you want to talk about it. You're not sure.

“Do you want to talk about it?” You ask back, because this isn't just an individual experience. You know she understands, and even if she says it was a long time ago, you're aware of how these things tend to come back when you least expect them to.

“I don't think I have anything to say,” she says, rinsing your hair carefully, not letting a drop of shampoo fall into your eyes.

You nod in agreement. Emily smiles kindly at you, a hand on the back of your neck, the other pulling you in by the waist into a hug. One that she probably longed to give you all day. One that she couldn't offer until you were in the safety of the home you share.

“I'm here, though. If you need me.”

You breathe her in deeply, the scent of her skin mixed with your body wash, warmth and comfort in a single sense. “I know.”

i need to be studying but... who knows? will make a part 2 with the other ladies probs

@azishimi

You hated the emergency department—or “the pitt” as it was so fondly called by said department and trauma surgeons alike. It always amazed you how Walsh and Garcia so frequently made the trip down to the basement. You did your best to avoid emergency consults, often sending your residents down when you could, but being one of the best plastic surgeons, you couldn’t avoid the pitt forever—as much as you would’ve liked to.

It wasn’t that you were against emergency medicine or that you had some vendetta against the people who worked downstairs, but the chaos and frenzy of it all simply unnerved you. During your rotation at MassGen’s trauma center, you’d seen your fair share of MCIs and drunken accidents, too many for your liking actually. You also knew about the rising trends of violence in the ED, something you wanted to do your best to avoid.

Though, it would be just your luck that your first ED consult in months resulted in a laceration across the cheek, thanks to an unhappy—and misogynistic—patient, whose blood alcohol was definitely above the legal limit.

“Shit,” you hissed as one of the residents rolled a sodium-chloride-soaked cotton swab over your wound. “See, this is why I avoid it down here.”

“You got the right idea,” McKay huffed, and you could tell she’d already had a rough day. It was only ten, but that’s what emergency medicine did do to you.

As she draped a cloth over your shoulder, coming back with a needle holder in one hand and pair of forceps in the other, you frowned. “What are you doing?”

“You need stitches,” Cassie stated.

“I know,” you replied. You were the best plastic surgeon east of the Mississippi. Hell would have to have frozen over for you to let some resident do your stitches. “Hold the mirror.”

You lifted the hand-held mirror up for her to take. She gave you an incredulous look but nonetheless swapped her suture supplies for the mirror and held it up for you so you could stitch up your own face.

Across the floor, Baran walked out of a trauma room and approached the nurses’ station. Taking a quick scan of the department, her eyes landed on an attractive woman in Central 2 doing sutures on her own face. She watched as the doctor’s, the dark blue scrubs being a dead give away, hands moved expertly and swiftly, and she couldn’t stop the warmth from flooding her abdomen.

“Why is there a woman doing her own sutures in our emergency department?” Baran asked Dana, her gaze remaining on you.

The charge nurse bit back a smile at the single word choice, implying a shared responsibility, something Dana had come to admire—even like—about the new attending. Baran understood her rank and responsibility but never shouldered the burden alone.

“I doubt she’d let anyone else do ‘em,” Dana snorted as she quickly glanced up to see where Baran looking before returning to her tablet.

“Who is she?”

Dana told her your name. “Plastics surgeon,” she said with a certain tone as if to explain your actions.

Baran seemed to pick up what Dana was suggesting because she raised her eyebrows and nodded.

“Hey, hotshot,” Dana yelled over to you.

“Yeah?” You called back, still focused on your task at hand.

“When you’re done showing off, I got someone here I want you to meet.”

You chuckled lightly, careful not to disrupt your work. Baran watched as you smoothly tied up your sutures, exchanged a few words with McKay, a smug yet easy-going smirk on playing on your lips, and exited the trauma bay.

As you approached the central station, your eyes widened slightly at the unfamiliar woman who was leaning against the counter, her curly hair pulled back halfway so as to not get in her face. While you didn’t make frequent trips down to the pitt, you knew most, if not all, of the doctors and nurses—mainly through Emery and Garcia’s rants but that was a moot point—and you were sure you would remember a woman as striking as her.

“Barbie, this is Dr. Baran Al-Hashimi,” Dana said, motioning her hand between you and the other attending. “She’s here while Robby’s on sabbatical.”

You rolled your eyes at the nickname the charge nurse had coined for you after you’d so generously fixed her broken nose, the first time.

Holding out your hand, you introduced your real name. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Likewise.” Baran shook your hand with a faint smirk, and you tried to ignore the way your insides fluttered at the feeling of her skin against yours.

“Impressive work,” she hummed, eyeing your sutures. She could see they were neat and precise. You’d be left with only a ghost of a scar.

“You should see what else I can do,” you replied with the arrogance of a surgeon, lowering your voice suggestively.

Baran raised her brow, struck by your forwardness.

“No flirting in front of me,” Dana snarked, shooting you a knowing look over the bridge of her glasses. You felt your cheeks warm, but your smirk widened.

“There’s plenty of me to go around, Evans,” you teased as you leaned forward against the station. She gave you a deadpan stare, used to your flirtatious remarks, and you snickered.

“Ignore her.” Dana turned to Baran, not giving you the satisfaction of a retort. “She’s not down here often anyways.”

As if on cue, your pager beeped against your hip. Briefly, you skimmed the message before looking back up at the new attending.

“Well, maybe now I have a reason to visit more often.”

You let your eyes linger in hers, momentarily getting lost in the warmth of her chocolate orbs, before pushing yourself off the station.

“Duty calls.” You held up your pager, which was buzzing again. “It’s been a pleasure, ladies.”

You glanced back at Dana, bowing your head slightly, and she simply dismissed you with a wave of her hand, but you could see a glint of affection in her eye.

“It was nice to meet you, Dr. Al-Hashimi.”

“Baran,” she corrected quickly, surprising even herself.

“Baran,” you echoed, a small and sincere smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.

If she wasn’t enamored by you before, the way her name naturally rolled off your tongue surely did it in for her.

“Well, Baran, I’m sure I’ll see you around.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” she said your name, and you decided you’d never hear it the same way again.

Turning on your heels, you headed back towards the elevator, the stinging in your cheek replaced by the tingling feeling of Baran’s gaze on your retreating figure. As you pressed the button for your floor, you caught one last glimpse of her and nodded with a faint smirk before the elevator doors shut.