Poe 🥸

Andrew’s bleeding body and betrayed soul burned almost as hot as the house behind him. 

Flames threw heat against his back with every staggering step he took. His large hand pressed against the wounds littering his torso, his shirt squishing wetly under his palm. Each inhale and exhale caused spurts of blood to continue soaking the fabric. Exhaustion dragged him down like a ball and chain; he was so tired.

He wondered if this was it, if he was about to just give up in the house that started it all. Surely someone had already called about the fire; surely cops and other federal officers were on their way. But even with those thoughts, Andrew couldn’t help but worry about everyone but himself. 

The pool lapped in crashing, rhythmic waves against the concrete side, a calm sound compared to the raging chaos around him. With a grunt, he lowered himself to sit on the edge, boots coming to rest on the first stair, the fabric instantly soaking in the chlorine scented water. His body ached, ached, ached, and his mind reeled with the last hour where everything went so horribly wrong. 

His betraying nephew, his lost and probably injured baby brothers, his fading life; Andrew wasn’t sure which one hurt the most. 

With shaking hands, he pulled out two items from his back pocket: his phone and a small photo. The corners of his mouth failed to turn at the sight of his younger self and his sweet-looking twin that he had failed so many years ago; J had made sure that his failure to protect her sank deeper and hurt more than his wounds. A small sob pushed out in one puff of air, and a singular tear made its way across his cheeks, mixing with the blood trickling from a cut near his eye. 

Andrew placed the photo down carefully and looked at his phone second. Behind him, the fire continued to roar on, leaving no part of the famous Cody house untouched. His attention should have been on getting out of there, on finding Deran and Craig, but all he could think about was the phone call he had to make. For a split second, he hesitated, thumb frozen over the contact, before he touched the screen. 

You picked up in two rings. “Andy?” you breathed, voice already filled with a panic that made his heart clench. “Andy, what’s going on. I saw—you were being transferred, but—the news, I don’t know what’s happening.” 

He pinched his eyes shut, allowing more tears to squeeze their way out of his tear ducts. “I’m sorry,” he said first. “I’m so sorry.” He could almost envision your pinched, worried face if he thought hard enough. “You need to listen to me.” 

“What’s going on?” you repeated. “Talk to me.” 

Iron-tanged saliva pooled around his tongue. “Everything went south. J talked; Craig and Deran are gone but—” He inhaled sharply. “I don’t know if they’re going to make it.” 

He couldn’t stand the sound of your shaking breathing on the other line, the one you made when you worried on his behalf. 

“Andy—” 

“There’s money,” he interrupted, so awfully aware of the growing heat behind him. “In your name. You’re gonna be taken care of, I made sure of it. You’ll never have to worry about anything, understand?” 

“Money? What? What are you saying, Andy?” 

He looked down and over at the photo then down to his pool-soaked boots. “I think this is it for me,” he whispered, heart breaking right into two at the thought of leaving you alone in this world. “Cops are comin’; the house . . . I took care of it.” 

“You’re at the house?” you questioned, and Andrew could hear the tell tail sound of your keys jingling on that keychain he always told you would mess with the ignition.

He mentally cursed himself for the slip up, not wanting you to come after him and possibly find what he left behind. “Stay home,” he ordered. “Don’t-don’t come here; it’s not safe.” 

“But—” 

“Promise,” he stated, hand reaching to pick up the photo again. “Promise you won’t come here.” Each word hurt to get out. 

“I’m not going to leave you to die, Andrew,” you argued. “Not when I can do something about it.” 

“No,” he moaned, sides protesting with the word, body tensing with fear at the thought of you driving over. “Sweetheart, don’t come.” 

Your keys stopped jingling, and he quietly sighed in relief. However, his heart sunk down to his toes when the sound of your car humming to life filled the speaker. The tires squealed. 

“Just,” you started, pausing when words failed. “Wait for me. Please, Andy, wait for me. I’ll be there soon; you know this. You don’t get to die on me, Andrew Cody.” Your voice rose with each sentence. 

Andrew sat there for another moment before his world slowly tipped to the side. His bones protested at the change, and his shoulder screamed when it came to rest on the concrete. Like sticky molasses, he shifted slowly until his hands dipped into cool water, photo of him and Julia quickly becoming soaked. His chest heaved in heavy, labored breathing. His poor auburn curls flattened under the weight of his head against the brick outline. 

“Andy?” you whimpered. “Are you there?” 

It took him a minute to gather the strength to speak. “Yeah,” he croaked. “’M here.” 

“Do you remember what you told me the first time you walked me home?” 

This time, Andrew’s lips quirked upward for a millisecond at the memory. “Yeah.” 

“You said—” He heard you thickly swallow. “You said that no matter what, you wouldn’t leave me behind.” 

He closed his eyes. 

“A-and if-if—” It was almost like you couldn’t even speak the idea of him dying into existence in fear that it’d happen. “That’s breaking your promise.” 

Andrew stayed silent as sirens wailed in the distance to the point that he thought that you could probably hear them through your phone. He didn’t want you mixed up in any of this; he had tried his damn hardest to keep you as far away from his family activity as possible. 

“I’m almost there, okay? I’m coming.” 

He didn’t know how much time had passed between your sentences, the world becoming blurry and sounds reaching his brain through cotton. He had lost a hold on the picture minutes ago, and it had slowly drifted out of reach, close to being so waterlogged that it threatened to dip below the surface and sink to the bottom. The only thing he kept a firm grip on—even if his strength was quickly waning—was the phone, his one lifeline to you.  

Dark black spots danced in his vision, and his breathing stuttered and slowed. 

“Almost there,” you kept repeated, like saying that would grant you the power of teleportation. “I’m almost there, and then, I’m going to get you all patched up. You’re going to be just fine. We’ll move somewhere safe, start a future together, just like we talked about yeah?” 

Andrew’s chest heaved. “Yeah.” 

“Tell me what you see, Andrew. What do you want our future to look like; keep talking to me.”  

The next few words hurt, but he wasn’t just going to leave you without saying anything else. “A house.” 

He heard a large sniff, followed by a watery exhale. “Yeah? What kind of house.” 

“Big. Safe. Warm.” 

“It sounds so nice.” 

“Full.” He closed his eyes. “Full house.” 

“You always did want four kids,” you tried, but the attempt to lift spirits fell flat. “What else?” 

“All girls,” he muttered, his energy almost draining each time his mouth opened. “First one, then twins, and one baby.” 

A small laugh crackled through the speaker. “Sounds like a dream. You’re going to be such a good dad, Andy.” 

He hated the way you continued to speak like he was going to make it out alive. He knew you were still on the way, and the sirens were slowly growing louder even through his cotton (blood)-filled ears. His fingers loosened, and the phone dropped onto the ground with a thunk. 

“Andrew? What was that?” 

He thought he responded, but really, the words were all jumbled in his mouth. He dragged his cheek across the rough concrete to get his mouth closer to the dropped phone. The black spots had grown significantly as blood continued to pour from his body. 

With one last large breath, he said, “I love you.” 

His mind went quiet soon after, despite your yelling across the line for him to hold on. All fight left his body in a single moment, frame deflating under the weight of what was about to happen. Andrew Cody was close to death, and for the first time since meeting you, he felt truly at peace. Every blink of his eyes slowed; he didn’t know which one was going to be the last, but when his eyelids finally settled, and he couldn’t find the strength to open them again, he fully welcomed the darkness. 

_______________________

You didn’t know what to expect to find when your car squealed into the fully-flame-engulfed Cody house’s driveway. 

Andrew had gone silent on his end almost two minutes ago, and your heart thundered against your sternum. You didn’t even pull the keys out of the ignition before your door swung open. Your feet hit the ground, and you dashed around the corner to the side fence entrance. It took your shaking hands two tries before the latch gave way. Flames roared in your ears as you pushed through the gate, but all you could focus on was the Andrew-sized lump lying unmoving at the pool’s edge.

A cry of pure anguish tore through your throat. You didn’t stop running until your knees hit the pool’s ledge. You didn’t have time to dwell on the pain of your joints. 

“Andrew?” you questioned, hands reaching to roll him over on his back. His body swayed under the motion, completely boneless. “Andrew?” Your hand curled into a fist and rubbed erratically against his sternum, just like you’d seen on TV. “Come on; come on!” Tears began streaming steadily down your face. “Andy, Baby, come on! Don’t do this to me!” 

When he failed to make any signs of waking up, you quickly dug two fingers into the side of his neck and held your breath, waiting—hoping to feel something, anything below his skin. When you felt a dull pulse, you pulled your fingers away with a gasp of relief. 

“You stay with me, Andrew Cody,” you grunted as your hands slipped under his arms, back straining under his dead weight. 

Really, you hadn’t thought anything through; Andrew was almost double your weight, but the adrenaline coursing through your body was somehow enough for you to start dragging him across the backyard. 

Almost back to the fence, you stumbled, ass falling down to the grass with Andrew pressing down on your front. Almost on the next street over, the sirens were getting dangerously close. If you didn’t move in the next few moments, they’d either drag you away and shoot Andrew on the spot as a convicted and escaped murderer or they’d drag you away and leave him to burn along with the house. You couldn’t let that happen; you’d rather die than let that happen. 

So, with all the strength you could muster, you stood back up and kept yanking. Andrew stayed unconscious as his body bumped along the grass and then dragged across the small bit of driveway. A deep groan from the house had your head whipping up in time for you to witness the integrity give way under the flames. Plumes of smoak wafted high, but Andrew was already put in the passenger seat with the back all the way down for him to lie against. If you happened to pass officers on the way out, they’d only see you, Andrew being covered by the door. 

Just like when you pulled in, your tires squealed on the way out. Your left hand gripped the steering wheel with white knuckles while the other held onto Andrew’s limp hand, thumb brushing against his split knuckles. Through the air, your phone rang a few times before a voice answered on the other line. 

“Deran?” you called out. 

He answered with your name in a saddened tone. “Yeah?” 

“Where are you? Is Craig with you?” 

A sobbed choke followed. “Craig’s . . . Craig’s—fuck!” 

You bit down on your bottom lip to stop it from wavering, and your hand gripped Andrew’s just a tad bit tighter, knowing he was about to meet the same fate. 

“Please,” Deran said, not waiting for you to say anything else. “Please tell me you’ve heard from Pope. He went back to the house to go after J; he said he’d find us, but—” He shakily exhaled. “But it sounded like he was saying goodbye instead.”  

Your eyes drifted from the road down to Andrew, who still remained unconscious. “I have him, but Deran—” You looked back toward the road, blinking rapidly to rid your eyes of tears. “It’s bad. There’s so much blood. I—” You sniffed loudly. “I have to get him to a safe place. Is there anywhere you can think of?” 

The line went silent for a few moments. “Smurf had a house . . . in Encinitas. I can meet you there, but . . . do you think he’ll last that long?” 

“He’ll have to. Or I’ll bring him back just to kill him myself,” you muttered, spinning the steering wheel under your palm to take the closest exit. “Send me the address, and Deran?” 

He sighed heavily. “Yeah?” 

“Stay safe, okay? I’ll see you there.” 

You hung up without another word, and the address came through not even a breath later. Your thumb continued to run across Andrew’s knuckles the entire 13.4-mile drive, hand never once letting go of his. The only thing that kept you from losing hope entirely was the slow up and down movement of his chest. Oh how you prayed for his hazel eyes to open, but even with your muttering and begging, they stayed closed. 

Every so often, you’d look over your shoulder or stare right through the rearview mirror, heart thudding in awful anticipation of possibly seeing any battalion of police cars following you. But as your car stuttered to a halt in front of a non-descript house, the fear of being found was slowly overtaken by the fear of truly losing Andrew. 

You exhaled slowly, forehead coming to rest against the wheel for just a moment, giving yourself a small chance to breath before you got out of the car. You quickly rounded the hood and opened the passenger door. Deran was nowhere in sight, and you didn’t want to wait for him to get there to help you transfer Andrew indoors. He needed to get inside as quickly as possible. 

So, for the second time in thirty minutes, you shoved your arms under his and pulled with all your might. His feet hit the ground hard, but it was at least better than his full body. Your feet scuffled along, sandals definitely not the best choice for lugging your almost-dead fugitive boyfriend into a safehouse. 

His weight pressed against you as you tried to get through the door, mentally thanking whoever last stayed there for stupidly forgetting to lock it. With one hand, you twisted the knob, and a wave of heat washed over you once you got through the threshold. You didn’t dare stop until you lugged Andrew onto the closest couch.

You all but collapsed next to him, shoulder pressed against his arm that had fallen over the side. Without thinking, you reached up and gingerly brushed a curl away from his face. He didn’t move one inch, and that terrified you. 

You weren’t a doctor. You weren’t certified to give him any medical attention. However, that didn’t stop you from ripping his shirt off, finally laying eyes on his multiple wounds and bruising that almost swallowed his skin. Your hands hovered over his torso, mind not knowing where to even begin. 

The sound of the door creaking open, though, had you grabbing the gun from his waistband and pointing it toward the front. Your finger shook against the trigger, but when the door opened fully and reveal an exhausted Deran, a sigh of relief wheezed from your lungs. 

“Deran,” you sobbed, pushing up from the ground and speed walking over to his open arms. He smelled of thick sweat and blood, but the solidness of his arms around your shoulders was enough to make you feel safe. “P-please; I don’t know-know what to do.” 

Deran took one look over your shoulder, and his breath hitched of his older brother looking closer to death than he’d ever seen. His arm slipped from your body as he walked over in small, hesitant steps. “He—” He sucked in a breath. “He’s not dead, right?” 

“No,” you breathed out almost instantly. “He’s still holding on. But with all the blood loss, it’s going to take him a long time to wake up.” Your arms wrapped around your middle. “But he has to-has to wake up.” 

You watched Deran lean down and press his forehead against Andrew’s before withdrawing. Recovery was going to be long, and the moment he woke up, you’d have to move him quickly to someplace safer. But all you could do for now was join Deran at the couch and stand like guard dogs, watching over Andrew as he slept. 

_______________________

Andrew tensed the moment he became cognitive enough to know that he wasn’t dead.

His hands clenched at his sides before taking fistfuls of plush couch cushion. His bones ached as he lied there, unknowing exactly there was. If he’d been caught by police, a couch would be the last place they’d put him. And if he actually died, he wondered if God was playing a trick on his mind, putting him someplace comfortable before he’d be judged for his sins. Neither idea though seemed to stick while he pushed himself in an upward position. He blinked rapidly, and the scene before him came into a sharp, vivid image. 

Bloodied rags and bottles of alcohol covered the spans of the small table that seemed to have been haphazardly pushed out of the way. Lines of drying, brown blood made a small path from his couch to the front door, and Andrew could only guess it all belonged to him. He kept a hold of the cushion in a grounding fashion. The last thing he remembered was your scared voice begging him to keep talking. 

Flashes of pain raked through his soul, and panic began to bubble under his skin. 

He’d been taken from his burning grave. He didn’t know where you were or if you had even made it to the Cody house. The idea of you pulling up, running inside just to not find his body had him itching to stand. But his knees buckled the moment he tried to get up, and a low groan pushed from his chest. 

The sound must have echoed, because a thunder of footsteps followed almost instantly. Andrew tensed again, mind running with the possibility of who had actually taken him away. His hand reached for the gun he knew he had tucked in his waistband, but all he grabbed onto was an empty space. 

His hands would have to be enough. They curled into fists and rose in front of his chest; however, they immediately fell back to his sides when you and Deran came around the corner into view, both pausing when you noticed who exactly had made the large thump. 

You gasped loudly before continuing to rush toward him. Only sobs spilled from your mouth while you kneeled in front of him, hands gently coming to rest on his naked shoulders. You tucked your face into the crook of his neck, and your left hand quickly buried itself into the curls at his nape. 

Andrew, almost frozen in disbelief, shakily placed his hands on the small of your back.

“You-you’re awake,” you stuttered, pulling your face back to look him in his hazel eyes. “You woke up.” You softly swiped you thumbs across the skin under his slowly blinking eyes. “You came back.” 

Andrew closed his eyes fully. “You told me to wait.” 

Wanting to be closer, you leaned forward until your forehead touched his, your eyes also fluttering shut as the two of you held each other. It wasn’t until Deran shifted that you parted. Andrew’s eyes opened and looked over your shoulder at his brother, and his eyebrows pinched when he wondered what was wrong with the picture. 

“Craig?” he asked, tone all gravely with an ever too present underlying pain. 

Deran shut his eyes and shook his head, silently telling Andrew everything he needed to know. 

He all but crumbled back into your arms, thick hands finding a strong hold on your sides as he finally allowed himself to grieve; grieve for the life he had, for the life he lost, for Craig, for J’s betrayal, for Cath, for Julia. 

But the tears also healed.  

They signified that he was alive, breathing, and in your arms. 

His sobs sputtered to a slow stop until he quieted. You stayed still through it all, wanting Andrew to be done only when he was ready. Your hands continued to pet and run through his blood-matted curls while he stayed buried in your front. Your lips gently placed intermittent kisses against his temple, and Andrew lightly hummed at the feeling. 

He didn’t know where the two of you were supposed to go from there. You and he would have to flee California while he knew Deran would want to stay, lie low, and find Adrian at some point. Andrew knew that time was ticking down, that it was only a matter of time before the cops started looking for him and Deran. But all he could care about in that moment was the rise and fall of your chest under his ear and the feeling of having his arms wrapped around your middle. 

_______________________

For one split second four years ago, you didn’t think the life you always wanted was possible. 

But as you stood in front of the small, farmhouse that seemed to glow against the sunset, you took a large inhale of air. Well, as much air as you could with two developing babies currently pressing upward against your lungs and all your other important organs. Your stomach stretched far, and you ran a hand down the swelled bump. 

A squeal from the front yard had caught your attention, which was how you found yourself standing on the wrap-around porch, baby bump held between your hands. Your cheeks warmed with a smile as you watched Andrew carry your almost 4-year-old daughter through the tall grass where the lightning bugs were just starting to twinkle.

Your shoulder rested against one of the pillars, and the cool breeze of April settled against your cheeks in soft and fleeting puffs that carried the smell of approaching spring and rainwater. You knew that if you walked down the steps and into the grass, the ground would squish softly between your toes. 

“Mama!” Julie yelled from where Andrew was currently holding her out like she was flying. “Do you see! Do you see da glow bugs!”  

“I see!” you called out in response, not even trying to fight the smile that pretty much never failed to stretch your face since you found this small part of paradise. 

“Daddy! Put down! I wanna see Mama!” she squealed right into Andrew’s ear. 

You watched as Andrew contemplated setting her down before he flipped her face up and pretending to bite at her tummy, the sound of his playful growl mixing so wonderfully with the sound of Julie’s giggles. He took large steps in your direction, deciding to just carry his daughter instead of having her walk through the soft and slightly muddy yard; his nicely cleaned and polished floors would thank him later. 

The sound of her pitter patters up the steps caused your heart to flutter; it was a noise you’d never get over hearing. 

“Be careful,” Andrew warned when he noticed Julie coming at you with a bit more speed than your poor knees could probably handle. “Remember to be gentle with Mama.” 

Julie all but screeched to a halt before continuing on at a much slower speed. Her small arms wrapped around your left leg, and your left hand trailed through the mop of auburn curls. She was, in all aspect of her tiny life, Andrew’s twin. And you were more than fine with it, even if you’d grown her for nine months just for her to come out with a frown that matched her daddy’s to a tee. 

“Go wash your hands; dinner’s almost ready,” you said, giving her one last pat on the head.

She squeezed your leg one last time before dashing into the house, squealing her entire way in. You couldn’t help chuckle at the noise. 

It hadn’t taken long for Julie to be on her way after you and Andrew found this small piece of land. The house had needed fixing, but it was something you could envision your family growing in. And just five weeks into renovations, you’d shown him three tests with double lines so dark they almost looked black. Andrew had cried openly after dropping to his knees in order to rest his forehead against your then flat stomach. For the next nine months, he panicked, prepared, cried some more, and panicked again. But the moment Julie was placed in his arms, you knew exactly then that Andrew Cody was meant to be a father. 

His hand sliding across your belly brought you out of your reverie. “They being good?” he asked, leaning down to press a kiss to your bump before straightening to kiss you. 

He was answered by a few kicks to his palm that sent flutters thought your body. 

“They want out,” you muttered against his lips before pressing back into him. “Can’t believe you called it. First Julie, now A and B. You think you’re gonna be correct with the last?” 

Andrew pulled back and smirked. “Definitely. Like I said, sweetheart, all girls.” 

Your eyes gently raked across his face, taking in each and every freckle that dotted his face like constellations you could see on a clear summer’s night. You caressed his cheek with your fingers, and his eyes fluttered as he leaned into your hand. 

“Thank you,” you whispered. “For staying.” 

“Thank you,” he echoed. “For never giving up.” 

The two of you stood there, enjoying each other’s company, until Julie called for you deep in the house. 

“Duty calls,” Andrew muttered, curling an arm around your waist. 

“Yes,” you mused. “Yes, she does.” 

The rest of the evening went in warm touches and moments you never wanted to end. And like many nights before, you went to bed surrounded by your small family with a large smile each time Andrew tugged you in a bit tighter in his sleep, knowing that everything would continue to be exactly as it should be. 

samira.mo has posted

liked by jackabbotmd, frecklesandflour and 453 others

samira.mo: I missed Pittsburgh more than I’ll ever admit 🖤

frecklesandflour: MY GIRL IS HOME

dennis.whitaker: favorite picture of us btw.

⤷ samira.mo: because you look tall and pretty

⤷dennis.whitaker: exactly

mateodiaz: why does that picture of Y/n feel threatening

⤷samira.mo: because she was staring into your soul

⤷frecklesandflour: it was supposed to be

shenanigans: slide 3 is the face of a man watching his best friend flirt with two people at once

⤷mateodiaz: delete this

⤷trin_santos: nah let him cook

————————————————————————

thank you jalen’s insta and off campus for these pictures.

Dennis felt something tighten low in his chest, sharp and immediate, like his body had reacted before his brain had time to catch up with it. A brief, involuntary bristling that he tried to swallow down just as quickly as it came.

You looked up first.

Your expression shifted instantly, your smile widening like it always did when you saw him.

“Morning sunshine.”

It hit him the same way it always did - quick and disarming, making him feel warmer than it should have in a place that already felt like it was overheating.

Frank turned, following your gaze. “Hey man, long time no see.”

Dennis forced himself to move again, stepping forward, reaching for his locker like everything was normal.

“Hey.” Dennis nodded, sending you both a tight lipped smile as he opened his locker. “Welcome back.”

“Thanks.”

As if he was satisfied that he'd discharged his duty to be a polite co-worker, Frank's attention slid back to you. As if that had always been the more natural place for it to rest, as if Dennis had simply been a brief interruption rather than someone worth lingering on.

"So, how much am I going to have to bribe you to get you to relinquish your top locker?"

You snorted. "Absolutely nothing." You patted your locker affectionately. "This kind of real estate is priceless."

"Not even a month's long supply of free double shot vanilla iced lattes?"

Your eyes narrowed playfully. "Points for a good attempt at manipulating me Langdon, but my answer is still no."

He shrugged as he rose to his full height. "That's alright, I'll wear you down eventually."

Dennis, who had been very intentionally keeping his focus on the inside of his locker, finally relented at that.

He peered over to see Frank smirking down at you, with an ease that suggested he’d slipped right back into place without resistance.

"It'll certainly be fun watching you try."

You glanced down at your watch.

"Come on, I want to show you what we've done to the break room since you've been gone before handover."

You locked eyes with Dennis over Frank's shoulder before he had time to avert his gaze.

You shot him a warm smile, one that never failed to make his heart speed up just a touch faster.

And then you were gone.

"What about six months?" Frank tried as he followed you out.

Your laughter drifted back in, curling through the air and settling somewhere low and uncomfortable in Dennis’ stomach.

"Did you know he was coming back today?"

Dennis looked up to see Santos approaching him, her thumb jerked back in Frank's direction.

"Nope." He couldn't quite manage to smooth the edge out of his voice as he stared at the doorway you had just walked through.

"Great, that's just what I need." She muttered.

She turned back to her locker, rummaging for a moment before adding, almost casually -

"Kinda sucks for you too I guess."

Dennis frowned. "Why?"

She paused, then said your last name slowly, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"What about her?"

She shut her locker, an unimpressed expression on her features. "Seriously?"

"What?"

She shook her head. "Don't you remember how she was practically Langdon's shadow?"

Something uncomfortable shifted in his chest.

He reached for his badge, clipping it onto his scrubs sharply, the plastic snapping lightly against the fabric.

"So?"

"So..." She gestured vaguely toward the hallway, like the answer should be obvious. "You're going to have to get used to sharing Huckleberry."

He didn’t respond to that.

Instead he swallowed, trying to ignore the lump forming in his throat, before shutting his locker a little harder then necessary.

-

By the time he reached the centre of the floor, the heat had already seeped into everything.

The pitt always ran warm, the air conditioning overworked, the vents struggling to push cool air into a space that demanded too much of it. But today it felt suffocating.

A sheen of sweat had already formed along the back of his neck, dampening the collar of his scrubs.

You were leaning against one of the counters, sipping an iced beverage no doubt left for you by Shen, condensation dripping down the side of the cup.

"Still taking it with too much sugar?" Frank asked, leaning against the opposite bench.

You shot him a look over the rim of your cup. "It’s not too much."

"It’d probably have to be legally classified as a dessert." He tutted mockingly. "I need to talk to Shen about limiting your intake."

"I never heard you complain when you got to finish it."

Frank smirked. "Waste not."

"You’re unbelievable." You said as you shook your head, but there was no bite to it.

Just… fondness.

It sat wrong in Dennis’ chest.

Dennis tried to listen to the handover, he really did. But his attention kept drifting to you and Langdon, dragged back like something physical, something he couldn’t quite control.

You were standing shoulder to shoulder. Frank leaned in slightly as you made a remark about one of the patients, your voice low but animated, completely at ease.

"Alright, let’s move, we’re already backed up." Robby called, clapping his hands once.

"Today's going to be a scorcher people, be prepared."

-

"Don't you remember how she was practically Langdon's shadow?"

Santos' words lingered, looping, catching, replaying at the most inconvenient moments as Dennis moved through the start of his shift, trying and failing to settle into a rhythm that usually came naturally to him.

Truthfully, he didn't remember.

He'd only worked one shift with you and Langdon together before. A shift that happened to be one of the worst days of his life.

He'd been a little too preoccupied with catching a rat and dealing with a mass casualty event to really notice anything as subtle as the dynamic between the two of you.

But as the morning wore on and he watched you and Langdon interact, fragments of your first shift together started to come back in pieces, stirred up by his subconscious.

Santos' assessment hadn't been far off.

Back then, you'd been an R1 and were clearly Langdon's favourite. Dennis remembered him shouting your last name as his first port of call when a trauma came through, how he'd leaned on you in ways that felt effortless rather than forced. You’d taken his teasing without flinching, never quite on the receiving end of anything harsher, even when you slipped up.

Dennis hadn’t noticed it then.

He noticed it now.

And it was everywhere.

Even with Langdon stuck in triage, somehow the two of you kept crossing paths, orbiting each other like it was instinct rather than intention.

He watched from afar as you worked together - so seamlessly it was like you shared one stream of consciousness, like no time had passed. When you stepped back, Langdon shifted automatically to give you space. When Langdon needed something you would have it in his hand before he could even ask for it.

There was no hesitation, no missteps.

You and Dennis worked like that too. Or, at least he thought you did.

Something began to take shape in his chest, slow and ugly. It crawled upward, heavy and unfamiliar, nesting somewhere under his ribs and refusing to move.

It was uncomfortable. He didn't get like this. This wasn't him.

He didn't do jealousy or possessiveness.

You weren’t an object that something to be hoarded. You weren’t his. You had never been his in the first place.

And yet for these past ten months, it felt like you had been... something.

Ten months of inside jokes, weekends at the gym, knock off drinks with Santos and Garcia. The quiet, steady presence of you at his side, shift after shift.

Ten months of just you and him.

And now... now the dynamic was all wrong, like the ground had shifted under his feet, like something unspoken had been quietly rewritten without his permission.

“See what I mean?”

Santos’ voice cut through his thoughts.

He followed the tilt of her head, his gaze landing once more on you and Langdon.

“Shadow.”

He felt the ER grow a degree hotter.

-

The first patient the three of you worked together came in not long after.

Middle-aged male. Heat exhaustion bordering on heat stroke.

"Pulse ox is dropping." Princess warned.

"Push fluids." Dennis replied, stepping in without hesitation.

Langdon was on the other side of the bed, calm, steady, slipping seamlessly back into the rhythm of the department like he’d never left.

"We need to cool him down fast." He said. "Ice packs-"

"-axilla and groin." You finished for him, already moving to put them in place.

Dennis watched you for a half a second too long. You were efficient, focused and completely in your element.

"Whitaker."

He snapped back, heat prickling under his skin. "Yeah."

Langdon’s gaze flicked to him briefly. "You with us?"

There wasn't any malice in it, it wasn't pointed, Frank was senior to him - he had every right to call him out.

But the way he said us, as if you and he were a little team - it made Dennis' stomach twist.

"I am." He replied, a touch too quick, a fraction too sharp.

Your eyes flitted to him briefly, your brow furrowing just a touch at his tone.

Langdon held his gaze for a second longer, then nodded. "Good."

-

"Did we get the CT back on our backflip girl yet?"

"No, still waiting."

Frank nodded, leaning over the desk as he tapped his fingers absentmindedly, taking a moment to watch you as you typed in your notes.

He knew you were good, you'd always been good. But in the past ten months, you'd clearly blossomed. You were more confident, carrying around an air of undemanded authority that you hadn't had before.

He hated the fact that he hadn't been here to watch you grow. That it was his fault for missing out on such a vital part of your career.

His eyes met Whitaker’s from across the room. Dennis looked away suddenly, like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t have.

It made Frank think about the tense interaction they’d had over Louis a little earlier.

"Whitaker seemed a little off earlier, don't you reckon?"

"During our heatstroke guy?"

"Yeah."

You peered over the top of your monitor and followed Frank's gaze through the glass into Trauma 1 where Whitaker stood.

"Yeah a little."

Frank hummed. "Maybe he was looking for another rat to kill."

He looked down at you, expecting to hear your laugh, the easy one you usually gave him.

Instead, your brows were knitted, your expression tightened just slightly.

"Don't be like that."

"Be like what?"

You gave him an incredulous look. "He's not the nervous student he was when you saw him last time you know. He’s a doctor now and he's good... really good."

Frank blinked, slightly taken aback.

"I know." Frank admitted slowly. "I've watched him this morning."

"Then you also know that he's an easy target."

Your eyes shifted to Dennis again for a moment, lingering.

"And he cops enough teasing from the others."

Frank watched you carefully.

"You guys are close, huh?"

You looked up at him through your lashes, the tension easing out of your expression. "Yeah. We are."

You sighed when Frank raised a brow, like that explanation wasn’t sufficient. "He cares, a lot. Sometimes too much." A small shrug. "I just don’t want people to take advantage of that.”

“You’ve got his back.” He observed.

“Yeah.” You replied without hesitation. “I do.”

“And he’s got yours?”

You smiled faintly. “For his sake, he better.”

Frank huffed out a quiet breath.

“Ok well that’s good enough for me.”

“So no more rat jokes?”

He mimed a cross over his heart. “No more rat jokes.”

Your smile made something twist behind his ribs.

“Thank you.”

Something unreadable flickered across his expression. Just for a moment, and then it was gone.

An uncomfortable truth curled up in the pit of his stomach.

That things that had kept growing here without him, some more than he'd realised or expected. And some that he hadn't foreseen at all.

-

You found Dennis in the stairwell not long after lunchtime.

The air in there was marginally cooler, but not by much, the faint echo of footsteps and distant voices bleeding through the concrete walls.

"Hiding already?"

Dennis looked up at you.

"Just...needed a breather."

"Yeah I feel that." You sighed as you leant against the wall opposite him.

A pause settled between you.

"I'm sorry about Louis."

Dennis exhaled quietly. "Thanks."

"You know you did everything you could, right?"

"I know... I just-" He shook his head. "I mean, I think I know that I did."

"Den. There was nothing else you could have done. This is not your fault."

The way you gently said his nickname slipped under his guard in a way nothing else had that day, soft and familiar and yours.

Dennis' jaw tightened.

You noticed it, like you always did.

"Are you ok?"

"I'm fine. Why?"

You studied him for a moment, something searching in your expression. "Nothing, I just feel like you've been a little off today."

A beat.

"You didn’t tell me Langdon was coming back today." The words slipped out before he could stop them.

You blinked, a little surprised. "I didn’t know. He told me HR cleared him but he didn't tell me when he was actually coming back."

The stark, casual revelation that the two of you talked outside of work dug it's claws into him.

"Oh, right."

Silence stretched.

"I know him being back must be kind of weird... given everything."

Weird.

That wasn’t the word he would’ve chosen.

From outside, faint but unmistakable, Langdon’s voice carried through the hallway.

Your attention flickered toward the sound without you even realizing it.

Something in him snapped.

"I just don't get how he gets to walk back in here like nothing happened."

You turned back towards him sharply, taken aback by Dennis' tone. "What?"

"He messed up.” Dennis continued, the words coming faster now, edged with something he couldn’t quite rein in. "And now he's just- what- joking around about being a drug addict like everything's fine? Like nothing happened?"

Your expression shifted, confusion giving way to something firmer. "He made a mistake."

"A pretty big one."

"And he paid for it." You fired back sharply. "He wasn't on a holiday for ten months Den, he was in rehab."

Dennis sighed. "I know that."

"Then what is it?" You pressed. "People are allowed to make mistakes. God knows we both have made plenty in this job."

"Yeah, except neither of us stole drugs from this hospital."

He saw it on your face instantly. You already knew.

The realisation was a slap in the face. That you were embracing Frank back with open arms, despite being armed with the full knowledge of the depth of his fuckup.

“You knew.” It landed like an accusation.

“Yes.”

He hated that there had been a small part of him that had hoped you didn’t know, that finding out would have circumvented all of this, would have brought you back to him.

"Trin shouldn't have told you that." You muttered after a moment, shaking your head.

"Yeah well.... she did."

You stared at him, something hurt and frustrated flickering behind your eyes.

“What is happening with everyone today?”

Dennis faltered.

"Everyone’s acting like I’m doing something wrong by talking to him." You continued, exasperated now. “He’s my friend.”

The word landed harder than it should have.

“Yeah,” Dennis muttered. “I can see that.”

He saw the hurt that flashed across your features again, except this time it was engrained deeper.

"You know, I expected some judgment from Santos." Your voice was quiet.

"But I didn't expect it from you."

The quiver in your voice was like a bucket of ice on his temper, dousing whatever heat had been building.

Somehow this felt worse than you yelling at him.

He let out a small groan, dragging a hand over his face.

"I'm sorry." He shook his head. "I don't know what's wrong with me today."

He did. He just couldn't say it.

"This shift has just already been a lot and Santos is upset and..."

"It's ok." You cut him off gently. "I get it."

Your understanding only made him feel worse.

"It's not ok." He insisted firmly, finally looking up to meet your eyes.

"You don't deserve to be treated like that, you're doing the right thing."

He exhaled, running a hand over the back of his neck.

"Dinner and drinks before the fireworks are on me tonight ok? And I'm not taking no for an answer. My way of apologising for chucking a tantrum."

Your expression warmed, just a little. "...and dessert?"

Despite everything, he let out a small chuckle at the hopefulness in your tone. "And dessert."

Your smiled widened slightly. "Ok. Deal."

You moved to leave, then hesitated, turning back.

"I know he was kind of a dick during your first day." You said carefully. "But he's a really good guy. I promise. Just... try and give him a chance?"

Dennis withheld a sigh as he studied you for a moment.

"...sure."

-

Frank did a double take from across the hall when he noticed you and Dennis step out of the stairwell.

He lingered on you for a moment, noting the way your smile seemed to be pulled tighter than usual, the usual sparkle in your eyes slightly dulled.

Then he looked at Whitaker, catching the way he seemed to keep glancing over at you anxiously, like he was waiting for something to break.

He forced himself to look away.

-

You tried to push your interaction with Dennis out of your mind as you made your way back into the chaos of the floor.

You ended up at the nursing station to see if any of your patients results had been dumped in their trays yet, flipping through charts with a little more force than necessary.

Movement caught your eye.

Dennis and Frank walking straight towards each other.

They both stepped to the right to move out of eachother's way, nearly bumping into one another.

Then, they both went left.

Finally they both stood still, each shooting the other a weird glare. Then, wordlessly, they finally passed each other with stiff shoulders and tight expressions.

You huffed, loud enough for Dana to glance over at you.

"You ok sweetheart?" Dana slipped her glasses off. "Not used to hearing those sort of grumblings out of you."

"It's nothing." You muttered. "It's just-" You slammed the papers down in frustration. "Why is everyone acting so weird today?"

Dana’s lips twitched, but she smoothed it out quickly. "The heat makes people crazy down here."

"Crazier than usual you mean." You grumbled just as you finally found the result you were looking for in the mountain of paperwork.

Dana watched with eagle eyes as you stalked off.

She glanced across the floor to see Langdon in one corner, his eyes on you despite being in the middle of a conversation with McKay.

Sure enough, when she spotted Whitaker by the bed of one of his patients - he was doing the exact same thing.

"....and love does to." She added under her breath.

-

It wasn't until well into the afternoon that you finally found a chance to slip into the breakroom.

You slowed as your eyes fell on Frank seated at one of the tables, his back leant against the poster littered wall.

"Hey." You called out.

"Hey."

You hesitated. "You want some alone time?"

"No, you're good."

He exhaled slowly. “I'm just....figuring out if I’m ready to be back here.”

You frowned.

“What makes you think you’re not ready?” You asked as you took a seat opposite him, just far away that your knees weren't brushing.

Frank shrugged, gaze drifting. “This shift has just been… rough. I don’t know I just… I feel like you and Mel are the only ones happy that I’m back.”

“That’s not true.”

“Isn’t it? Robby’s been on my ass all shift and I feel like everyone else is either treating me like I'm made of glass or trying way too hard to be normal."

“Robby’s been on your ass all shift because he’s angry at himself because he feels like he failed you and doesn’t want to admit it."

He paused. "You think so?"

"That's my running theory."

Frank looked up at you for a moment. “Didn’t realise you were doing your residency in the psych ward.”

You rolled your eyes affectionately. “I did a psychology elective at uni, doesn’t that make me practically an expert?”

Frank huffed a laugh at that.

“As for everyone else… they’re happy you’re back. I think they’re probably just trying to be as normal as possible to not to make you feel weird about it.”

“Thanks.” He spoke quietly. “For supporting me.”

He hesitated for a moment.

“I’m sure it’s probably a bit weird for you with Santos and Whitaker.”

Your face faltered slightly. “You noticed that huh?”

“Just a little bit.”

Your attempt at a weak smile floundered as you shrugged. “I get it. You were a bit of a dick to Santos and she has her own shit going on and as for Whitaker…”

You glanced out towards the hum of the chaos, your interaction with Dennis replaying in your mind.

“I don’t know… I think he’s just a bit protective of her y’know? Being her roommate and everything.”

An unreadable expression flashed across Frank’s features. “Yeah, I’m sure that’s it.”

You shrugged. “They’ll get over it eventually.”

“Besides-" You continued, your tone lightening, "- they’ve only worked one shift with you. You’ve got plenty of time to charm them with your terrible jokes and tangents about your love of civil war reenactors.”

“That was one time!”

“One time too many.”

Frank huffed a laugh at that, his expression softening as he eyed you.

“You’ve made this shift bearable, you know that right?”

You offered up another shrug, trying to ignore the way heat wanted to creep up your neck at that.

“I’m just being a good R2.”

“You’re more than that, you’re-“ Frank stopped himself.

“I guess what I'm trying to say is-" He stopped again, huffing in frustration.

"- I missed you... that’s all.”

Your chest tightened.

“I missed you too.”

You eyed eachother.

Something unspoken lingered between you.

“Anyway.” You cleared your throat as you stood and grabbed his empty mug, needing movement to distract you from the emotions that you were too scared to dissect coursing through you. “I can’t wait to get out of here.”

“You doing anything for the fourth?” Frank asked as you approached the sink.

“Yeah Den and I- sorry- Whitaker and I are going to go watch the fireworks.”

Because your back was to him, you missed the way that Frank's expression flickered.

He watched you clean the mug in smooth, rhythmic movements, the way you moved when you were working on a patient.

“Oh that’ll be fun.”

“Yeah I’m keen." You smiled faintly. "I haven’t gone since I was a kid.”

You placed the mug on the edge of the sink to dry. “You doing anything?”

“Oh no, I’m off tomorrow so might stay up late and then enjoy a sleep in.”

“I’m off tomorrow too." You twisted around to face him, placing your hands on the bench behind you.

"I need to somehow force myself to go shopping for homewares. The new place is looking depressing.”

“I’ll go with you.” He said instantly.

You looked over at him in surprise. “Really?”

“I mean, only if you want the company.” He added quickly. “And totally ok if you say no because you want to you know…maintain professional boundaries.”

Your mouth twitched. “I came and visited you in rehab. I think we’re past that.”

“Touché.”

You studied him for a moment, then smiled. “You really want to come?”

“Why wouldn’t I want to spend time with you? Besides, my bachelor pad is equally depressing. I could use a pot plant or two.”

You both looked up at the sound of your last name being called. Princess stood in the doorway.

“They’re asking for you in Trauma 2.”

“Ok be right there."

You looked back at him, already moving.

“Do you even know how to look after a plant?”

“Do you?”

“No. That’s why I’ve only got fake ones.” You called over your shoulder.

His laugh followed you out.

-

"Anyone seen Whitaker?"

"Last time I saw him he was on his way outside to go and give Ogilvie a free therapy session."

You turned immediately to Santos, brows knitting. "What's wrong with Ogilvie?"

Santos didn’t look up from her shredding. "One of his patients died on the table."

"Oh the guy where he missed the-"

"-yep-“

"-shit."

"Yeah.” Santos sighed. “Apparently he's in a pretty bad way."

You were already moving.

"Ok, if anyone's looking for me tell them I'm outside with Whitaker." You called out over your shoulder.

"Will do."

Santos watched you go, then glanced down at her paperwork. "Except for Langdon." She muttered under her breath.

McKay snorted beside her.

The air outside was different.

Still hot, but moving steadily by a gentle breeze at least.

Sure enough, you found Dennis in the ambulance bay. His shoulders were slightly hunched, hands braced on either side of him, his expression more raw now that he was away from the prying eyes of his coworkers.

"Hey."

Dennis looked up, his face softening slightly at the sight of you.

"Hey."

You perched beside him, leaving just enough space between you that your shoulders didn’t touch, your legs swinging idly over the edge.

"You send Ogilvie home?"

"Yeah...” Dennis exhaled, glancing out towards the street. “He’s been through a lot today."

You nodded in understanding.

"Yeah, nothing on your first shift though huh?"

That loosened a short huff of laughter from him.

"You think he'll come back?"

Dennis shrugged. "Honestly.. I don't know. I tried to give him a little pep talk but I don't know if it stuck.”

"Oh yeah? What'd you say?"

"Oh you know just...” He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly sheepish, “stuff about balance and acceptance."

Your mouth twitched as his cheeks reddened. "Geez I wonder where I've heard that before?"

"It's a good speech!" He defended quickly.

"No, no it is." You agreed, although your inability to control your laughter undermined your assurances. "I just can't believe you Robby'd the poor guy."

Dennis winced, bowing his head in defeat. "Yeah I guess I kinda did."

The laughter faded.

Your smile faltered as you studied his side profile for a few moments, noting the way his gaze kept drifting, like he couldn’t quite settle anywhere.

"Everything else ok?"

"Yeah." He said half heartedly. "I mean I'm a bit worried about Santos and-"

"I mean with you." You gently cut him off.

He blinked. "Me?"

"You’ve had a pretty shit day too. Or do you not remember your self-classified tantrum from earlier?”

“I’m fine.” He assured you, shooting you a small smile. “But thank you.”

Dennis could tell by the look on your face that you didn’t believe him, but you didn’t press it. Like always, you knew when to push and when to let things lie.

“That’s ok.” Your tone lightened. “Someone’s gotta be looking out for you while you’re busy talking everyone else off ledges.”

Dennis studied you for a moment, "and that person is...you?"

"Well obviously."

He let out a small, breathy laugh, "ok well... who's looking after you?"

"You are."

You said it like it was the simplest thing in the world. Like it wasn’t up for debate, just something that had always existed. Always would.

"That's how this works right? You and me, surviving this place together.”

"Yeah.” He said quietly, forcing himself to look away from you. “I guess it does."

He glanced down.

Your hand rested beside his, curled over the edge of the ambulance.

So close that he would only have to move an inch and his hand would brush yours.

Self-doubt flared.

His fingers flexed, but he didn’t move.

"I'm really glad you're here." He hadn't even really meant to say the words out loud, slipping out so quietly under his breath you almost didn't catch them.

A beat passed.

"Me too."

He missed the way you tucked your chin slightly, angling your face to hide the faint flush that crept into your cheeks.

"Alright." You announced, jumping off the ambulance and onto your feet after a few moments of silence stretched between you.

“Let's get back in there so we can still at least try and see some fireworks."

He hesitated. "You still want to go?"

"Yeah, of course." Your brow creased slightly. "Don't you?"

"Yeah no totally I just-um-well I wasn't sure-" He cut himself off, shaking his head. “Never mind."

Your grin widened. "Let's go then Whitaker, these documents won't scan themselves."

For a brief moment, as the two of you walked instep back into the pitt, Dennis felt the pressure ease slightly.

Like maybe he’d overthought it. Like maybe the heat had just gotten to him, twisted things out of proportion, made something out of nothing.

Like maybe - this was still just you and him, whatever this was.

Unfortunately, that feeling didn't last long.

-

The three of you ended up being pulled into a MVA trauma not long after.

It went smoothly. Cleaner than most cases that chaotic.

By the time the patient stabilized, the tension in the room had eased just enough for everyone in the room to breathe again.

You pulled your gloves off with a small sigh. "Nice save boys."

Langdon glanced at you, a small, genuine smile tugging at his lips. "You led that."

You huffed a quiet laugh. "I did not."

"Are you kidding me?" He said your last name sharper this time, more deliberate, enough to make Dennis' skin crawl.

"Your call not to intubate probably saved his life. Seriously, that was a great pick up. Most doctors would have missed it."

You ducked your head just slightly, a soft smile slipping through as a faint flush crept up your cheeks.

To most, it would look like a junior glowing at receiving praise from their mentor.

But Dennis knew you too well.

He saw it in the way your expression shifted, subtle, quick - but unmistakable. You were flustered. Done by something more than just professional pride.

Something in Dennis' chest pulled tight. Hard.

The sweat at the base of his skull prickled like pins from the heat.

He walked out of the trauma bay without another word.

After that, things just kept getting worse.

His attempt at good karma got thwarted by a racist grandma resulting in a $250 charge to his card. Someone drank his last protein shake left in the fridge that he’d been saving.

Then, he lost his ID badge, the one he’d had for less then half a day.

His thoughts were already scattered, his patience worn thin, the heat pressing in again, suffocating, sticking to his skin like it wouldn’t let him breathe.

And then Langdon offered to help him look for it with enough sincerity in his voice that it made Dennis see red.

And lastly, Santos teased him for it, with Langdon behind her clearly trying not to laugh.

He felt like he was one step away from overheating completely.

-

The last thirteen hours felt like a weight around his neck as he stepped out of the chaos into the break room.

His last hope at finding his ID.

“Woah.” He muttered as he nearly collided with someone.

Langdon.

His eyes flickered down to the pills pressed tightly into Langdon’s palm. “Uh-hey.”

Frank’s eyes trained on him carefully as Dennis moved past him.

“Relax buddy, it’s Advil.”

Dennis turned back with a start at Frank’s clipped tone. "No, I didn't think you were-" He cut himself off with a sigh, not having the energy to try and explain.

"Headache?" He offered instead as he knelt down to look under the vending machine.

"Uh, I tweaked my back a little lifting that overheated kid." Frank twisted around after filling up his mug with water, leaning his back against the sink.

"Guess I should get used to playing through the pain again, huh?" He remarked dryly as he threw the Advil down.

Dennis was debating whether he respond when Frank continued.

"You look like you got into shape since I saw you last.” Dennis turned to face him. “Didn't peg you as a gym guy."

"Oh no um.. I mean I've been going a little bit." Dennis chuckled awkwardly. "And I've been helping a friend move. Been building some furniture and stuff, so..."

Frank nodded, then said your name.

Dennis stilled as he glanced up from the floor in surprise.

"Right?" Frank continued as he placed the mug onto the bench, crossing his arms over his chest. "She told me you were helping her out. That's nice of you to do that."

Dennis wasn't sure if he was just sleep deprived, or if there was actually an edge to Frank's words.

Either way, he found himself tighten further. The weight pressed heavier.

He was already frayed, already overheated, already one wrong word away from snapping - and this felt like the final straw.

Frank's mouth twitched slightly. "Now I'm picturing her ordering you around and getting you to change the angle of her sofa like fifty times-"

The pressure cooker boiled over.

"Can you cut the shit?"

The words left Dennis' mouth before he could stop them.

Frank froze, one hand on the door to the medicine cupboard. "Excuse me?"

The words tumbled out of him like smoke trying to escape out of a chimney.

"The sarcasm thing, the- the little buddy routine like you're what, you're the Skipper and I'm Gilligan?“ Dennis took a step towards him, squaring his shoulders. “You're not the Skipper, dude."

Frank blinked. "I know I'm not the Skipper. Robby is the Skipper."

"No Robby's the professor, Dana's the Skipper."

"Ok, somebody's watched a lot of Nick at Nite.” He paused carefully. “So what am I?”

Dennis sighed as he felt the anger start to ebb out of him, replaced by a crippling exhaustion.

"Play whatever part you like. Just…don't pick mine for me."

Frank studied him for a moment, something shifting behind his expression. "Ok, ok that's fair. You got it."

Dennis felt a flicker of guilt course through him at Frank’s understanding.

Dennis nodded once, turning toward the door.

"Thank you."

"But-"

Dennis stopped.

"-you should at least be honest about why you're pissed."

"What do you mean?"

Frank's brows raised as he stepped back to lean against the counter. "I know there's more to this then my lame jokes."

"Santos can take care of herself-"

"-I'm not talking about Santos." Frank said quietly.

Dennis held his gaze for a moment, then despite himself, he glanced through the glass.

You were out by the nurses station, laughing at something McKay had said as you scanned in your notes.

Blissfully unaware of the friction your existence had sparked.

When he looked back, Frank was watching him, a knowing look in his eye.

"You know... she was the only one who came to visit me in rehab." He admitted quietly.

The fight in Dennis faltered slightly.

“Of course she did.” He sighed, shaking his head. “She’s….”

"Yeah….she is."

Dennis saw it then, that unmistakable emotion flash across Frank's face. The one he hadn’t wanted to name all day. The one he saw every time he looked at himself in the mirror.

Longing.

"Her and I we...” Frank debated his next words, like he wasn’t exactly sure how to phrase it.

“…we work well together." Was what he settled on.

“So do we.”

The implication hung heavy in the air.

Frank studied him.

"So this is about you being territorial."

"That's not what this is about-"

"-isn't it?"

Dennis' stare hardened as he felt heat creeping up his neck, his pulse loud in his ears.

Frank pushed off the counter, taking a step closer - not aggressive, but grounded. Certain.

“You know she can make her own choices, right?"

"I know that." Dennis bit back. "But you've been gone for ten months. Things are different."

Dennis knew the words sounded pathetic the second they fell off his tongue.

They still hit their mark though. A barb lodged in Frank’s ribcage, reminding him how much had changed.

How Robby looked to Dennis during cases the way he used to look to Frank. How you had fallen into a routine with Dennis that you used to have with him and him alone.

Frank's brows pulled together slightly. "I'm not doing anything, I'm just trying to do my job."

Dennis scoffed, more bitterly than he'd intended.

"Yeah and you just get to waltz back in here and act like nothing happened." He muttered.

Frank went still.

The air shifted.

"So you're mad at me because she's decided to forgive me?"

Dennis didn’t answer.

Frank let out a slow breath, something sharper creeping into his expression now.

"Or mad at yourself because you had ten months to make a move and didn't?"

The harsh truth in Frank’s words cut Dennis deep, acting like salt in an already festering wound.

Frank took a step closer.

"Either way, that’s not on me."

Dennis straightened at that, meeting Frank's eyes with a glare of his own.

Frank moved towards the door, then paused.

"And I'm not going to stay away from her just because you have a crush."

Crush - like it was some childish fantasy. Like there wasn’t a possibility that there was something real between the two of you.

Dennis’ jaw clenched as he gritted out his next words.

"Guess that makes two of us."

read part 2 here 🤍

⭑.ᐟ the hand that’s forced pt2 I @/websterss

You hadn't meant to get attached to Bob, much less fall in love with him. You hadn't meant for things to slip out right from underneath your grasp. Out of your control, much like Valentina holding your love for one another over your heads.

⭑.ᐟ i see you I @cocastyle

⭑.ᐟ sneaking around I @callsign-swan

Bob doesn't mean to be sneaking around. But he can't help it. He's got a secret, and he wants to keep it that way. Too bad he's best friends with Yelena Belova.

⭑.ᐟ alone together I @/callsign-swan

For the last few years, Tony's daughter has been living out in the tower basement. She doesn't realise when Valentina buys the tower, not until she's being choked out by Sentry (turns out Sentry is a really sweet guy called Bob, who knew?)

⭑.ᐟ picnic day I @roanofarcc

when rain threatens a thunderbolts team bonding outing, per the request of Alexei, they turn to their resident weather-controlling team member to save their plans. 

⭑.ᐟ a bunch of teenagers I @mallory524

Bob has really started to like you, but he assumes you don’t feel the same way about him. You do though, and everyone seems to know that except Bob… and apparently also Walker, who really thought he had a chance

⭑.ᐟ going out I @/mallory524

You and Bob finally spend some time together one morning, but you find yourself rushing to defend him when he gets overwhelmed and people aren’t kind to him.

⭑.ᐟ in my arms I @woantohae

The Thunderbolts are constantly on missions, busy trying to do good and save whoever they can. One of them was Bob Reynolds, the defenseless yet powerful man who is part of this team and family. However, he doesn't participate in these missions so he can continue practicing controlling his powers. Despite telling them he's capable, the team prefers to give him more time to get used to them, until one mission, when a member of the team is injured. And all Bob can think about is the fury he feels when he hears Y/N being hurt. And how much he wants revenge on whoever did it.

⭑.ᐟ shadow I @/woantohae

Y/N loved the darkness because she could see the stars better. Void does everything in his power to make sure she can gaze at the starry sky, even if it means turning everything into darkness.

⭑.ᐟ only you I @/woantohae

Bob's dark, evil entity, The Void, appears when you least expect it. The rest of the team must be prepared to confront him and his prevailing malice. However, there is only one person on the team with whom he has a soft spot. And it's her.

⭑.ᐟ like real people do I @froggibus

Bob seeks you out following a bad dream

⭑.ᐟ misunderstanding I @strkly

you and bob were inseparable. until he begins to ignore you and you have no clue why. when you’re injured after a mission gone wrong you’re finally able to find out why.

⭑.ᐟ darling I @fireinmoonshot

You always call Bob darling in private... until you accidentally slip up and use the nickname in front of the rest of the Thunderbolts.

⭑.ᐟ unreal I @/fireinmoonshot

Bob offers for you to share his room while your room in the Watch Tower gets renovated... there's just one problem – he didn't think about the fact that he'd have to share a bed with you.

⭑.ᐟ control I @/fireinmoonshot

Bob always waits for you to come back from missions, but when you don't come back one day, his powers start to get a little out of hand.

⭑.ᐟ lethal touch I @hearts4johnwick

while training, all goes well until a move bob makes changes your concentration as you begin to relive your worst memory.

⭑.ᐟ stay with me pt2 I @scarletmika

Bob wants to feel useful, to truly be part of the team, but the others don't think he's ready. You take it upon yourself to teach him control, to guide him through. But mistakes will be made, and it might not be possible to keep the darkness from creeping back in once more.

⭑.ᐟ destiny or not I @/scarletmika

As The Darkhold foretold Wanda Maximoff's destiny, The Book of Vishanti foretold your own. You just didn't know how much of that destiny was intertwined with Bob Reynolds, until the day you met him in the vault.

⭑.ᐟ peace and quiet I @/scarletmika

Sometimes the tower is too loud, and Bob can feel himself getting overwhelmed. He's always found comfort with you, in your room, where he can find peace and quiet whenever he needs it. And you'll never turn him away, finding the same comfort in him.

⭑.ᐟ request I @lovebugism

you like taking care of bob on his bad days. he isn't quite sure why

⭑.ᐟ stitches I @skeltnwrites

Bob learns how to stitch a wound

⭑.ᐟ plainclothes man pt2 I @em1i2a3

Everyone at the compound knows Bob has a massive crush on you–except you.

⭑.ᐟ carry the zero I @/em1i2a3

You and Bob are sharing a room while the Avengers Compound is under renovations, which brings on a slew of new things to learn about one another.

⭑.ᐟ cherry waves I @/em1i2a3

You’ve been sick for a few days, so while the rest of the team goes out to do a recon mission, you’re on your own watching over Bob. One morning he comes to your room with a weird request.

⭑.ᐟ sailor song pt2 pt3 I @/em1i2a3

Bob is in love with you, but you can’t be what he wants.

⭑.ᐟ i wanna get lost with you I @/em1i2a3

After a rough night, you find yourself with a rare day off–the one that you take on the same day every year in memoriam for the fallen. So you head into the city to spend your feelings away on the only thing that makes sense to you: gifts for your favourite team of scrappy anti-heros…And Bob.

⭑.ᐟ it’s you i’m thinking of I @/em1i2a3

Valentina organizes a PR event for the Thunderbolts and during the event Bob realizes that he may want more out of life than just saving the world.

⭑.ᐟ signs I @/em1i2a3

You haven’t been able to sleep for the past four days, you’ve tried everything in the book, but tonight Bob has come to your room to offer you some help.

⭑.ᐟ the greatest light is the greatest shade I @/em1i2a3

You return back to the compound a week early from an initial two week-long mission, only to find Bob asleep in your bed.

⭑.ᐟ test drive pt2 I @/em1i2a3

You have a late night encounter with The Void

⭑.ᐟ a little bit of jam I @violetrainbow412-blog

⭑.ᐟ archives room I @owastie

you’re tasked with searching through the archives room to find some information on a new threat

⭑.ᐟ oh, scaling all your shadows I @swordgrace

plagued by nightmares, bob takes comfort in the one person who’s pulled him from the shadows time and time again — you.

⭑.ᐟ so high school I @pagesfromthevoid

⭑.ᐟ walk through darkness I @/pagesfromthevoid

⭑.ᐟ unfamiliar feeling I @ang3ltine

Bob was asleep for God knows how long, now that he has the chance at a better life. Who better to show him than you?

⭑.ᐟ admiration I @/ang3ltine

Being recruited by Valentina as part of the new Avengers (z) team was never part of your list of agendas. Yet here you were, doting on an awkward brunette.

⭑.ᐟ look what the cat dragged in I @eyelessfaces

you get bob a cat for emotional support; the cat adopts you as parents and is undeniably bound to bring the two of you closer.

⭑.ᐟ how to kiss I @worstghost

teaching bob how to kiss and accidentally slipping into a 20 minute makeout session

⭑.ᐟ the good side I @cosmictheo

bob loves you so much that he slowly begins to transform into a house-husband for you. and he loves it.

⭑.ᐟ heavenly I @/cosmictheo

it's the first time you're wearing your new suit as an official (new) avenger and bob is a little too excited about it.

⭑.ᐟ fur-evermore I @ofstarsandvibranium

Because you're Bucky's assistant, you, and your service dog, Juniper, head to the tower to give him some files as well as meet the rest of his new team...including a very cute and slightly awkward, Bob.

⭑.ᐟ mr. oblivious I @/ofstarsandvibranium

Bob is sometimes oblivious to the fact that people find him attractive and/or like him. One of those people includes you.

⭑.ᐟ i dream of you even when awake I @deakyjoe

Your gift makes sleep difficult. Luckily, Bob is there to guide you through it.

⭑.ᐟ something special I @blank-potato

You’ve been the live-in doctor at Avengers Tower for a year, and Bob wants to get you something special to celebrate. Unbeknownst to him, that something special turns out to be a sex plant. 

⭑.ᐟ loving you is easy pt2 I @/blank-potato

You and Bob are indifferent to each other, never seeming to mesh. But when you lose your memory, something new blooms between the two of you.

⭑.ᐟ drabble I @undyingdecay

⭑.ᐟ peace in the darkness pt2 I @theonewiththefanfics

Bob knows Y/N isn't one to go back on her words. So when she doesn't show up to go through with their plans, he starts to worry. Luckily for him, Yelena knows how to break-and-enter. And doesn't mind invading her personal space.

⭑.ᐟ the ghost i left behind pt2 pt3 pt4 pt5 pt6 I @brookghaib-blog

Y/N and Bob had a life before he disappear, full of love, hope, and a lot of chaos, but they managed each other, she was the only one who truly could make him avoid the void inside his mind. How could he turn his only light into a shadow in his mind ?

⭑.ᐟ a pleasant inconvenience I @little-miss-dilf-lover

your cat likes to run out of your apartment when you return home. today she makes it further than usual but is luckily stopped by a stranger.

⭑.ᐟ run hot I @moon-fics

The heating in the tower has broken in the middle of winter. This leaves everyone trying to find warmth any way possible.

⭑.ᐟ accident I @upl0aded

you and bob had always been perfect, you kept him happy and he kept you satisfied. but what happens when a buried memory accidentally gets revived?

⭑.ᐟ truth will set you free I @sergeantbuckybarnes

You are injected with a truth serum during a mission, and when you return to the Watchtower, you must avoid Bob in order not to spill your feelings for him, but this causes Bob to believe he has done something to upset you.

⭑.ᐟ gladiator I @trainer-from-unova

welcome to the party, say hi to everybody. you're valentina's daughter and you're late to the party in honour of her new puppet.

⭑.ᐟ i can’t have what i want (but neither can you) I @honeyatsu

You don't know how to explain the feeling when you see Bob and Yelena together. You don't understand it, and you don't like it. You think maybe you're not a people person, maybe you're better off being on your own. You take matters to solve this problem your own way, but everyone doesn't agree with your logic.

⭑.ᐟ i like it better I @sl-ut

every member of the thunderbolts* are struggling with having friends for the first time in… ever, for the most part. the team is shocked to find out that, for some reason, bob is having the easiest time with it. aka, four times the team notices a budding romance, and one time they all realize they’re late to the conclusion.

⭑.ᐟ the complete knock pt2 I @sunsburns

you’re only here to try and understand why bucky’s suddenly gone off the rails and joined a new team, leaving you, sam and joaquín in radio silence. the last thing you expected was to find comfort in a stranger. a kind stranger named bob.

⭑.ᐟ second nature I @bruisedboys

bob tells you he’s never been kissed. you decide to change that.

⭑.ᐟ request I @gay-dorito-dust

⭑.ᐟ charcoal smudges I @cryptidcasanova

Bob thinks he's in control. At least…until you get involved. 

⭑.ᐟ short circuit I @honeybadgerwritings

Bob helps Y/N train to control her powers under pressure. But when frustration gets the better of her, their sparring session turns tense.

⭑.ᐟ sea otters and hand holding I @pagesfromthevoid

4 times the team tries to get Bob to go out + 1 time he goes out himself

⭑.ᐟ jealous I @/pagesfromthevoid

⭑.ᐟ drabble I @gay-dorito-dust

⭑.ᐟ request I @/gay-dorito-dust

⭑.ᐟ request I @/gay-dorito-dust

⭑.ᐟ shadows beneath the light I @violetrainbow412-blog

Valentina contacts you to conduct a complete team assessment regarding the mystical arts. But when Bob's turn comes, it turns out he needs more of your help.

⭑.ᐟ let them see I @/violetrainbow412-blog

you and Bob are forced to attend an event hosted by Valentina, where more is revealed than you would have liked.

⭑.ᐟ wrapped around you I @/violetrainbow412-blog

Bob has a secret lover in the city, and that night he feels the need to sleep in her arms.

⭑.ᐟ espionage I @/violetrainbow412-blog

a quiet morning on the Watchtower turns into psychic people-watching when Jean, Yelena, and Ava decide to “check in” on their teammates. It’s all fun and teasing, until Jean sees something she wasn’t meant to: Bob, deeply in love, living a secret life no one expected.

⭑.ᐟ touch starved!bob I @eyelessfaces

⭑.ᐟ before dusk I @/eyelessfaces

As big of a place the Watchtower was, living as a fresh couple surrounded by a whole team of trained soldiers still made it feel a little tight and was inevitably bound to strip you off any kind of intimacy – Ava’s fake gagging whenever you and Bob were up close when she entered a common area never failed to ruin the moment, and Alexei’s well-meant but clumsy reminders for you and Bob to use protection in front of the whole team during dinner made it everyone’s turn to fake gag. So when Bob brought up the subject of going away for a few and the idea of it started to bloom inside your mind, you knew there was no turning back – the prospect of having Bob all to yourself for a couple of days was too exhilarating to consider chasing it away. 

⭑.ᐟ save the date I @/eyelessfaces

bob is gutted to find out you’re looking for love on a dating app, not knowing the only reason you are is because you're convinced he will never make a step in your direction – you’re now both trying to move on from each other while neither of you know how much you actually want each other.

⭑.ᐟ i just feel you I @scarletmika

Bob Reynolds was broken, and he knew that, but he was trying. He was trying to be better, to control himself. But like Stitch had said: broken, but still good. You were beginning to make Bob believe that he was, in fact, still good.

⭑.ᐟ let me in I @/scarletmika

Sometimes, when two broken people find each other, they become each other's comfort through the hurt. You became Bob's, and as much as you tried not to let him in, he became yours too.

⭑.ᐟ only good thing I @/scarletmika

There was so much Bob regretted, so much shame riddled through his past, he didn't know what he'd see in his own shame rooms. He hadn't been prepared to see you around every corner, to be reminded of the way he'd left you behind in an effort to be what you deserved.

⭑.ᐟ kiss me again pt2 I @/scarletmika

A crush isn't a problem, and when that crush becomes love, it's usually a good thing. For Bob, it terrifies him, because he'd managed to fall in love with a literal Goddess. Why would a Goddess choose a broken man like him?

⭑.ᐟ the white witch pt2 pt3 I @/scarletmika

Bob knew who the Avengers were, who you were; he grew up watching them save the world time and time again. Now, he was one, but none of that could prepare him for what it would be like to meet you, or the instant connection that seemed to flow between you both.

⭑.ᐟ velour and velcro I @em1i2a3

You have a hobby of drawing and designing things in your spare time, one day Bob stumbles across your sketchbook and discovers something surprising.

⭑.ᐟ detonate I @/em1i2a3

Move in day is happening at the Thunderbolts/New Avengers Compound, and Bob is having a hard time dealing with the changes.

⭑.ᐟ affection I @/em1i2a3

You’re in extreme pain from your period cramps, and Bob is the first person to jump in to help you.

⭑.ᐟ sports car pt2 I @/em1i2a3

You and Bob have been having sex together for a while now, and have basically christened the entire compound, but when you get injured during a mission and are rendered incapable of having sex for the next month, the cravings need to be relieved somehow.

⭑.ᐟ lovers I @/em1i2a3

The Thunderbolts go to a club downtown for the night, and while there Bob and Sentry are having a tough time watching you flirt with a guy.

⭑.ᐟ never let me go I @/em1i2a3

On a day off, the team arranges to go to a farmers market to do a bit of R and R. But what happens when Bob has an unexpected encounter with a ghost of his past?

⭑.ᐟ body paint I @/em1i2a3

You are trying to find the best smudge proof lipstick for the upcoming gala that the team needs to attend tomorrow, and you have found the perfect test subject for the swatches.

⭑.ᐟ telescope I @/em1i2a3

On a whim, Bob decides to give himself a haircut and immediately regrets it, so you step in to help.

⭑.ᐟ be my baby I @castielthinkr

⭑.ᐟ cowboy like me I @goldenlikedayl1ght

you get a text from an old friend and think.. you could do worse than a book club.. with some benefits.

⭑.ᐟ the lighthouse I @hanginginthevoid

you’ve always been drawn to bob. at first you think it means something, but then you remember that yelena’s also always been drawn to bob. and its obvious that he prefers her over you.

⭑.ᐟ seasons I @abbysbenchpr

three times you and bob are almost walked in on and the one time you are

⭑.ᐟ that’s what i like I @blank-potato

You love everything Bob does, and he doesn't seem to notice.

⭑.ᐟ i love the girl with magic ways I @/blank-potato

When training with Bob goes awry, you come face-to-face with The Void, and he's interested in you; he wants to know what makes you tick.

⭑.ᐟ no dick sucking in the communal areas I @callsign-swan

⭑.ᐟ drabble I @/callsign-swan

⭑.ᐟ request I @nghtwngs

⭑.ᐟ soft currents next to you I @/nghtwngs

there is falling in love. there is also falling into another universe. there is also falling in love again.

⭑.ᐟ cause it feels like cpr I @/nghtwngs

⭑.ᐟ scott and zelda I @/nghtwngs

sweet bob reynolds has been avoiding you and your daily lobby chats for days now. were your book recommendations that terrible? and then you realize the mistake you’ve made that has had poor bob unable to face you these last few days…

⭑.ᐟ perv!bob I @/nghtwngs

⭑.ᐟ understanding I @ang3ltine

⭑.ᐟ summer love I @/ang3ltine

A get away from the city turns into something more special when the boy you had been crushing on, finally confesses.

⭑.ᐟ your love is sunlight I @winterswift

bob and you were both members of the thunderbolts, but he didn't seem to like you. that changes when you return sick from your last mission.

⭑.ᐟ didn’t mean it I @upl0aded

maybe it was time to address the ‘possessiveness’ in your relationship.

⭑.ᐟ miss possessive I @sergeantbuckybarnes

Valentina’s new assistant becomes too fixated on Bob for your linking, and it seems that she needs a reminder that she has to keep her hands off your man.

⭑.ᐟ what it is and what should never be I @/sergeantbuckybarnes

A mission goes sideways, and you end up in a coma. The team works against the clock to save you, but… do you really want to be saved?

⭑.ᐟ eternal sunshine I @ilovemilestellersmoustache

Bob has come to the terms he likes you, he’s perfectly fine with the dynamic you two have going on, just friends. But when the guy on the team who gets on his nerves constantly decides he wants a flirty dynamic with you, his calm facade falters leading to a crabby, sassy and mean Bob.

⭑.ᐟ home is where the heart is I @/ilovemilestellersmustache

Wanting to feel more included Bob decides to help on a mission but in efforts to protect you he injures himself leaving him with amnesia. Your boyfriend not remembering isn’t the biggest problem because he’s always going to find you again, even in a hundred lifetimes.

⭑.ᐟ second times a charm I @/ilovemilestellersmustache

After a small dog escape, Bob meets you and doesn’t end up exchanging details with you. Thinking it was just meant to be a one time thing till Maisie your dog brings you back together and eventually starts a relationship. But the Thunderbolts are suspicious when Bob lately has been in a too good of a mood so they all decide to track and investigate it.

⭑.ᐟ just a tuesday I @/ilovemilestellersmustache

Bob’s decides he can’t take the silence in between missions all alone so he ventures around New York and stumbles across a flower shop with the most gorgeous owner he just knows is his soulmate. Problem? He accidentally says he has a girlfriend, and is now finding ways to still see her at the shop.

⭑.ᐟ cnc w/ bob I @undyingdecay

⭑.ᐟ period sex I @/undyingdecay

⭑.ᐟ let me help you I @brninghouse

A year after the events in New York City, the memories of that dreadful day come back to haunt you. Luckily, this time you have Bob with you and he will not let your pain drag you down, the same way you won’t let him blame himself for it.

⭑.ᐟ drabble I @spaceyaemonds

⭑.ᐟ the s*x talk pt2 I @webslinger-holland

Since Alexei has reunited with both of his daughters, he feels obligated to fulfill his fatherly role to them which includes a safe sex talk.

⭑.ᐟ being the hero I @/webslinger-holland

Being stuck in the bunker forces everyone to work together in order to get out. And one of them ends up kinda being the hero.

⭑.ᐟ pretty in lace I @thevillainswhore

When Bob arrives home after his first successful mission, he stumbles upon a surprise waiting for him on his bed.

⭑.ᐟ the good guys I @megalony

Out of everyone on the team, Bob finds himself drawn to (Y/n) the most. And he would always defend her; even if some people say that her abilities are dangerous.

⭑.ᐟ project: get over bob pt2 I @hyoer

Bob likes someone that’s not you and now it's up to you to begin Project Get Over Bob.

⭑.ᐟ soulmate I @geminiwritten

you're engaged to bucky when you find out that not only are fated mates real, but you have one... and it's not your fiancé

⭑.ᐟ drabble I @rhettmotel

⭑.ᐟ honey pt2 I @strkly

after being off the grid for a while you return to society and meet up with your old friend bucky barnes. unexpectedly you run into someone you never thought you would see again. your high school boyfriend robert reynolds.

⭑.ᐟ we can’t be friends pt2 I @husbandjoel

bob always wondered why you didn’t favour him over the rest of your team. until he learned that you had unsettled the bones of the tva.

⭑.ᐟ it’s you I @lewmagoo

⭑.ᐟ look up in the sky! is it a bird? is it a plane? no it's... I @fluffyfluffytime

Bob's choice of outfit makes Yelena and Ava suspicious. What better way to find out than to follow him

⭑.ᐟ perv!bob I @deimosphilic

⭑.ᐟ thief I @em1989ts

bob had been helping you out by occasionally doing your laundry, but when you come back early from a mission, you find out he might've had some selfish motives

⭑.ᐟ night shift I @seraphemin

Bob is pushing her away and she takes solace with his other part, during late nights when the quiet becomes too much for her to handle.

⭑.ᐟ tell me i’m not second best I @dontshootmespence

After losing your husband, Henry, your first love, due to unforeseen circumstances, you start dating Bob. It’s only been eight months, but you’ve fallen fast and so has he. One night, while packing for a trip, you say your late husband’s name, which triggers Bob.

⭑.ᐟ calling bob by his full name I @everydaydreamer

⭑.ᐟ faultline I @lilyswritings

you wake up in a vault with no recollection of how you got there, only flashes of the medical study you'd signed up for in malaysia — and come face to face with four strangers. three of them are trying to kill each other (and possibly you), and the other one is... bob.

⭑.ᐟ dear april pt2 I @deimosphilic

as much as bob found a makeshift family among new york’s newest heroes, he couldn’t help but remember the one person who had always been his hero.

⭑.ᐟ high on her love I @brookghaib-blog

Bob and Y/N used to be the perfect, in love couple, until Thanos successed. Years after the blip, Bob is still coping with the loss of his late girlfriend, Y/N L/N. Alone in a world that he hated, he finds ways and paths to find her everyday, not caring about the consequences. Even if it creates his void.

⭑.ᐟ the sound of your heart I @thought-you-knew I A + F

bob always hears how your heartbeat changes when he's around, and he thinks it's because you're still afraid of him. he couldn't be further from the truth. or you and bob get stranded in the middle of nowhere, and he confronts you.

⭑.ᐟ when you leave, he comes I @feelingdozy I F

Alarms are going off- and you, freshly off the quinjet, are panicked when the team says the void has leaked out again. what happens when nobody knows you're in a relationship with Bob and you're the only thing that can bring him back?

With a sigh and a wave of your hand, you gave Olivia the okay to answer the question. She happily took your permission and ran with it, always the first to answer any questions you posed in class. If only the rest of these damn middle schoolers were as eager as she was.

“Penelope didn’t want to marry anyone else, so she gave them an impossible task,”

“Why does she always know everything?”

Marcus thought his comment was whispered just low enough that you wouldn’t hear him in the first row, but he was never quite that lucky. He quickly shut his mouth and looked anywhere but in your direction the second he caught sight of the disapproving look you were casting directly at him.

“You are exactly right, Olivia. Thank you for answering my question,” there were a few chuckles in the room at the obvious sarcasm laced through your words, as you hopped up onto your desk to relax and get a better look around the room full of kids. “Penelope knew the only person that could string her husband’s bow, was her husband himself. She needed to buy time, especially when these suitors only really wanted to be the ones to inherit Ithaca-”

There was a loud knocking on the door to your classroom that had been left open for the last 20 minutes of class, interrupting your words. You weren’t surprised in the slightest to meet the eyes of none other than Ryland Grace, the science teacher.

“Uh- sorry! Didn’t mean to interrupt important book talk stuff. Super important, you uh-you never know when Shakespeare will come up at your future desk job,” the cringe that Ryland physically did at his own comment was easy to see, even from across the room. He gave you a sheepish smile, his glasses barely hanging onto his face from their unconventional spot hanging off of one of his ears. The blonde held up the brown bag in his hand, and you could practically smell the food that rested inside. “I’m early, I’m sorry. Didn’t think you’d want to have a cold burger for lunch.”

“I told you!” Marcus still didn’t understand the concept of a whisper, leaning over to his best friend Jason at the desk beside him, slapping him on the arm. “They’re totally dating!”

“As if Mr. Grace could pull her,”

There was a chorus of snickers and laughter through the class, any semblance of order you might’ve had descending into chaos as every single one of your loveable, little shits just kept casting looks between you and Ryland, who still stood awkwardly in your classroom doorway with reddened cheeks.

Your face was surely no better, you were sure you could feel the heat that was emanating off of your skin, as you ran a hand down the burning skin of your face and wondered why you chose to teach these little menaces for the rest of your life. The world decided to be kind to the pair of you though, for once, letting the lunch bell save you from any further embarrassment from a group of 13 year olds.

“Please come to class prepared to actually answer questions tomorrow!” you called out over the hustle and bustle of the class as they grabbed their things, eager to scurry off to their lunch hour and finally eat. “Your unit test is at the end of next week, and I would prefer not to fail all of you.”

They weren’t listening, but by this point in the day you were hungry and didn’t have the energy to try and argue with them.

Any of that tiredness they brought to your bones? It disappeared the second you watched the way they all interacted with Ryland on their way out the door.

Big smiles, every single one of them excited to see the school’s favorite science teacher lingering in the doorway to their English class. You could just barely hear the tail end of one of Ryland’s terrible science puns, something about a hungry planet needing a ‘light snack’ that got a groan out of Marcus. All it did was bring a soft smile to your face, though, one that somehow softened even more at the quick, secret handshake Olivia shared with him before she was out the door.

Then, it was just the two of you, smiling like idiots as you locked eyes across the room again. And god, did you want that fluttering group of butterflies in your stomach to calm down for just a moment.

Having a crush on Dr. Ryland Grace, the former molecular biologist turned San Francisco middle school science teacher, was inevitable from the moment you turned up at the school for your first day over a year ago. Incredibly smart, amazing with kids, and so incredibly handsome you thought your heart stopped beating the first time you saw him–hell, Mrs. Doyle, the math teacher for over 5 years, said there were at least 4 other young teachers that absolutely had crushes on this man. You were far from the first.

He broke that perfect vision of himself you were building in your head within 5 minutes of meeting, tripping over his own two feet and knocking the stack of papers a mile high from the Principal’s hands, but you had only found it even more endearing.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” he apologized again, long legs striding across the room and reaching your desk in a matter of seconds. “I had a free period before this, a-and you mentioned this morning you forgot lunch so I grabbed some for both of us-”

“Sal’s?” you questioned, pointing to the bag of foot now sitting on your desk with the familiar logo. “They’re, like, 10 blocks away. Why’d you go that far?”

“Because I know they’re your favorite,”

The flare of heat in your cheeks was instant. Ryland Grace, who rode a damn bike to the school every day, used his free period to ride 10 blocks away and pick you up lunch from your favorite spot, all because you mentioned offhandedly at 7 a.m. about forgetting your lunch for the day.

Well, he certainly didn’t do that for the four fresh out of college teachers that had crushes on him. You’d mentally consider that a hefty win in your book.

“How sweet of you to remember,” Ryland simply waved you off, head turned away as he passed your wrapped burger into your hands, taking up space on your desk chair while you stayed comfortable on top of your desk. “You even remembered tomatoes this time!”

“I forgot them one time and I never hear the end of it,” laughter was shared between you both for a moment as Grace took a bite of his own burger. “I caught the tail end of that discussion. Olivia answering all your questions like a champ?”

“Isn’t she always,” you shot back with another laugh, turning slightly on your desk to better face him. “I swear she’s the only one that I can ever get to answer any of my questions. She might be the only one that does any of my assigned readings.”

“To be fair, can you blame her?” Ryland’s words were muffled slightly by the food in his mouth. You couldn’t even contain the slight smile that grew as he managed to just barely catch the ketchup dripping off his burger before it could smear itself on the stack of papers that needed graded at your desk. “Shakespeare was just…so interesting. Couldn’t get enough of his stuff. Don’t know why your kids don’t want to read it.”

There was silence for a moment, your eyebrow quirked in his direction. The blonde stopped mid bite of his burger, looking back at you quizzically, trying to figure out what he had said wrong.

“You know we’re currently learning The Odyssey, right?”

“Yes?”

“I’ll let you think about that for a second,”

He did, just slowly blinking in your direction. He glanced at the chalkboard behind you, covering in little notes you’d made throughout the class discussion, before they flickered to the copy of the book that sat on your desk. That was finally when you saw the light bulb flicker on above his head, Ryland’s eyes shutting as he let out a loud sigh.

“...that wasn’t written by Shakespeare, was it?”

The laughter that bubbled out of you practically had you throwing your head backward.

“No, but I’m sure Homer won’t be too offended,” feet landing on the ground as you hopped off your desk, you gave Ryland’s shoulder a quick squeeze as you moved past him. “The attempt was cute, though, it was a good try.”

Cute. Why in the world did you let that one slip? You were practically cursing yourself in your head for that one, taking another bite of your burger as you worked to erase the whiteboard to prepare it for your next class. You didn’t dare steal a glance over at Ryland, in fear that your little slip-up was going to ruin everything.

There was only quiet for a moment before the single moment of awkwardness was gone.

“I promise you I know Homer wrote that. I swear!”

The desperation to believe him drew another laugh out of you. Sparing a glance in his direction, Ryland was giving you his best, exaggerated puppy dog eyes, begging you to believe him, as a smile just barely squeaked its way onto his lips.

“Right, of course you did. My mistake. Whatever you say, Ryland-”

“I mean it!” It was his turn to laugh this time, a sound that had those butterflies rattling around once more. “I was just…distracted.”

“Uh-huh, distracted,” as if you were preparing to scold one of your students, you turned to face him fully with a hand on your hip, eyebrow raised expectantly. “By what, exactly?”

If a human being could buffer, Ryland Grace always seemed to be constantly buffering. Your eyebrow remained raised, waiting for him to piece together his response. All he could do was open and close his mouth like a fish, before looking away and taking another bite of his food.

“Nevermind that, just finish your food before it gets cold. I did bike, like, three miles to get that thing,”

With a roll of your eyes that held zero malice what-so-ever, you made sure the blonde could see your next bite of your food, a satisfied smile on his face.

“Back to the previous topic,” you steered the conversation in another direction, wiping off the last bits of chalk on the board and writing down your next period at the top so that you could start the discussion on the reading over again. “I don’t understand why it’s so hard to get some of these kids to just read the content. They all pay attention in your class!”

“I heard Jason make a comment yesterday during class that Marcus has a crush on Olivia. Maybe they’re too distracted to read,”

You shot him a skeptical look.

“Marcus, crushing on Olivia? He was just making fun of her before you came in the room,”

Ryland averted his eyes, suddenly very interested in his ID badge hanging around his neck from his school issues lanyard.

“W-well, maybe he just doesn’t…know how to express his feelings,” he spared a glance up at you, seeing you were still watching, as he tripped over his words again. “It can be hard for boys–and men–of all ages, to…tell someone how they feel.”

“Well, I don’t know where he’s learning from, but making fun of the girl you like isn’t the right way to go about things,” you shot back.

“Then teach them!” Ryland sounded absolutely ecstatic, that light bulb over his head going off again as he looked like he’d come up with the world’s greatest idea. “Classic literature, there’s plenty of great love stories in there. Get his interest by teaching them about that, so he can learn from them.”

“Alright, give me an example then, Mr. Suddenly an Expert in Classic Literature,”

“Romeo and Juliet,” he said like it was the easiest thing in the world, balling up the remnants of his finished food and tossing it in the bag it came in. “Greatest love story ever told, so great Taylor Swift wrote a song about them.”

“Except they don’t run off and get married and live happily ever after, Ryland. Romeo thinks she is dead and kills himself with poison, and when Juliet realizes he’s dead she stabs herself,”

Ryland’s excitement fell slightly, his mouth forming a little ‘o’ shape.

“...oh,”

“Don’t think that’s what I want to teach young, impressionable pre-teens about love-”

“Daisy and Gatsby, then! He loved her so much he stood on that dock staring at the-the bright yellow light of a stoplight for her,”

“It was a green light and it was the dock light, first of all. I’m not even sure how you could be that off. Secondly, Gatsby is murdered at the end of the book and Daisy doesn’t even attend the funeral, she and Tom move away and pretend it never happened,”

Ryland’s eyes are shut at this point, his fingers massaging his temples and those glasses just barely hanging on from their place around his neck.

“...does anyone not die in these old books?”

The sound of your laughter permeates the room and you sweep over, collecting his trash and combining it with yours. You never even spared him a glance, though you could feel his eyes on you, as you swept the trash away with you to the other side of the room, his voice echoing across to you.

“I’m going to get lucky on one of these guesses!”

What Ryland Grace was really lucky about was how adorable you found him, and how head over heels you were for him, because his lack of literary knowledge was astounding.

❤︎

“I’m sorry, you’re trying to tell me that aren’t currently fucking the eye candy that is the science teacher in room 305?”

“Evelyn!”

Evelyn Doyle was in her late thirties, married since she was 18, and already had three kids with her high school sweetheart. Since you had transferred into Grover Cleveland Middle, you’d become fast friends and she had become a great mentor.

She had, sadly, caught onto your pathetic crush on Ryland Grace before you had even fully realized it, and was now ‘vicariously living through you’ as she always said.

“There’s not a single child left in this entire school right now,” she shot back, gesturing around her empty classroom, as she finished cleaning up anything her students had left around at the end of the day. You rolled your eyes at her excuse, perched on the edge of her desk. “Please, I’m tenured, what are they going to do?”

“I’m more so yelling at you for butting into my love life, once again,” was your reply through laughter. “Ryland and I are good friends, that’s it.”

It was her turn to laugh, finishing up her cleanup around the room before she joined you at her desk, packing her things away into her shoulder bag.

“Oh please, you keep denying that little crush of yours-”

“I never said I was denying that,” you cut her off. “Lord, you realized I liked him before I even did. But he and I aren’t anything besides friends. I’m not lying.”

Your pleas fell on deaf ears, like they typically did when you were around Evelyn. She simply waved your statement off, tossing her bag over her shoulder as you followed her out of her room and down through the quiet of the school hallway. The quietest the hallway ever was, in the hours right after students were sent home for the day. You’d rather be anywhere else, preferably at home, but these mandatory once-a-month staff meetings were unavoidable.

“Whether you’re telling me the truth or not, you have to understand why everyone thinks so–teachers AND students. I think even some parents think so!” The only response she got was an eyeroll, her shoulder bumping into your’s playfully. “He brings you lunch at least once a week, meaning he rides that dingy bike to get whatever you’re craving that day.”

“It’s usually just something random-”

“Constantly in your classroom, or vice versa,” she cut you off, and you quickly realized you weren’t getting a single word into this conversation. “I’m pretty sure Principal Marshall has considered, somehow, moving your classroom closer to his just so he’ll stop being late to classes because he’s busy talking to you.”

Okay…yeah, you didn’t have a retort for that one. Your classroom was on the opposite end of the school building from Ryland’s own, and yet every time he had even a split second he was somehow always leaning in your doorway. Even if it only resulted in a conversation that lasted all of a minute.

Many times those ended with your students having to remind him that the bell rang and he definitely had students in his own class unattended, waiting on their teacher. More than once he’d slipped as he tried to sprint back to his classroom from yours. It didn’t matter how short those little conversations were, though, because every second around him was precious to you.

“Awe, look at you blushing about it-”

You slapped Evelyn’s hand away, throwing her a look of disdain that didn’t really hold any true malice to it.

“Look, all I’m saying is the ball is in his court,” was the response you finally settled on as Evelyn propped the door of the small auditorium open for you to enter. “Ryland is nothing but friendly to me, so if he’s interested then he’s got to show me.”

“You’re acting as if you’ve made your own feelings clear, honey,”

“No, but I clearly don’t do a good enough job of hiding them,”

Speak of the devil: there he was. Ryland’s head shot up the moment the pair of you walked into the auditorium. Those damn glasses hanging down from one side of his face, framing his stubbled jawline perfectly. A smile lighting up his face the second those blue eyes found yours, gesturing to the empty seat beside him.

A packed auditorium, as you and Evelyn were the last ones there. Every seat up practically filled, and yet Ryland Grace sat among a crowd of people, eyes trained on you and a single seat saved for you amidst it all.

All you could feel was the heat in your cheeks, and the touch of Evelyn patting your back as she laughed, voice low but loud enough to hear as she shifted past you to find a seat of her own.

“Doesn’t have interest in you my ass,”

Her words swam through your head with every apology you muttered to the other teachers as you snuck past them in the cramped rows, happily taking the empty seat beside Ryland.

“You didn’t have to save me a seat, you know,” your voice held a hint of teasing to it, but it was soft. Filled with an adoration that you knew you were terrible at hiding. Luckily, Ryland was terrible at picking up on it.

“Wanted to sit next to you,” he whispered back as Principal Marshall began to drone on about updates neither of you particularly cared about. He leaned in close, a hint of his breath wafting over the shell of your ear as he spoke. “You make these slightly less boring.”

Close proximity to this man was your worst nightmare, and the cramped auditorium wasn’t helping. That single touch of his breath against your skin was enough to send a simultaneous shiver down your spine and another round of heat to your cheeks. His suit jacket covered arm rested on the shared armrest between your seats, the edge of his bicep ghosting against the bare skin of your arm with every little shift he made, tapping incessantly against the armrest.

The slight action made you smile. He never could sit still in these meetings, always hated them.

“Did anything fun happen in class today?” you kept your voice low, eyes trained on the principal, as your head tilted slightly over to Ryland so he could better hear you.

“Uh, if you count Madison telling me that she thinks the sun orbits the earth, then sure,” you had to stifle your laugh at that, casting Ryland a side glance as he grinned at you, doing a terrible job of whispering back at you as usual.

“How could she possibly think that?”

“You’d be surprised,” Ryland leaned just a tad bit closer, the side of his arm pushed up fully against your own. You could almost hear the smile in his voice without even having to look over at him. “The National Science Foundation estimates that 26% of Americans still think the sun orbits the earth.”

“Jesus, that many?”

“Well, 100% of them are stupid, so,”

Nasty looks from other faculty were shot your way that second you choked on your own breath, slapping a hand over your mouth in an attempt to stop yourself from breaking out into uncontrollable laughter. You gave them the most sympathetic look you possibly could, learning how to breathe normally again before mouthing sorry at them all.

Ryland didn’t care in the slightest for the warning look you shot him, a bright smile on his face as his eyes seemed to trail over every inch of your face.

“If you keep doing this in every faculty meeting, they’re going to separate us, Ry,”

“I met Madison’s parents for the first time last month for parent-teacher conferences,” he continued, ignoring your plea. Instead, he leaned in even closer, eyes locked on yours, and god it was impossible to look away. “They are, 100%, undeniably, part of the Flat Earth Truthers Club.”

You shook your head, a smile creeping back up on your lips. Ryland’s gaze could still be felt on the side of your face as you turned back to face the front, eyes focused back on the principal again in an attempt to pay attention to the meeting.

“Flat earthers are ridiculous. They’re just scared of science,”

“Well, you know what they say…the only thing they have to fear is sphere itself,”

There simply wasn’t enough time to clap your hand over your mouth and conceal your laughter, a split second of it breaking through the quiet of the auditorium. And Ryland? His smile was somehow even brighter than it was before, still locked onto your face, never having strayed once.

“Dr. Grace, is there something you feel needs to be shared with the rest of your fellow faculty?”

Principal Marshall’s voice was enough to knock Ryland out of whatever trance he seemed to have put himself in. Eyes wide as if he’d just seen a ghost, hands barely able to catch his glasses as they almost fell right off of his ear where they dangled, a burst of red spread through his cheeks instantly as his deer-like eyes locked onto the unamused principal.

“I-I uh, no. No, nothing, Principal Marshall,” he scratched at the back of his head, ruffling up his already messy hair, a nervous tick you’d picked up since the moment you’d met him. You simply buried your head in your head, eyes trained on your shoes and Ryland out of the corner of your gaze, terrified to look up at your fellow faculty that you’d already apologized to once. “Just getting super jazzed about faculty updates. Hard to keep it in here. I’m like a mushroom, getting all…hyphae…”

A collective groan sounded through the auditorium at the terrible biology pun that rolled off of him with ease. All you could do was smile into the palm of your hand.

“Please just…pay attention to the meeting, Dr. Grace, before I separate you and your other half,”

Other half. That’s not how she meant it, but it was impossible not to let your mind wander to the idea.

Early mornings. Coffee, the smell of eggs and toast burning in the kitchen. Ryland and his hair that was surely even more unkempt that early in the day. The guarantee that he definitely had about 120 science puns ready to go at any moment.

Late nights. Curled up on a couch. A movie, a shared blanket, warm in the embrace of his arms. The quiet of just being with someone that made you happy in ways you’d never felt before. The promise of another day with them on the horizon.

It was becoming increasingly harder not to think about Ryland Grace like that every day, of what a life with the awkward, endearing science teacher could be.

And as Principal Marshall continued her meeting, and your eyes met the blue ones that were already looking at you: soft, kind, a hint of something you couldn’t understand in them, you could only dream he thought the same thoughts when he looked at you.

❤︎

“Alright, who can tell me the day of the first human space flight?”

Not a single middle schooler, packed into the building’s planetarium, raised their hands at first. Many of them started whispering to each other, confused looks on their faces, but Ryland just waited with a smile on his face. A brave soldier from Mr. Harkin’s class, Damien, finally raised his hand.

“Uh, Mr. Grace? Wouldn’t that…be today?”

“Excatly!” Grace’s clap echoed through the room as he pointed toward the young kid sitting in the front row of seats. “International Day of Human Space Flight, commemorating the first human space flight by Yuri Gagarin. It was a trick question, and you passed my tiny friend.”

Were you excited about losing a chunk of your day to escorting your class to the planetarium, along with other classes in the building, for a special science presentation? Absolutely not, especially not with how terribly your class did on their last The Odyssey assignment.

When you found out that Ryland was giving the presentation during your allotted time? Suddenly, The Odyssey meant nothing to you. Not when you could watch Ryland teach, something he did so effortlessly.

The way he captured every single child’s attention with ease. That glowing smile on his face every time they answered a question right, and simply the way he seemed to love what he taught. You were captivated every time you got the chance to see him teaching the thing he loved so much.

“Yuri Gagarin was a Soviet cosmonaut who became the first person in space in 1961 aboard the Vostok 1,” the planetarium was lit up with the night sky, little stars reflecting down. You could almost see them in the students eyes, in their bright smiles as they looked up into the vastness of space. Your eyes trailed to Ryland, already looking at you with a soft smile of his own, before he cleared his throat and moved throughout the room, focusing back on the kids. “Over the course of 89 minutes, his ship traveled to a maximum altitude of 187 miles, as it orbited the Earth.”

“Wait, so we weren’t the first people in space?” one of your students, Lydia, called out. Ryland laughed, pointing over at her.

“No, we kind of sucked,” you rolled your eyes with a grin at Ryland’s statement, though it drew a laugh from all of the kids. “No, America had actually scheduled its first space flight for May 1961, so this was a huge blow to us. It really heated up the space race.”

“He really is good with them, isn’t he?”

Glancing over, Mr. Harkin had saddled up beside you on the edge of the room, head tilted toward you and voice low so as to not disrupt the lesson the kids were being taught. Your gaze drifted back to Ryland as he continued his lesson, eliciting more laughter from the kids. It only brought another soft smile to rest on your lips.

“He is, in a way that I just don’t understand,”

Those blue eyes you’d become so fond of met yours for a moment across the room, face illuminated by the light projecting onto the planetarium’s dome walls. The little grin he wore seemed to drop just slightly, gaze still locked on you but flickering every moment over to Mr. Harkin as he spoke to the students. Harkin’s elbow dug lightly into your side.

“Careful, you’re giving him major ‘heart eyes’ across the room right now,”

You did your best to conceal your laughter, shooting Harkin a look, Ryland’s gaze still felt on the side of your face even as you looked away.

“Why do I feel like I’m about to find out that every teacher in this school has a secret betting ring going on when it comes to Ryland and I?”

“I mean, it’s not a secret. Principal Marshall runs the damn thing,”

“Mr. Grace?” one of the youngest girls in the grade, Aurora, called out, raising her hand up to get Ryland’s attention. “My mom told me the other day that there’s 8 planets in our solar system. What happened to Pluto?”

Ryland went to answer when Mr. Harkin beside you laughed, capturing the attention of everyone in the room, as he shook his head at his young student.

“No, honey, scientists a couple years ago decided that Pluto wasn’t a planet anymore,”

Your eyes flickered to Ryland, who was already staring at Harkin from across the room as he tossed his little crochet earth back and forth in his hand. His response was a bit of a forced laugh.

“Well, your teacher isn’t wrong. Scientists classified Pluto as a dwarf planet a couple years ago,” he explained to the kids, eyes trained on the little crochet sphere in his hands. “But there’s 8 other very important, even closer planets that we should focus on. I mean, who really cares about a tiny, slow planet that takes 248 years to orbit the sun–honestly, he should just accept that he’s slowly falling into obscurity and stop trying to steal the spotlight.”

The room got quiet. Your eyebrow raised slightly, head tilted, as everyone just seemed to stare at Ryland, who had yet to look up.

“Uh, Mr. Grace?” some student in the back called out. “Why did you call Pluto ‘he’? Are the planets boys and girls like us, too?”

Ryland’s head shot up, as if he suddenly remembered he was in a room full of students. His eyes shot to you, his mouth opening, then closing, before he quickly looked away.

“I–well…planets don’t really…I’m not trying to misgender the planets, you know? That’s not for me to decide, that’s for them to–you know what, does anyone else have any other questions that aren’t related to Pluto?”

You really didn’t want to laugh at Ryland, but only he would be able to accidentally turn a lesson about space and planets into almost a lesson on bodily autonomy. He caught your eye, his widening just slightly and you could almost see his cry for help written across his face, but it only made your laughter worse.

It was little Madison that raised her hand next, speaking before she’d even been called upon.

“Are you sure the Earth isn’t the center of the universe?”

Ryland hung his head in shame, the shaking of his head evident from across the room as a few of the kids around laughed at the young girl’s comment. You were quick to shoot them a warning look, not keen to hand out any detentions today.

By the time your gaze turned back to Ryland, he was already looking at you. His gaze flickered to Harkin, then back to you, and it was like a light bulb had just flickered on the way his eyes lit up.

“Yes, Madison, I’m sure the Earth isn’t the center of the universe. And I can show you,” his long legs crossed the room in seconds, his body sliding between you and Mr. Harkin as his hands landed on your shoulders with a tiny little squeeze that sent your heart leaping through your chest. “But to do that, I’m going to need this volunteer that I’m not quite giving a choice.”

“It’s not volunteering if you didn’t ask, Ry!”

You exasperatedly tried to whisper to Ryland as he steered you across the room to stand before all the kids. He only shook his head as a bunch of your own students started cheering for you around the room, only worsening the red that coated your cheeks the second his hands had landed on your body.

“I need you for this,” he shot back hastily, positioning you in the middle of the room, standing in front of you. His body blocked the students from your vision, blue eyes boring down into yours, hands gently squeezing at your upper arms as you begged the blush in your skin to not be too obvious. “You trust me?”

A ridiculous question, because the only answer was yes. You gave him a nod, and Ryland’s smile only widened as he turned back to the kids in the room.

“Alright, kids. Your gorgeous teacher here is the Sun,”

Little oohs and awes sounded from the kids around the room at Ryland’s little slip in of the word ‘gorgeous.’ There was a sting in your bottom lip as you bit into it with your teeth, trying to contain your own smile. Marcus spoke up from across the room without raising his hand, as usual.

“Then what’s Mr. Harkin?”

“Oh, he’s Pluto,” Ryland shot back immediately, nodding his head. “Suits him.”

Laughter rang through the room, the young boys as rambunctious as ever. Ryland met your astonished look with a tiny wink of his own, one that forced a small laugh to tumble from your lips. Then, he began to slowly spin, walking around you in a circle.

“And I am the Earth,” he called out to the kids, and you could only hope he didn’t trip over his own two shoelaces. “The Sun holds 99.8% of the mass in our solar system, which means it’s packing some massive gravity.”

Ryland stopped spinning himself, still moving around you in a circle. He held his hand out toward you, and you slipped yours into it without hesitation, spinning in that circle slowly with him.

“Because the Sun holds such intense gravity, it’s actually pulling Earth into it. But, Earth has such high forward velocity that it actually keeps us moving sideways. Put these two together, and it keeps Earth moving in an almost perfect circle around the sun. Can anyone tell me another fun fact about our movement around the sun?”

The words went in one of your ears and straight out the other. There was no paying attention, not when Ryland’s hand held your own. Soft skin, just slightly rough around the edges, and those blue eyes were so soft, locked onto you as if there was nowhere else he wanted to look.

“Our speed changes!” Olivia called out from somewhere in the back, but you didn’t even try to look and find her. “When we’re closer to the sun in our orbit we move faster, and the further away we are, the slower we move.”

“Very good, Olivia!” Ryland called out, sparing just a quick glance over to the kids in the room as his hand held yours tighter, still spinning slowly together. “Madison, we also know this works because there’s other sun-like stars out there that are also orbited by planets. Like Tau Ceti, which has four Earth-like planets orbiting it.”

“Is the sun important for other things, besides just being the center?”

Ryland’s eyes flickered to you, and you watched as he paused. The slight hesitation on his face, the bobbing of his Adam’s apple for a moment, before those blue eyes locked onto yours and refused to look away.

“I-It is…for a lot of reasons. The Sun is the Earth’s entire reason for existing. The Sun gives the Earth life. The Sun is the reason the world is beautiful,”

Your breath hitched, eyes still trained on Ryland. There was something in his words, something in that earnest, raw look that he had written across his features as he looked at you that added a weight to his words. A weight that sent a tiny chill across your skin, raising the hair on your arms.

“Without the Sun…the Earth would be nothing,”

There was quiet across the room. Then, a couple snickers, followed by Olivia’s smug little voice.

“The Sun sounds beautiful the way you talk about it,”

“She is,” his voice was lower, softer than it was before. Until, he seemed to realize what he said, the red on both of your faces spreading further than before as his eyes shot wide. “THE SUN I mean! I-I’m talking about the sun, obviously, b-because this is a science presentation!”

Laughter rang through the room, little chants of your names mashed together coming from some of the kids as the bell rang and saved either of you from further embarrassment.

Ryland, being Ryland, chose that moment to finally trip over his own two feet. You pulled on his hand as hard as you could, saving him from plummeting to the ground as he instead just landed on his one knee.

“Make good choices,” Ryland commented lowly as some of the kids walked past the two of you, still snickering and giggling to themselves. You let go of his hands finally, simply resting it on his shoulder with a gentle squeeze. “Don’t uh, I don’t know, blow up the world during lunch or anything. Or pop those chip bags and give kids heart attacks, whatever you kids do these days.”

You laughed, stepping around Ryland as your kids lined up outside of the room, waiting for you. He shot you a sheepish smile from the floor, and your skin still burned with heat at the memory of his words as you looked at him.

“Every time I think you’re doing well with those kids, they manage to knock you down a peg,”

“Yeah, well, what’s new?”

When you met your class outside, you didn’t let them get a word in before you warned them not to say anything. You could still hear little comments talking about ‘shipping’ their English and Science teachers the entire way back to your classroom.

❤︎

Ryland Grace didn’t understand how he had ended up here.

Well, he did. Calling the leading scholar in his field a “staggering waste of carbon” at a UNESCO conference in Denmark was an easy way to get blacklisted from the field he’d studied in for many years in college. It was an easy explanation for how he ended up teaching middle school science at Grover Cleveland Middle in San Francisco.

Not that he had a problem with teaching! He actually loved it. Loved his kids, loved talking about science. He loved teaching the future little scientists of the world about why every facet of science was awesome. The pay wasn’t great, though.

Especially when it was the reason he rode a bike to school daily.

And there was currently the equivalent of a monsoon raining down from the sky onto the pavement, the reason he’d been standing at the front doors for the last 20 minutes hoping that the rain would simply let up. The heavens didn’t take pity on him, though, and it only rained harder and harder. His rain coat and bike were not meant to withstand heavy rain and damaging winds to this extent. 

Best cast scenario? It takes him a little longer to get home on his usual 20 minute bike ride than normal. Worst case? He crashes and dies, dead in a ditch covered in mud.

“Ryland, please tell me you aren’t thinking of riding your bike home in this?”

Then there was you. You were probably the single greatest reason why he loved teaching at Grover Cleveland Middle. If he ever had the unfortunate chance to meet that scientist from the conference again, he’d thank him this time for being a staggering waste of carbon, because it led him down a path to you.

“I can’t be that bad,” he tried to joke, waving you off as a crack of thunder seemed to shake the entire building, and his fake confidence faltered for a second. He glanced back at you, coat wrapped around your bag instead of yourself in order to keep its contents dry. “Just, you know…the slight threat of bodily harm.”

He really wished the path that led to you was less bumpy and full of himself looking like an idiot, but at this rate he’d take what he could get from the universe.

“Yeah, absolutely not,” was your immediate reply, head shaking as she fished your car keys out of the bag still covered with your coat. “I’m giving you a ride home, can’t risk the best science teacher’s life over a dumb storm.”

Ryland immediately shook his head, turning to face you beside him. He was not letting you risk your own life in the storm for him. If it really came down to it, he’d sleep at his desk. There was a change of clothes he kept in the bottom drawer, it wasn’t the first time he’d had to do it.

“I can’t let you-”

“This isn’t up for discussion,” Ryland snapped his mouth shut as you cut in once again, dangling your car keys up in front of him with a little shake. “I…care about you, okay? I want to know you are home safe.”

There was no stopping the immediate heat that filled Ryland’s cheeks, and he knew it. There was red blooming across your own, but Ryland shook all wishful thinking from his mind. The AC unit in this school was unreliable, you were definitely just flushed from the heat. No other reason.

Ryland decided he wasn’t going to put up a fight at this point, but he wasn’t going to let you do this without anything in return. He shrugged the yellow raincoat hanging over his own shoulders off as he kicked the glass door in front of him open, the muffle sounds of the torrential downpour now louder as droplets of water splashed into the front door. He held the jacket out, hanging it above your head to protect you from the rain.

“At least let me save you from getting drenched,”

“You’re going to look like a dog that just had a bath by the time we reach my car,” Ryland only smiled at your joke, and the little giggle that fell through your lips. The close proximity didn’t help as he held the jacket up around you.

“Actually, it’s not windy today,” he shot back with a grin, nodding out the propped open door into the rain. “That means if we run, I’ll be drier than if we walked, because the rain that’s hitting us from above is proportional to time. Though, the rain hitting us from the front is proportional to distance, and when running-”

“Ryland Grace, you are adorable when you get all science-nerd, but if we’re going to run…we should run,”

Ryland was thankful that you couldn’t see the renewed heat flooding his cheeks, as you were both too busy sprinting through the torrential downpour to the staff parking lot.

Being a gentleman (who was head over heels in love with you and too terrified to say a damn thing) was thrown out the window with how fast you were booking it to your car, the idea of shielding you from the rain with his jacket abandoned after just a moment booking it across the lot. He could feel the coolness of the water settling against his skin as it soaked through every layer of clothing he had, every few seconds having to furiously wipe at his glasses in hopes of seeing through them.

None of it really mattered in the end, not when he heard your laugh. The little shrieks of laughter as a particularly big drop happened to fall right in your eyes. Or the laughter as Ryland managed–in his signature fashion–to slip on the final step into the parking lot, and you had to double back in laughter to help haul him to his feet.

He’s spring clumsily through the rain a thousand more times if he got to see you smile like that. And that is why his kids always told him that he was definitely ‘whipped’ for you. Whatever that meant.

The second you had both jumped into your respective seats of your vehicle, doors slamming shut, there was only a moment of silence between the both of you. Ryland felt like his chest was going to explode, remembering why he always hated gym class, his heavy breathing mixed with yours as you both caught your breath, before you locked eyes over the center console.

Then the laughter resumed.

He held his hand to his stomach, feeling an ache settling in as he couldn’t stop his own laughter. Your’s grew slightly louder in his ear as you leaned over, trying to help him wipe at his glasses that were still covered.

“I was right, you look like a wet dog,”

Ryland’s only response was to shake his soaking wet hair like one, a simple reaction that earned yet another shriek of laughter from you and a light slap to his shoulder. You muttered something unintelligible under your breath, but Ryland found himself unable to tear his gaze away from your lips as you started the car and began to pull out of the staff lot. How soft they looked, the way the little beads of water running down your cheeks fell over them.

Whipped. He still didn’t get it, but he agreed wholeheartedly with his kids at this point.

There was no driving fast in this rain, especially when the windshield wipers were moving at their highest programmed speed and it still wasn’t enough. It was quiet in the car for just a moment as you pulled out of the parking lot, but Ryland broke it the second your phone had connected to the car’s bluetooth, music filling the space between him and you.

Fly me to the moon, let me play among the stars. Let me see what spring is like on Jupiter and Mars.

“Frank Sinatra,” Ryland couldn’t help the growing smile on his lips as the familiar song flooded through the car speakers. He kept his eyes trained on the side of your face, watching the little smile grow on your own lips, eyes focused on the road conditions in front of you. “Old books and old music. Didn’t know you had such an old soul.”

“You calling me old, Ryland?”

“N-no!” Ryland immediately back track, hands flying up and shaking back and forth as his eyes went wide. “I might say some stupid stuff some–okay, most of the time–but I know better than to comment on a woman’s age.”

“I’m just teasing you,” he could thankfully hear the sincerity mixed in with the teasing lit to your voice. “But yes, I do enjoy some old music. Always been a big fan of Sinatra, especially this one.”

“It’s a nice song…just not scientifically accurate,” he caught the side eye that you threw his way for just a moment, another crack of thunder banging across the sky and almost shaking the car. Ryland couldn’t help but jump slightly. “Jupiter only has a 3.13° tilt to its axis, so it doesn’t experience seasons like we do. Mar’s would, though, because its axis is tilted at 25°, only 1.5° more than our own tilt…”

Ryland trailed off as the car rolled to a stop at a red light, and he caught you fully facing him this time with a bemused expression written across your face. His smile dropped just slightly as he let out a sheepish laugh, adjusting his glasses as they slid back down the wet bridge of his nose.

“...I went full science-nerd again, didn’t I?”

Your laughter drowned out the rain beating against the roof of the car as your attention returned to the road once more.

“You always do, but I happen to enjoy it very much,”

If only teaching paid more, because the commute to Ryland’s apartment was a lot shorter than his bike ride home every day from work. 

Parked in an open space across the road from the dimly lit apartment building, Ryland Grace hesitated with his hand on the handle of the door. His eyes swept out over the area around the vehicle, still being hounded with rain. The top of his road looked like the beginning of a river, the way the water was rushing down the small incline to pool at the bottom.

“Thanks…for this,” he gestured toward the weather right outside the card.

You moved to respond to him, when the weather alert on your phone propped up on your dashboard sounded out. Ryland could just barely make out the headline: FLASH FLOOD WARNING.

The roads were far too dangerous, and Ryland already knew from various conversations that you lived on the opposite end of town from him.

He…could ask you to stay for the night. Just for safety reasons, obviously! He was quickly trying to work through the pros and cons list in his head.

Pros: his only friend that just so happened to be the woman he’s been head over heels in love with for the last year would be safe and not driving in this storm.

Cons: his only friend that just so happened to be the woman he’s been head over heels in love with for the last year would be inside his tiny little apartment that looked like it had been hit by a separate hurricane than the one it felt like they were currently suffering through.

“I should probably get home-”

“Stay,” Ryland cut in, quickly continuing his words after his vague statement. “I-It’s just, the roads are bad, and you live on the other side of town. This storm is just going to get worse, and I-I’d hate to know something happened to you.”

You hesitated, he could tell, shaking your head.

“Ryland, I couldn’t ask you to let me stay,”

He hesitated himself for a moment, every feeling he’d kept bottled up for a year now threatening to escape past his lips. Instead, he settled on echoing your own words.

“I…I care about you. I want to know you’re safe,”

Moments later, he had his rain coat draped over your head as he rushed you inside his apartment to shelter from the storm.

Ryland’s hands shook the entire time as he put his key into his front door’s lock. The last time he had guests over…was never. His apartment was built and designed for him and his brain, scattered with notes and books and piles of arts and crafts that he worked on in order to decorate his classroom. It was not meant for visitors, especially not ones as pretty as you.

“Don’t, uh, mind the mess,” he mumbled, holding the door open and motioning after you, allowing you to take a step inside his apartment as he let out the small breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

Chucking off his sneakers, little puddles of water forming below them on the ground, his jacket found its way into a pile with them. Ryland wiped his hands nervously against the thighs of his jeans, the action doing nothing against the soaking went material, as he watched you take in his apartment.

The apartment that looked like it had been ransacked, at least partially. Stacks of books relating to a thousand different topics were stacked on the ground by the tv stand, on top of the coffee table along with the coffee cup he’d abandoned there early in the morning in a haste to get to the school, and and by his desk that had a stack of papers scattered around it after her strewn them about in order to find one specific slip of paper at 11 p.m.

It was a mess, and Ryland regretted everything.

“It’s not messy, it’s homey,” your reply sent a burst of heat through his skin as you turned to him with a bright smile, leaving your own bag and coat by his pile of wet items before gesturing to your own soaking wet clothing. “Do you maybe have something a little less…wet?”

He scurried away into his bedroom, trying to ignore that little section of his brain that took your comment in a MUCH different way.

His bedroom was worse. Ryland wasn’t letting you sleep on the couch, but he surely wasn’t letting you see his room in a state like this.

Clothing was thrown across the room and Ryland quickly ran about, shoving piles of clothing away into corners where he was certain you wouldn’t be able to see any of it. Throwing it into his closet and slamming the door before it could fall out, pushing it down in his laundry basket, kicking it under his bed so it was out of sight and out of mind, whatever he could think of.

“Great idea, Ryland,” he muttered to himself, pulling on a dry pair of sweatpants and a tshirt for himself, trying to shake the remaining water out of his hair as he rummaged for something you could wear. “Almost get the woman you’re in love with killed by letting her drive you home in a monsoon. Invite her to stay the night in your apartment that makes you look like an even bigger loser than you are. Amazing idea. A doctorate in molecular biology and this is the best you can do.”

You were waiting by the couch in his living room, just glancing around at everything with a smile, when he reappeared. Sheepishly, he handed the folded clothing over to you, hand running through his soaking wet hair as he pointed down the hall.

“You can take my bed for the night. Uh, just leave your clothes in the bathroom, I can throw them in the dryer in a bit. I can scrounge up something to eat in the meantime,”

“Thanks, Ry,” your hand reached out, squeezing his upper arm lightly, and he felt the heat in his skin instantly bloom under your touch. “For all of this.”

If it wasn’t for the giant crack of thunder that flickered the lights of the building for a moment and made Ryland jump out of his skin, he would’ve forgotten how to breathe again.

He rummaged through every part of his kitchen, desperately trying to find something that he could make the two of you to eat that also wouldn’t make him seem pathetic. All he could come up with…was a loaf of bread, a jar of peanut butter, and a jar of jelly.

Yesterday. He’d stayed late after the end of the day to help in tutoring. He forgot to go grocery shopping. Ryland let out a sigh at his realization, back to his fridge door and head banging back against the stainless steel, hand running down his face and dragging against his skin as his glasses were knocked off, hanging off of one ear.

“Great,” he muttered into his palm. “Just absolutely freaking great, Ryland.”

Ryland Grace desperately wished he had the guts, the bravery, to just simply tell you how he felt.

From the moment he met you, when you had arrived for your first day at Grover Cleveland Middle, he was a goner. It had been a long time since he’d had a partner, his last one certain that he was too busy with his head in the clouds to pay attention to her, and she wasn’t wrong. But from the moment he looked at you, waving and smiling as you introduced yourself to all of the teachers that had gathered to welcome you, you were suddenly the only thing his brain wanted to focus on.

He had been so focused on you, too busy admiring every inch of you in silence, that in his typical clumsy fashion he tripped over his own two feet and knocked Principal Marshall’s papers out of her hand, spreading them five feet across the floor. But you’d joined him on the ground, laughing lightly to yourself, as you helped him clean up the papers, and Ryland knew he was a goner for you.

It only continued every single day, getting worse, and you somehow became his friend. His only friend, if he was being quite frank. So he tried to hide the way he really felt, too scared to mess anything up. He’d rather have you in his life in any way he could, then mess this up and lose you forever.

Keeping those feelings in was getting increasingly harder in the last few months. Which explained why he’d traveled cross town just to get lunch from your favorite place, or compare you to the sun and basically called you his entire reasoning for living in front of a bunch of children-

Either Ryland was going to blurt it out at some point, or he was taking these feelings to the grave with him.

“Peanut butter and jelly? Sounds like we’re eating like royalty tonight,”

He shouldn’t have looked over at you. He really, really shouldn’t have. Leaning against the opposite wall of the kitchen, hair still damp and dripping onto the cheesy “I had potential” shirt he’d been gifted by one of his students the following year. Sweatpants that were bunched up around your ankles so that you didn’t trip over the length, waist tied in as tightly as possible so they didn’t just slide right off your hips.

Ryland Grace had never thought it possible that you could look more gorgeous than you did every day, but he stood corrected. He felt more in love than he ever had just looking at you right in this moment.

“Sorry, I don’t exactly…live a life of luxury,” Ryland awkwardly laughed as he spoke, pulling out two sad paper plates from the cabinet next to him and flashing them in your direction, shaking them lightly in the air. “Hope this doesn’t ruin my perfectly curated image.”

His eyes followed you as you brushed past him, humming to yourself with a little grin. You fumbled through every drawer in the kitchen, looking for something, when Ryland quickly popped open the one right next to him, showcasing his small selection of utensils. You flashed another heart-stopping grin at him before digging out two knives from the drawer.

“That image cracked a long time ago, Ry. Like that time you let Marcus perform some chemical reaction and got the fire department called to the school,”

The tall blonde groaned to himself, rubbing at his temple as you pushed past him to throw some of the bread down onto the plates and crack open the jars of peanut butter and jelly set out.

“That was one time!” he tried to defend himself, saddling up beside you as you passed him one of the knives. He almost completely missed the opening of the peanut butter jar, eyes too transfixed on the sight of you in his clothing. It was still up in the air if his heart was actually working correctly yet. “I learned my lesson very quickly not to let him handle any more chemicals.”

“Don’t worry. I made the mistake of doing popcorn reading when we were working on The Outsiders. Marcus seemed to end up with every single instance of profanity in the book, which he would yell at the top of his lungs,”

Ryland snapped his fingers, glancing down at you at his side with a teasing smile.

“You know what? That explains that really loud ‘HELL’ I heard across the school a couple months ago. I was so sure that it was going to shatter the windows of my classroom,”

“Oh, shut up! It wasn’t that bad!”

Your laughter permeated the air, elbow digging into his side as you spoke. And when your eyes locked with his, and Ryland got the perfect look at every square inch of your face, he could see it so clearly in his head.

Mornings just like this, where you’d both struggle to get out of the warmth of the blankets. The way he would surely annoy you with his very disorganized morning routine, but he’d make up for it with coffee already set out for you, just as you liked it. The lingering moments by the door, too wrapped up in each other because you didn’t want to leave the peace of this space, even though you were going to the same place.

Late nights, curled together on the couch with some movie playing on TV that neither of you were particularly paying attention to. Whispered words, laughter shared. Kisses that lingered, hands that trailed-

Thunder broke Ryland from his spell, thoughts gone in a flash. He was back in his dingy kitchen, with you just inches away, staring up at him as the picture of true beauty.

“T-This is nice,” he cleared his throat, turning back to his sandwich as he spread his toppings along the bread, heat blooming across his cheeks again. It always did around you. “Making dinner with someone…no matter how sad the dinner is. I haven’t done this in awhile.”

“Right,” your voice responded after a momentary pause. “Sarah, wasn’t it? You were dating her when we first met. What, uh…what ever happened to her?”

“Oh, we broke up a long time ago,” Ryland waved the comment off, shaking his head. “She just, uh, thought my head was too far in the clouds. Didn’t think I wanted to be down here on Earth. She wasn’t wrong. It was for the best, though. She hated…all of this. The rundown apartment, the lack of a car, my love of science. She just never understood it. I was just…too much for her. But she’s with Mark now, so I’m sure she’s happy.”

Ryland chose not to mention that his last relationship had been dead long before it officially ended, the pair not having seen each other in well over a month by that point. If his math was right, which it usually was, Sarah had started dating Mark before she’d even broken it off with him.

He also failed to mention the relief he felt inside when she had called it off, knowing his heart had belonged to you the moment your eyes had locked with his.

Fingertips just barely ghosted over Ryland’s cheek, and he froze in place. Eyes trained on the plate in front of him, he could feel the way your hand curled around his cheek. The way your thumb glossed over his skin, back and forth, and the way your other fingers barely grazed over the shell of his ear. He couldn’t help the way he instantly leaned into the touch, a touch he hadn’t felt in so long.

Ryland turned his head, still resting in the palm of your own, to look you in the eyes. You gave him the softest smile, hand trailing across his cheek and ghosting over his jawline. His eyes watched it move, the way your fingers gently curled around the frame of his glasses dangling precariously from his face, and placed them gingerly back where they belonged, resting on the bridge of his nose.

His breath caught, your body so close to his, as your hand trailed back down and rested on his chest for just a moment, your own gaze flickering to its resting spot while his gaze stayed on your face.

“You are never, and will never be, too much, Ryland. Not for the right person. They’ll love every part of you. The clumsy parts, the nerdy parts, every part that makes you…you,”

The Sun. That’s what you were to Ryland Grace. He meant every word he had said in that planetarium that day, driven by the rare jealousy of seeing Harkin that close to you. 

The Sun was the reason Earth had life. Without the Sun…the Earth would be nothing.

Without you…well, Ryland Grace had accepted long ago that he didn’t understand what it was like to truly live until he’d met you.

Your eyes flickered for just a second, and Ryland took in an audible breath, swearing they settled on his lips for just a second. The apartment was quiet, except for the hum of the fridge and the pattering of the rain against the living room windows.

The moment shattered with yet another terribly timed clap of thunder, your body jolting away from his, focus turned back to the counter in front of you, face hidden from his wide eyes.

“Y-you know…I can’t tell you the last time I had a peanut butter and jelly sandwich,”

Ryland shook his head, smiling slightly to himself at the little stutter in your own words, turning back to finishing his own food as well. But the moment still lingered in his head, the heat that bloomed from where your skin touched him still lingering.

“Since peanut butter is banned in school for allergies, probably awhile,”

“I almost forgot that rule a couple weeks ago and almost packed peanut butter crackers,” you joked back, before Ryland heard you snap your fingers. “Oh! Speaking of work, did you put yourself down to volunteer for the school dance next week?”

Sandwiches finished off, Ryland packed the ingredients away and stashed them back in their appropriate spots, laughing awkwardly to himself.

“Hah, uh, no I didn’t. I chaperoned last year and kind of left covered in punch, became the kids’ favorite ‘meme’ for a week afterward since one of them got a picture of it,”

He turned back to you. Leaning against the island counter, holding your sad little sandwich in your hands, face still lit up red as you smiled toward him.

“I think so far it's me, Doyle, and Harki, plus Principal Marshal and I think Katie and Dawson from the front office. We could really use another teacher,” he swore the fluttering of your lashes was on purpose just to kill him and his resolve. “Sign-up? For me?”

Well, there was no universe in existence where Ryland said no to a request like that.

Rejoining you at the counter, he held his own sandwich in his hand, reaching out and tapping it against yours as if you were sharing a toast.

“For you? Totally,”

Even as you both took a bite of your sandwiches, eyes still locked together, Ryland felt as if something had shifted in the air. Your eyes were still as kind, your smile still bright, but it felt like there was a new weight to your gaze as you looked at him.

And he swore–and hoped–for just a split second, that your eyes had just flickered down to his lips again.

❤︎

The student council had outdone themselves with this end of the year dance.

As you stepped through the main doors of Grover Cleveland Middle’s building, the smile on your face grew immediately at the sight before you. The walls were lined with little fairy lights, little styrofoam planets hanging down from the ceiling at various lengths, glow in the dark stars right around them and glowing. Silver streamers hung around the fairy lights, with the check in desk decorated with tons and foam and lights behind them to look like twinkling lights in the clouds.

“A space theme?” you called out as the two kids in front of you ducked away from the registration desk. Evelyn Doyle finally looked up from the sign-in sheet, grin growing as she took in the sight of you and rounded the desk. “I hadn’t heard anything from the student council on the theme, but they did well.”

“Nevermind the theme, you’re finally here!” you laughed as you threw her arms around you, reciprocating the hug, before her hands landed on your shoulders in order to get a good look at you, eyes trailing you up and down. “And look at this dress, oh my god!”

The deep yellow dress fell right around your knees, the fabric light and airy as it swooshed through the air with every move you made. Buttons lined the front down to the tie around your waist, leaving just enough room for the little gold necklace resting against your collarbone. You thanked yourself for choosing a short sleeve option, already feeling the heat in the building from how many kids were all packed in and dancing together.

“Thank you,” was the sheepish reply you gave your friend as she let you go. “I’m sorry I’m late, I caught one of my student’s parents in the parking lot and they turned it into a mini parent-teacher conference, sadly.”

“Not a problem,” she waved the comment off, gesturing toward the doors of the gym just off to the left of you both. “Just get on in there, have some fun, and keep those slow dancers at least 12 inches apart at all times.”

If the hallways were gorgeous, the inside of the gym shone even brighter. Bathed in blue and purple, even more little lights twinkled around the room, hung off the walls, the ceilings, and on every surface they could possibly find. Moon and star decals, made by the art students, hung off the walls and from the ceiling, almost glowing under the lights.

Your eyes trailed over all of your children, scattered throughout the room, already having been dancing for at least thirty minutes. The smile on your face grew as you watched each one of them, gathered with their friends as they danced together in groups, or even stood off to the sides and just observed from beyond the dimly lit dance floor.

Mr. Harkin had been stationed at the punch table, and you could hear him from across the room warning these middle schoolers not to try and spike the punch. You could only giggle to yourself, shaking your head at his antics, before your eyes swept over the crowd once more-

The music seemed to stop in your ears, breath hitching, the second you laid eyes on him across the room. Ryland Grace.

He wasn’t in anything fancy. A nice pair of jeans, the worn pair of black dress shoes you’d seen by his apartment door that night. A dark green shirt was tucked into his jeans, adorned with a worn, navy blue suit jacket overtop, and those same glasses almost falling off the bridge of his nose as he spoke animatedly to Olivia.

Ryland looked good. Too good, in your eyes.

For just a second, he looked up, and his eyes happened to meet yours across the room. You thought for sure you’d forgotten how to breathe.

Whatever had happened that night, in the silence of his apartment with only the beating of the rain against the windows and the roof as a witness, had shifted something. From the moment your fingertips had ghosted along his skin, your hand had rested against his chest, and you’d been close enough to see the specs that danced in those ocean blue eyes of his up close, nothing had been the same.

Like the little bubble you had been existing in with your harbored crushed had finally popped. Like a toe had dipped just slightly over a line, and there was no going back from then on.

You always blushed around your friend, every time he’d manage to fumble his way through a comment that borderlined on a kind-of-not-just-friendly compliment. But since that day just a week or so ago, every time he has been within a few feet of you, your face lit up like a hot summer’s day.

Moments where he’d find a second to linger in your classroom door, held a new weight to them. Sharing lunch together, fingers just barely brushing for a second as you both reached for your food, to moments when you’d simply be walking together down hallways, back of hands brushing along each other’s but no one making any moves to stop it from happening.

Something was different, and you weren’t sure you wanted to go back to how things were before. Not after touching his skin, or existing in his orbit like that. Not when you’d seen the side of him beyond these school walls.

You were in love with Ryland Grace. You had been for a long time. And, finally, you were done trying to pretend that there wasn’t at least a small chance that he felt the same.

“I need your help,”

The heated staring contest between you two was broken by the sound to your right. You turned, just to see Marcus standing directly beside you and reaching up to pull on the sleeve of your dress. His hands wrung together, foot tapping incessantly on the ground, and you immediately knelt down in front of him to get a better look at his face that he was trying to hide from you.

“Marcus? Honey, what’s wrong?” you asked gently, hands coming to rest on his arms as you tried to get him to look at you.

“I…I like Olivia,”

Oh. It was one of those problems. The anxiety you felt in that moment finally washed away, an easy smile falling to your lips as you took a quick glance over in Ryland and Olivia’s direction, the former’s eyes still locked onto you from across the room.

“I did hear a rumor about that. Olivia is a great girl,”

“She is,” he said quickly, finally looking at you. His nerves were basically written across his face. “I-I’ve been really mean to her. I didn’t mean to be.”

“I know, honey. Sometimes feelings can be confusing,” you stood up, hands on your hips as you looked down at him with a smile. “Do you want to dance with her?”

“I do,”

You held your hand out toward him with a smile.

“Then why don’t we start by going and apologizing to her?”

With Marcus’s hand in yours, you confidently led him across the room, eyes locked back onto Ryland’s as you approached. He stood with Olivia at his side, who was talking his ear off, a dopey looking grin on his face as he nodded to whatever she said as he continued to watch as you approached him.

“Dr. Grace, I’m sorry to interrupt you and Olivia,” you announced yourself to the pair with a grin of your own, hands on Marcus’s shoulders and you lightly pushed him forward. “But Olivia, there’s something that Marcus here wants to say to you.”

The young boy shuffled awkwardly forward, hands wringing together again as he stood in front of his crush.

“I, uh, I wanted to say I was sorry. For being really mean to you. I didn’t mean it,”

Olivia’s eyes went wide, as she too shuffled uncomfortably for a second. Ryland saddled up to your side, the pair of you sharing a glance as you watched the interaction happen right before your eyes. His hand graced over yours lightly, and it took everything in you not to reach out and lock your fingers with his.

“Oh! It’s, um, it’s okay. Thank you,”

“Say, Marcus?” Ryland called out to them both, catching the boy’s eye and gesturing toward Olivia with a wink. “What do you think of Olivia’s dress?”

“I…I think she looks really beautiful,”

That comment finally seemed to catch Olivia off guard, her eyes wide in shock as she giggled nervously.

“Oh! I…thank you, Marcus. You look really nice too,”

“Thank you,” his posture seemed to straighten out at Olivia’s reaction, like seeing her accept his compliment gave him the confidence he needed. “Do you want to dance with me?”

Olivia shot you and Ryland a look, and you both immediately gave her a thumbs up. Then, your happy eyes could only watch the two pre-teens awkwardly shuffle away together to the dance floor, not daring to meet the eyes of the other.

“Look at us, playing matchmaker for middle schoolers,”

“I think they did that for themselves, we just helped,” you laughed, turning your head. The laughter died on your lips the second your eyes met with Ryland’s, voice low and breathy as you whispered to him through your smile. “Hi.”

“Hi,” he whispered back just as breathily. His hand came up to the back of his head, running through his hair for a moment, and you could see the red and pink hues that lit up his cheeks. “I got worried when I didn’t see you. I was ready to call you.”

“You could’ve,”

“I’ll remember for next time,” he shot back, hands finding their way to rest in the front pockets of his jeans. His eyes moved back over the crowd, finding your two young students once more. “I’m proud of him for that. That…must have taken a lot of guts to do.”

You followed his gaze, landing on the pair as they danced together, laughing and talking like old friends.

“Like you said before, it can be hard for boys to express their feelings. All he needed was to pull up his big boy pants and ask her,”

Ryland laughed beside you.

“Yeah…I should probably follow in his footsteps,”

You glanced back to him, seeing him already watching you. A single eyebrow raised toward him quizzically, even though your heart felt like it was ready to beat directly out of your chest.

Ryland’s mouth opened, then closed, then opened again, as if he were trying to force out words that he couldn’t quite seem to get right. You didn’t even realize you were holding your breath, hoping inside that whatever he wanted to say would address the weight that seemed to be hanging between your gazes.

“Stay here,”

There wasn’t even time for you to respond before the tall blonde rushed away, almost tripping as he dashed over to the DJ booth across the way from the makeshift dance floor. He whispered something to the DJ, and you could see the thumbs up he got in return, before he rushed back over to you, panting slightly.

“Ryland?” you questioned softly, the man who held your entire heart without knowing it standing just a foot in front of you with a nervous grin on his face. “What did you just do?”

As if on cue, the song changed, and familiar lyrics floated through the room, bouncing off the walls.

Fly me to the moon, let me play among the stars. Let me see what spring is like on Jupiter and Mars

“I’m pulling up my big boy pants,” he responded with a nervous laugh, his hand outstretched toward you. “And asking you to dance with me.”

Nothing else existed the second that you slid your hand into Ryland Grace’s without hesitation, letting him pull you in. You weren’t in the school, not in a room decorated for a middle school dance, and certainly not surrounded by middle schoolers and a bunch of faculty that had placed bets on you both.

It was just you and Ryland Grace. That’s all you wanted it to be.

Your arms found a place to rest around his shoulders, fingertips just barely brushing past the strands of hair that tickled the back of his neck. There was a fluttering in your chest the second that his hands made their way to your waist, curling around the divet just above your hip bone, pulling you into him just by another inch.

In other words, hold my hand. In other words, darling, kiss me. Fill my life with song, and let me sing for ever more.

"I didn't tell you yet…,” his voice was soft, words whispered just between the two of you in a crowded room. “But you look beautiful,"

"You don't have to flatter me, Ryland,"

"No, really, you look-"

"Like a banana in this yellow dress?"

He paused. His tongue poked out, running along his bottom lip, and you could see the nervous bob of his Adam’s apple before he spoke again.

"...like the sun,"

You are all I long for, all I worship and adore.

Oh. That fluttering in your chest was back, and suddenly, you weren’t at a middle school dance anymore. You were back in that planetarium, spinning in circles. And this time, there were no doubts in your mind. You were the Sun, and he was the Earth. And what was the Earth, without its Sun?

"Ryland-"

"I wasn't lying,"

You cocked your head.

"...about what?"

"That I knew Homer wrote The Odyssey,"

That drew a short laugh from you, but you could still see the nerves that were laced through Ryland’s smile.

"Right, you were just distracted,"

"I was. By you. I'm always distracted by you,"

In other words, please be true. In other words, I love you.

You took a deep breath. He’d crossed the line for you, thrown himself onto the other side, and was waiting for you with open arms. It was just a leap of faith.

“I’m always distracted by you, too. Since the day we met,”

The song faded away, melting into the next. There could’ve been eyes on you both, either from students or from faculty, but nothing would break either of your gazes away from the other.

Ryland took a quick look around the room, before his hands took hold of your own, bringing them down between you both. He gave you a grin, one filled with more happiness than you had ever seen–and you knew your own matched his perfectly–before he tugged you toward the doors of the gym.

“Come with me,”

“Ry, we’re supposed to be chaperoning!”

“I don’t see Principal Marshall anywhere. What’s the worst she could do, fire us?”

“Quite literally, yes!” you shot back with a laugh.

Ryland only shrugged his shoulders, tugging you again, and you didn’t even try to fight back. Your feet simply moved with him.

“Worth it,”

Hands clasped together, fingers intertwined, your laughter echoed off the walls of the empty hallways as Ryland Grace ran you down them, a destination clear in his mind. Every few seconds he’d look back, just smiling at you as his eyes trailed over every single inch of you, before you’d yell at him to look at his own feet before you’d both be sprawled across the linoleum floors.

The door to his classroom was open as you flew inside, hand slipping from his as you caught yourself on the projector cart sitting in the middle of the room. Spinning on your heel, you caught his eye just as he shut the classroom door behind him, and the silence enveloped you both once more. Finally alone, no prying eyes to watch.

The momentarily confidence that seemed to seize hold of Ryland dissipated in that moment. He wiped his hands against the front of his jeans, chuckling awkwardly as he took a few steps toward you.

“What was your plan here, Dr. Grace?” you teased, taking a couple steps toward him as well, too high on the feeling of everything you’d just finally realized. High on the feeling of finally not denying what your heart knew long ago: you and Ryland Grace were never just friends.

“I’m not going to lie,” he shot back, coming to a stop just in front of you, barely an inch or two separating you. “I hadn’t thought this far ahead.”

“Then stop thinking,”

No one had leaned in first. It had been both of you, as if drawn together like two magnets, as your lips finally found one another's.

Goosebumps rose across your skin as Ryland Grace’s mouth moved against yours with an ease that shouldn’t exist between two people that have never kissed before. It was like a perfect dance between two partners that knew each other better than anything.

Your lips never left his, moving against his as if you couldn’t believe you had deprived yourself of this for so long, as your hands wound around his shoulders. Fingers curled into his hair, finally carding themselves through the blonde strands that felt so soft between your fingers.

The slightest little moan, enough to send heat coursing through your body the second you heard it, slipping from Ryland’s mouth into your own. His hands grasped at your hips, winding around your back to press into your lower back and tug you as close as humanly possible, as if he was a starved man that craved to touch you in any way that he could.

His lips were soft, a feeling that you knew you were going to crave for the rest of your life now that you’d had a single taste of them. You pressed further into him, a small mewl tumbling from your own lips and swallowed by his mouth as you pressed every inch of yourself into him, desperate to hang onto the moment in case the world would be cruel and wake you from this dream moments later.

The need to breathe was what finally separated you, but not far. Ryland’s forehead pressed to yours, his breath fanning out across your skin. His hands still gripped at your hips, holding him to you, as yours stayed carded through his hair, nails gently scraping at his scalp as you chest heaved as it tried to level your breathing back to normal.

“If I haven’t made it clear already, you’re my best friend,” his words were breathy, accented by the way he was still trying to catch his breath. But his smile was bright, his eyes almost shining, as he looked down at you. “And I’m completely in love with you. Literally, since the moment we met.”

You laughed, trapped in this little bubble with him, as your hands slid from his hair to instead cup his cheeks. The tip of your nose just barely brushed against his, and he bumped his right back against yours without hesitation.

“I’m completely in love with you too, Ryland Grace. Since the moment you tripped over your own two feet,”

The sound of your laughter filled the empty, dark science classroom again as Ryland’s hands came to scoop you up around your thighs, spinning you in relentless circles. All you could do was hang onto his broad shoulders and smile, his lips peppering a thousand kisses to every inch of skin he could possibly reach.

The Earth needed the Sun, like how Ryland said he needed you. The person that makes it all worth it, that makes the days brighter, that makes this short little life worth it.

Or, in the case of the fourteen year old girl you have sitting in North-5, one lung breathing and one lung hypoventilating. You’re looking at her x-rays now, knowing you’re going to have to get her into surgery and bracing yourself to tell her parents. 

“They’re lungs.”

Robby is standing behind you, squinting down at you under the flickering hospital lights. He’s not wearing his glasses, so you almost want to hit him back with a quip about how does he know they’re lungs, old man. Your mouth is dry and you sit there for too long that it wouldn’t be witty if you did say it. 

“You okay, kid?” He presses when you don’t respond. 

You know you’re being strange, can’t help it when you feel like this (though exactly what this is, is up for debate. Amongst yourself), and you have to scramble to say something. “Yeah, hi. Sorry. Lungs.” Your voice sounds strange. Too soft. Inauthentic. 

“One’s got a pneumo?” He asks.

You nod, practically shoving the pictures into his hand. “Yeah, I’m getting her up to the OR now.” He examines the lungs for a moment, long enough that you think something must be wrong. Confidence in your diagnoses is something you struggle with - you assume (there’s still that voice in the back of your head that tells you confidence isn’t the problem, instead it’s the diagnoses that need working on). Every time Robby or Abbot or even Shen, who doesn’t really feel like your boss, checks over your work your pulse starts rushing like they’re going to decide you’re actually such a bad doctor that there’s no point in you even completing your residency so you might as well go home now. 

“Good, yeah, she needs it.” Robby nods affirmingly, passing you back the images. His eyes linger on you for a second longer than they should. You’re the one who has to break eye contact, not liking the way that his eyes seem to bare straight into you. 

You don’t like it when Robby looks at you, not like that anyway. Not in like, a HR violation way, just like he’s examining you in a way you aren’t ready to be seen in.

“We’re going to round for handoffs soon.” He speaks up again, softly. “You’re off the rest of the week aren’t you?” Robby’s voice goes high at the end of his sentence and he shoves his hands in his pockets. 

You really do like Robby, there’s a reason you turned down the night shift residency offer you got from Gloria. It had been a tempting offer too.

It’s a rare moment of quiet in the ER, and you’re hoping silently to yourself it stays that way. Not daring to actually utter the hope, not wanting to jinx it. You’re not necessarily superstitious, but you’re not going to utter the Q-word so close to the end of your shift.

“Yeah, three whole days off.” You try and say it casually, but the words don’t sound right coming out of your voice. You have a lot of different voices, a lot of pitches and tones. You genuinely have no clue which one is your natural state. 

Robby sounds even when he talks, a sound you could pick out with your eyes closed. “That’s good. You deserve it, you’ve been running on fumes.” There’s a tenderness that catches you off guard. Robby’s not a mean boss, he’s exceptionally kind. But he’s also not comforting if he doesn’t think you need it, not the type to throw out pleasantries for pleasantries sake. “Any good plans?”

It’s not something you’ve thought about, it feels kind of pathetic to admit. Like, having plans is actually something you haven’t considered. You work long hours, about sixty most weeks, so it makes sense that on your few precious days off you like to spend it resting and recuperating. Catching up on your laundry or your sleep, or even a TV show that everyone is talking about. Those things are just as important as going out and seeing friends. 

If they’re easier and more accessible, then that’s just an added bonus. 

“Uh,” you have never felt more unnatural than in this moment. You’re certain Robby can tell you’re not being entirely truthful, as if he has some sort of innate sense for when people are doing things for the first time. It’s the teacher in him. “Yeah, maybe. I’m not a hundred percent sure what I’m doing yet.”

You feel so transparent it’s as if he’s looking directly through you. Perhaps he is - already looking for ways out of the conversation, ways to speak to someone more interesting. Someone who isn’t pretending to maybe have plans. 

Someone who regularly had plans wouldn’t be embarrassed to admit they don’t have plans. It could be cool, casual: “No, not this weekend. I have a date with my couch and some take out.” Instead, you’d given what feels like the only wrong answer to a question about yourself. 

“I hope you have a good time,” Robby nods at you. 

The ER is cold, especially at night, especially in December. You’d discarded your jacket when you had entered, worried about being sweaty so early in your shift. Going to get it feels silly now, like you’d made the wrong choices. 

Most of your coworkers make something of their scrubs. Javadi has a collection of pastel hoodies she rotates between, jewellery more often than not sitting under the neckline of her top. Santos has tattoos and wears graphic tees under her scrubs rather than just the standard block colours. Mel doesn’t even usually wear scrubs, instead opting for one of her own shirts without the added layer. 

Your scrubs are standard, your undershirt is black, your winter coat is thrifted and warm but a neutral navy. You’d liked it when you bought it, but you feel silly whenever you wear it. 

You slip it on at the end of your shift, grabbing your backpack. You can hear Santos and Mateo chatting amicably about how a music artist they both listen to is coming to the city the week after next and how they both have tickets and are thinking of coordinating. 

You shut your locker, keenly aware of the other people in the room and even more astute to the fact that none of them are looking at you. 

You slip out the doors, not bothering to untangle your earbuds until you’re down the street. 

I’m not cold, I’m not cold. The woman singing has a lovely voice. It hits you like thorns down your ears, scratchy and uneven in a way that is only beautiful. The burn masks the sting of your eyes. Take my hand, take ahold. 

—

You take the train to and from work. The station is close enough to your house that the dishes in your kitchen cabinet rattle when a particularly zealous one goes past. You were told when you moved in that eventually you wouldn’t even notice the noise - it would become apart of you and you would absorb it and be able to go about your day.

You wake in the late hours of the night from the tremors, convinced you’re going to die. 

You’re not entirely sure what time the train stops running. You never check the time in the moment. 

The apartment you’ve lived in your entire residency has been good to you. You had applied for a lot of places, starting out in Allegheny west and eventually settling for Bethel Park. It’s nice and small, not too much to clean after a long week. You’re on the third floor so laundry is a bit of challenge lugging your basket to the basement but you also get a fire escape which is nice enough that you like being so high up. 

Days off have become a sort of anomaly in your life. You never quite know what to do with them. Your coworkers always have plans, both together and separately, you’ve noticed. Santos and Whitaker live together, the nurses all seem close, even Robby and Abbot talk about going to the Pirates games together.

You walked a lot when you first moved in. Pittsburgh has been your home for the last eight years - from student housing in Oakland during med school, then into your current place - but it hadn’t always been. 

There are lots of pretty places close to your apartment. Even more the further you walk, corner stores and community gardens. Sometimes you leave your phone at home and just wander, taking note of each and every street. Every facade, every storefront, every alley. It all stayed in your head. You could recreate the city in your sleep. Well, the city within an hour’s walk of your apartment.

The deli on Library road is open when you finish work. Sometimes you get off the Blue early and go sit in the stark white of the fluoros. The floor is linoleum, speckled with colours too small to identify but you know they’re there. 

You sit cross legged by the window at one of the two tables in the shop. It shakes under your elbow every time you shift, and the guy behind the counter, nametagged as Jeffrey, eyeballs you strangely every time it makes a noise. 

Your sandwich is misshapen in your hands. Red and white paper wrap up the second half, ready for you to stash it in the work fridge behind one of Langdon’s Redbulls. It’s printed real small on the bottom of the laminated menu they’ve taped to the table - $4.99 for a sandwich with a random assortment of ingredients on it. You’ve always been indecisive, this had felt like a nice way to make a choice without making a choice. 

They pick something different every time, condiments, vegetables, protein, even fruit sometimes. Once they’d given you one that included both mangoes and ranch. That hadn’t been your favourite. 

The one you have now is nice, though. Mozzarella, turkey, chips for some crunch, some other stuff you haven’t really cared to identify, all on pumpernickel. You’re not working tomorrow; you might eat both halves now. 

There’s an empty chair on the other side of your table that you’ve dumped your bag on. It’s meant for two people, and sometimes when it’s a bit busier than just you and Jeff you feel bad for taking it. You’ve got nowhere else to be though, and you’d like to sit and eat after twelve hours of not getting to do either. 

You don’t usually come on your off days, but you’d felt like you were going crazy holed up in your apartment all day. You’d done your laundry, washed all your matching scrubs and the few other clothes you wore. Tidied, caught up on your Instagram feed, and when you’d gotten to the bottom of the Hulu menu without anything jumping out at you you’d shoved on your shoes without another thought. 

It’s late, Friday night, and people are coming home from the clubs. You’re not particularly close to any, but the people who go there don’t seem to mind. Small gaggles stumble in every once in a while, giggle over the menu, and order an egg and cheese that they’ll probably barf up before they get home. 

God, you sound bitter. 

You gather your things when you finish the first half, can sense a group of drunk guys weighing up the effort of coming inside from where they hang out across the street. One of them is smoking a cigarette, and the other three seem to be caught up in a heated discussion.

It’s not snowing. You toss up taking the bus the rest of the way back. You’d walked here. 

You hear your last name, ‘doctor’ preceding it, and whirl around. On a very rare occasion you’ll get recognised on the street - people don’t tend to forget the person who saved their life, or their daughter’s or brother’s or cousin’s life. 

You’ve never seen Robby outside of work, not wearing the standard Pitt black scrubs. He looks nice in a collared plaid button down with a thick fleece over it and the top few buttons undone. You’ve never seen him wear jeans before. In your head Dr Robinavitch doesn’t exist in the same world where jeans also exist. 

You don’t know what to say to him. You end up saying nothing. Robby doesn’t even bat an eye at your silence - used to your oddness, the way it seeps into every interaction. 

“Thought that was you.” He’s smiling, wide and crooked like he does on the rare occasion he has a reason to. “What’re you doing out here so late by yourself? It’s almost midnight.”

“Dinner,” you say lamely, holding up your wrapped up sandwich. 

He looks at the checkered lump in your hand then back at your face. He looks different in the dark, the planes of his face look more severe in the light of the hospital. Maybe that’s why you like the harshness of the deli, so bright it brings you right back to work.

“You always eat so late?” He asks. You feel silly with your coat hitting your chin, your work shoes, and your sandwich in your hand. You look like a doctor - a med student. Robby looks like a man. 

The sensory feeling of the paper in your hand is suddenly too underwhelming and you can’t stop yourself from digging your nails in - needing a desperate anchor of your hand. You’ll regret that later when you go to eat it and it’s smushed, but later doesn’t matter more than the underwhelm in your palm. 

“I work in the ER,” you point out. His hands are in his jacket pockets but one of them is clutching an opaque white plastic bag with something heavy weighing it down. Robby laughs, crinkling the handle of the bag in his hand in his pocket. “What are you doing here? Didn’t you work today?”

He nods like he’d already forgotten about it. Like it did not matter to him in a moment he was not actively experiencing it. 

“Abbot’s sick- not bad, just all stuffed up.” He gestures vaguely with the hand not holding the bag at his nose/mouth area. “Only thing that ever makes him feel better is soup from PJ’s.” He nods down the street from the direction he’d just come where a neon sign is just being turned off.

“What a diva.”

Robby laughs again. “Yeah, he’d never admit it. Rather suffer in silence.”

It feels like the wrong thing to have said. You don’t know Dr Abbot well enough to make jabs at him, especially not to Robby. 

You want to be out of this situation, it all crushes you at once. You’re in the dark, fifty minutes from your apartment, talking to somebody whom you intrinsically do not understand. You are a hollow body, your skin is translucent and you can see every organelle and every shift of the movement of your organs. You can see all the hallways and gears and caves in your anatomy. Every link in every chain that tugs on each and every thought that spins through your head. How your life started from birth to now and a timeline for why every facet of your personality and your soul has ended up the way that it is.

Robby is solid, and in front of you, and you will never understand him.

You’ve broken your nose trying to walk through him - he will remember this about you for as long as the two of you know each other. That you put your words where they do not belong, and that you think Jack Abbot is a diva. 

Robby opens his mouth to say something.

“I should head home,” you jab your thumb somewhere behind you. You live in the direction Robby is standing. You’ll loop around the block to avoid passing him. “I’ll see you at work, Robby. Hope Abbot feels better.”

When you circle the street, Robby’s gone. The walk home is long, the walk up the stairs to the third floor is longer. You arrive home a little before one in the morning. You don’t bother with the lights, coming to sit on the floor in the kitchen. The clock blinks on the oven with each passing minute. 

It lights your skin up red, and if you look close, you can see the flow of your blood.

You unwrap your sandwich.

—

Shen’s on the next time you work. He greets you casually, a “good morning” around a drink from his water bottle and barely gives you a second glance. Your shift passes without incident - the other doctors treat you normally, when you speak they listen. Javadi initiates small talk with you and you do your best to return the sentiment. 

At one point Santos reads a 9 as a 6 aloud to you and gives you a look. “Whoops,” she snickers, looking at you like the two of you share some sort of secret.

You like Santos. The two of you are about the same age, you’re only a few years older than her, the same number of years further into your residency. The two of you talk sometimes between patients, but that’s bound to happen when the two of you spend so much time in an enclosed space.

She has a way of making everything feel like an inside joke. You know she struggled a little when she first started, hitting the wall with the other doctors when she first started her residency. You wouldn’t know that now, seeing the way she interacts with the rest of the people here. Her and Whitaker are so close they’re practically in a sitcom, Shen’s taken a special liking to her, and you’ve even seen her and Mel giggling by the lockers after shifts.

The two of you barely speak about anything that isn’t work. Which is fine, she’s your coworker, you guys don’t have to be speaking about your personal lives. But she has this soft little spark about her like she’s created a world to be in and it’s the most important place to be. 

“That thing you did with the guy in Central 13?” She sidles up to you towards the end of your shift, hanging behind the monitor you’re using to finish up the chart for that very patient. She lets out a heavy breath. “Wow.”

You’d inserted a double lumen tube during an intubation. Nothing super fancy, but you know that Santos probably hasn’t done a whole lot of intubations in general. Shen had raised his eyebrows at your suggestion but hadn’t stopped you, and when you’d finished he’d grabbed your shoulder and squeezed, muttering a “sick, good job,” and then heading out. 

You look up, genuinely startled. “Thanks.”

“I’d never even heard of the thing you did,” she doesn’t let up. “I wouldn’t have thought to do it. That was really cool.” Her voice drops and she looks down at your hands. You’ve gotten compliments before, but all from people above you in the food chain, Langdon, Abbot, people who are kind of obligated as your educators to give you praise. Santos is a PGY-1, so unless she’s sucking up you’re not sure why she’s being so nice. You’re not high enough up that sucking up would be worth anything.

You have fifteen minutes of your shift, no incoming ambulances, nothing urgent in chairs, all your patients are stable. 

You feel sick - not the type of sick that would get you sent home, or even to the staff lounge. It’s normal at this point. You genuinely don’t remember a time you haven’t felt like this. 

“You’re only an intern,” you say, trying to be empathetic without sounding condescending. “You’ll get there.”

She nods, low and slow. She’s already got her jacket on, thick and leather and dark brown. Santos watches you finish up your chart and you try to shake the feeling of being observed. 

“I’m, uh, I think I might head down to the Hills,” she leans her elbow on your table. “There’s this bar on Liberty street. They do live music sometimes, they have a killer plate of nachos, some cool cocktails.”

You log out of the system and stand from your chair. You’re about to round and want to head to your locker first. “That sounds great.”

Santos smiles at you, shoving her hands in her pockets. She bounces when she walks and she follows you on your way to your locker. “Yeah, I found it right when I started here. I’ve been trying to get Samira to go with me but I don’t think she likes me much.”

You open your locker. Coat on, backpack on, shut locker, look back at her. You really like Dr Mohan; she’s kinder than most of the other doctors, and the two of you started on the exact same day so you’ve always felt like a special kinship with her.

“She does,” you tell her honestly. You think she does. You don’t know Samira very well - if she disliked Trinity she probably wouldn’t be telling you about it. “She just prefers to keep to herself I think.”

Santos nods, rocking on her heels and biting her top lip. “Yeah, maybe. I don’t know, I think there’s only so many times you can ask someone to hang out and have them say no before you gotta accept they’re just not into it.”

She’s not wrong. It’s very much something you have to play by ear, you’ve learned. Some people are busy, some people don’t know how to say no without worrying about sounding impolite. 

People are gathering for rounds, you can see at the end of the hallway. It’s the only thing standing in front of you and a huge nap. Santos is digging in her locker for something.

“I hope you have a good time,” you tell her earnestly. “Nachos sound great, I might have to get some on my way home.” You feel nauseous. The idea of eating anything, let alone a bunch of cheese and meat, makes your stomach turn. You just want to be home. You miss your couch. 

Santos doesn’t say anything as you walk out towards rounds. When she reenters the room, she doesn’t join you, she comes to stand shoulder to shoulder with Mel. 

—

The little girl in Trauma-2 is going to die. 

Today was meant to be a day off. Robby’d called you a little after five, apologising for waking you and asking if you could come in to cover. You’d said yes, sitting out on your fire escape and painting your nails. They’re clear - it stops you from biting them. 

It had been a fairly quiet morning. Most people won’t spend their Saturday in the ER waiting room unless they really have to so you have slightly less of the patient type that maybe didn’t have to come into the ER at all. 

Then the ambulance had dropped her off a little over a half hour ago, and you’ve been fairly convinced that she’s not going to make it since you’d seen her. 

You were the primary doctor on the case only because you were the only one around at the time. Now, Robby and Collins are there, and they’ve taken over. Robby practically shoved you out of the room and told you to take a break.

You’re sweaty. You’ve ducked into the bathroom to swap your long sleeves for a t-shirt under your scrub top and taken a well earned cry into the mirror. 

Robby’s standing outside Trauma-2 like he’s on guard. The girl’s parents are out in chairs, and you really don’t want to have to be the person to tell them. You know Robby will do it if you ask, but you don’t want to have to ask. Don’t want to have not yet asked, don’t want to ask, don’t want to have asked. 

The time will pass anyway. You just wish you didn’t have to get pushed along with it.

“Ah-ah,” Robby snaps as sharp as he can without any real bite. You’re hovering in the doorway to the room, watching as Collins works on her. “You’re not going back in there.”

You failed to save her. You are the reason that two parents have lost their only daughter. He’s not mad - can’t be mad that you did your best to save someone who couldn’t be saved. But sending you in there when you’d already done no good would be a waste of time. A change in tactic, a change in doctor, is probably necessary.

“Well where can I go?” you snap back, much harsher than he’d been. You want him to tell you, don’t want the mistake to be yours. Working in the ER and being mostly self guided you feel a lot of aimlessness. The pulling behind your navel that dulls to a low throb most of the time, signalling when you’re making a bad choice. Making Robby tell you what to do means that feeling goes away, just for a little.

Robby gets this look about him sometimes, when he’s tired and trying to brush someone off without them asking him what’s wrong. “You can get some air.” He raises his eyebrows, tone light and sarcastic. He lifts an arm to point out through the dark tunnel of night streaming through the open ambulance bay.

Your feet move on autopilot, taking you out into the cold. Your arms hurt from the change of temperature, but you made the choice to take your long-sleeves off, so you don’t complain about it even internally.

Robby follows behind you just close enough for you to hear him. “Are you okay?” He puts the emphasis in strange places in his sentences sometimes. In the middle instead of one of the edges.

You nod. “Yeah, Robby, I’m fine.”

It’s quiet in the way outside only is right when you step out into it. The noise from the ER bleeds into your veins and when the ambulance bay doors shut behind you it takes getting used to the difference. It almost feels like submerging yourself, for a brief second the world shifts, and then it goes back on kilter.

Robby looks at you for a long time. You still do not understand him, he’s impossible to get a read on. He could be waiting for you to say something.

“I’m parking you,” he says finally. 

Your mouth drops open. “P-parking me?”

“Doctor’s orders.” Robby nods with finality. “Stay here. I’ll come and get you.”

You want to shout something back at Robby as he goes inside - angry with him and grateful for him both at once. How dare he not think you’re up to doing your job? You’re not, but you don’t want him thinking that. 

You watch an ambulance pull up, both the paramedics ignoring you as they haul a gurney in through the doors. They know enough about the job that it’s clear you’re not waiting for them.

It was her birthday in three days. You’d seen it on her chart right when she first came in, the little girl who would be taking her final breaths inside the room you’d have to continue working in. Her life would end in that room. How many had? How many had died where you were standing?

Surely, with how long humans had been inhabiting the earth, someone had died on this spot. People had stood here and spoken. Perhaps a bed had been placed here, centuries before the hospital was even conceived of. A couple had laid in the grass, hand in hand, watching as the untouched space stretched on.

In a hundred years, would someone stand on this exact spot again and cry as you were trying not to?

She was seven years, eleven months and twenty-seven days old. You don’t even remember what you were doing that long ago. The thought dredges you up, lifts you like the moment right before the fall, when you’re anticipating. Awaiting another birthday.

The human body comes in a lot of pairs, a lot of symmetry, a lot of even numbers. And then suddenly it can be zero. Reduced to nothing but the meaning someone else gives it. A period, a full stop.

You take a shuddering breath in. It’s a morbid way to think of your own life, but you wonder sometimes what will continue to happen when you finally take your last breath. The last breath is usually out. An even way to close. Nothing remaining, no leftovers.

Robby’s hand finds your shoulder. “Hey, kid.”

You don’t know how long you’ve been out here. 

“I’m ready to go back in,” you say, because you feel like you’re meant to be. You’re not sure if you’ve ever been ready to go in.

Robby just shakes his head gravely. “It’s 7:03, you are officially relieved from duty.”

Relieved. It’s such a strange word. You feel like you’re bordering on pretentious. You wonder who the first person to ever say the phrase was, and how it got picked up enough that it’s commonplace now. If they had to explain themselves, or if the other person knew what they meant by it. 

Relieved implies a weight lifted from you. A lightness. Perhaps you left it in Trauma-2.

Robby follows you as you grab your stuff from your locker. You’re acting on autopilot. Tonight you will not get food on the way home. You will take the train, you will walk home, you will shower and change and climb into bed and you will wake up the next morning with your alarm. You do not have the capacity to make any more choices for yourself.

When you step back out through the ER doors, you can see Princess, Jesse, Whitaker and Santos sitting on the benches. You’ve never been to their after work wind-downs, but you’ve heard enough people usually go that it’s fair to assume there will be one after whatever shift you’re finishing. 

Robby is still behind you. “Hey,” he says. His backpack is slung over one shoulder. He’s wearing a thicker jacket than you’ve ever seen on him. It suits him. “Come on.”

You follow him. “Where are we going?”

“Dinner,” he says simply. “You haven’t eaten this afternoon, and I know how tempting it is to just want to go to sleep. You need food.” He walks like he expects you to follow behind him; you do without complaint. The sureness required to make an assumption about a coworkers needs and to be correct, you don’t think you could ever muster it. 

You walk for almost fifteen minutes, which is less than you usually walk, but by the end your cheeks are red and you’re trying to quiet your breathing. Robby walks faster than you, with a difference bounce, smoother and softer. You’re slower but it’s stilted. Unbalanced - sometimes your left knee behaves funny. He walks like where he’s going is the most important place to be, and you’d believe it. 

He stops in front of a place you’ve never seen before. A diner, real and busy, not an out of the way spot only he knows about from his wanderings. A staple; there are families here. 

“Hey,” you say as you reach the door. Interrupting the flow, trying to pause. A period, a moment, or whatever you’d been thinking less than half an hour earlier. Your feelings never make sense when you’re not actively experiencing them. It’s why you could never get into journaling. “You know you don’t have to-”

Robby doesn’t even let you get the words out. “I want to.”

Want is harder to argue with than obligation. It shuts you up in a way you’re not fond of. 

The lights are golden, warm in a way your eyes have to adjust to after the bright whites of the hospital, and there’s a handwritten sign taped to the inside of the window advertising that you can get four pierogies for a dollar. 

Robby leads you inside without another word. It smells like coffee and oil, and it’s louder than you’d expected. You’re not a huge fan of noise, but working in a hospital you’ve gotten used to it. You realise with a start that it has been so long since you’ve heard volume that stemmed from love. Parents chastising their kids for giggling too loud. a group of high schoolers that look like they’ve just come off stage from a school play - taking up two booths and beaming like they’ve just headlined the Tony’s, couples on dates.

“You come here a lot?” You ask as Robby sits down at a booth in the corner. 

He nods. “The food’s good, and they don’t look at you weird if you order something and can’t eat it.”

The vinyl squeaks with every shift of your legs, but it’s loud enough in here that it doesn’t make you feel self-conscious. Noise born from love, it wraps you in it. 

“Get whatever you want,” Robby says like it’s a no-brainer. You know instinctively that he’s not offering to pay for your dinner - though he probably would if he thought you’d want that. You don’t. Him paying obligates you to order, eat and enjoy something. He’s telling you to ignore the conscious thought, all the brain stems, all the lines shooting off in a mind map - focus on the core idea. The want. It gets clouded by the mind sometimes. 

“Soup is not a food,” he says helpfully. “Not right now at least.”

“I know that,” you say, defensively. You don’t want soup, and you know he’s suggesting you eat something solid, but it slips out before you can question why. The soup they have on the menu seems semi-clear, more like broth. Incorporeal, translucent. The essence of a food. Robby’s steering you away from it like he knows how you feel about things that are concrete. Your ego hasn’t quite recovered from trying to barrel through him with your assumptions the last time the two of you were alone together. 

“I’m sorry,” you say it because you are, not because you think you should be. The two feel indistinguishable sometimes. You should be sorry, so you are. You’re not sure where the line comes but it’s somewhere between you and Robby. “I’m not good at this.”

“Eating?” Robby asks. 

“Being a person after work.” Or before work, or during work. But admitting that means drawing attention to it, and you’d rather him think you’re oblivious. “I’m… sensitive.”

Robby doesn’t say any of the usual things; you’re not sensitive, it’s fine, don’t worry about it. You really like him for it. 

He leans forward, elbows on the table. He’s not looking at you like he’s your attending. He looks completely different in warm lighting; different in the way the noise is coated with affection. It suits him. “I like that about you. It’s not a character flaw, you know that right?”

You snort before you can stop yourself. “Yeah, okay, put it on my performance review.”

“I will,” he says dryly. When Robby laughs the sound feels like it’s had holes poked in it, gravelly and messy, the punctures letting something soulful out with the sound. “Second guesses her authority figures.”

You huff. “Wow.”

“I’m dedicated to accuracy,” he says seriously. 

The waitress understands you both immediately; the scrubs, how you’re kind of leaning on the table. Robby slaps down a ten and orders twenty pierogies and a cup of coffee. You flounder under her gaze, having not even looked at the menu, and Robby smiles at you in a way that feels conspiratorial and not polite.

“Can I get like, half of what he got?” You ask. “Is that a thing?”

She nods kindly and takes the menus from your table, ducking back into the kitchen.

With everything between you out of the way, Robby leans forward more. “One time, after a rough shift, I took apart my kitchen cabinets just so I could feel myself putting them back together. To prove I could.”

You mirror his posture. “This feels infinitely healthier.”

“Low bar, but I’ll take it.” You clasp your hands together to keep from picking at your nails. 

Robby gets you talking without you realising. First about work, then about not work. You’d read something, probably way back in college, about how some sculptors, instead of taking a block and adding their intricacies to it to make their art, they’d instead sculpt away from the finished product until all they had was art left. That’s how talking to Robby feels as you get your dinner. You talk about everything until all that is left is the little girl in Trauma-2.

“You did everything right,” he says, right when you need it. “No one could have saved her.”

“Doesn’t matter,” you shake your head. “I still didn’t.”

Robby looks at you very seriously. When he speaks, it is firm. Solid. “It mattered. It mattered that when she closed her eyes she wasn’t alone in that room. It mattered that her parents knew someone was fighting for her, that someone cared about someone that was theirs. The outcome isn’t the only metric that counts.”

You feel heat behind your eyes. “You really believe that?”

Robby nods, serious and stern, leaning forward to take your hand. “I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t believe it.”

The food arrives, sitting between you two like something to share instead of something to separate you both. 

Loneliness eats at you on your worst days. You thought you knew how it felt to be real and truly lonely, and then you moved to Pittsburgh. You’re not homesick, per se, more sick for a life you feel belongs to you. You miss being tied to places, no one here holds memories with you in them.

At home, you can walk down Main street and practically provide director’s commentary: There’s the cafe I lost my scarf in when I was a kid, there’s the movie theatre I saw that in, there’s the restaurant that didn’t hire me in high school. You miss being somewhere where you are as much a part of the place as the culture is a part of you. 

In Pittsburgh, you cease to exist the moment you leave a place. 

“I’m really glad that I got to steal you from Abbot,” Robby says through a mouthful of decaf. “I know you got offered a night shift spot, and I have to admit I was a little worried for a bit. I thought you would take it up.”

That had been a long time ago, back when you were just starting your second year of residency. It was a really tempting offer. You’d declined it because, at the end of the day, you really love the people you work with, even if they exist in the bubble of the ER. 

“I thought about it,” you admit, ripping apart a pierogi in your hand. “But, to be honest, I’ve been feeling kind of… isolated?” You muse over your word choice. “Sometimes I feel so small in this city, and I figured being asleep when most of the people who live here are awake would just take me out of it that much more.”

Robby chews slowly, using it to formulate a thought. “You leave a very strong first impression.”

You blink. If you were eating you probably would have choked. “Excuse me?”

“Abbot’s always talking about you whenever you work a night,” he says, like it’s something worth holding on to, not to keep but rather to let you follow him as he keeps going. He looks so tired, always older after a shift than before one. It looks good on him, he wears age handsomely, and you wonder - not for the first time - how he fares. It feels inappropriate to think of your boss that way, especially just because he’s being so nice to you. “You were the first one that really got through to Santos, you two are clearly close” Are you? That makes you sad, that you’ve missed a closeness that you haven’t understood. It feels like something you will never get back. You have missed it. You will miss it. 

She hit a bit of a wall when she started, you’d been able to see that. You wonder, for the first time, how many times she had broken her nose trying to walk through you. 

“And I…” he flushes, scratching the hair at the back of his neck. “I worry about you.” It lands, heavy and warm. 

He worries about you. That should make you feel worried - what have you been doing to worry him? Instead, it strikes you right in the heart. Worry, as gnawing of an emotion as it is, requires space to hold it in.

Space you take up in his chest when you are not in the room. 

“You don’t have to,” you say. “I’m a hard person to be around a lot of the time.”

Robby, to his credit, does not correct you. This whole conversation he has spent not saying the things you are ‘meant’ to say to someone confiding in you, and each time he has said exactly what has sparked something in your chest cavity. 

“You’re worth the effort, though.”

You laugh, startled and a little breathless. “You make it sound like I’m like, a piece of IKEA furniture or something.”

“A kitchen cabinet,” Robby jokes. 

Robby relaxes against the vinyl, and pushes one of the containers of pierogies towards you. It sits heavy inside you as you eat, and you feel like maybe it’s filling something inside you that you didn’t realise you didn’t have. Closer to whole than you have felt in a while - almost like you’ve forgotten. Further away from zero. 

He talks more than you do, and you believe it’s a kindness. He tells you a story of a med student he had years ago who insisted on calling him Dr Robinavitch - you never realised you didn’t know Robby’s first name until that very moment, and you can tell he also realised that. “One time he had a patient throw up on him and he threw up in response.”

You’re deadpan. “Probably picked the wrong career path, I won’t lie.”

He laughs over his coffee. There’s a pile of napkins between the two of you, helping with the oil of your hands as you eat with them, not even noticing it through the conversation. 

“I mean, I’ve been there,” you say, wiping your hands for the fifteenth time. 

You’ve been there for almost an hour, unworried. The sign above the counter says they’re open past midnight, so you don’t have to worry about them closing while you’re sitting here. Robby’s been looking at you with soft eyes and pink cheeks for the better part of thirty minutes. 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he says. “Worst thing about you is your terrible self-esteem, you’re great, shut up.”

You laugh. “Bedside manner is dead,” you say, pushing your plate away from yourself, full and happy. “And we killed him.”

“Why is bedside manner a man?” Robby asks. “That feels unlikely.”

You leave a little after nine. Robby walks to the train with you and then gets on without saying anything. You have no idea where Robby lives, but you know he walks to work. The two of you share a bench, thigh to thigh. Neither one of you mention where you are at any point, how close your respective places are, where you both need to go. 

You probably do the less walking than any night in recent memory. The city has shaped itself around your solitude, your routines, almost crushing in the way it attempts to fold itself around you. 

When you stand on the T, he stands with you. He’s so close, he smells like something warm and heavy, and he seems to be drinking you in. He laughs at almost everything you say, even when you don’t mean for it to be funny. 

The conversation stays steady, it doesn’t lull like you’re always terrified of. They’re not your strong suit, speaking with people. It comes with a feeling of sparity, it’s easy to feel like you are the remaining essence. The human body is naturally paired, but your human experience is roughly singular. 

Robby walks with you like he wants to share the same space. 

You think a lot about numbers. Odd being defined almost lazily, as though no one could bother to think of a better descriptor, not being divisible by two. You wonder, in your quietest nights, if you were to be split open, would you be divisible by two? You feel often like a remainder, not to be dramatic. But everyone else seems to gravitate naturally to other people, snapping together like magnets. 

It’s something you’d always struggled with. You’re not sure what people clock about you that solidifies it. You don’t just feel uneven, you feel odd. It’s something that festered behind your ribs when you were a child and as you grew, so too did it. The version of the word lodged in your bones. Like there is a correct way to be a person, everyone else learned it - learned it enough to know which rules to follow and which to break. It takes a deep and intimate knowledge of how something works in order to go against the norms and have it still work, and it feels like everyone you’ve ever met is able to do that. 

And people notice. They’re not cruel, that’s almost worse. They’re not trying to judge, but pattern recognition dictates that it is human nature to notice when something is off. 

Robby’s arm brushes yours and he makes no effort to move away. Two feet on the pavement, two people walking together. Your footsteps are half a beat after his. 

You wonder how long until he sees the error. A small part of you hopes he has already - that this is him noticing. 

Robby says something—you don’t catch all of it—and you answer a second too late, your words stepping on the edge of his sentence. He doesn’t seem to mind. He never seems to mind. That almost makes it worse, how easily he accommodates you, like you are something fragile or precious instead of incorrect.

“This is me,” you say as you reach your apartment building. You have no idea how Robby is getting home. 

He sighs morosely. “Are you sure?”

You look up at your window, pretending to think. “Pretty sure.” He squeezes the top of your arm and in moving his hand down, almost touches your fingers. “I don’t think I’ve ever had someone walk me home before. It’s not something I usually do.”

“It doesn’t have to be a thing, if you don’t want?” His tone lightens at the end, and you’re high enough on the night air that you are determined to interpret it in good faith. Him prioritising your comfort. You become acutely aware of the space between you — not empty, exactly, but loaded. Charged. Like something left on overnight.

You shake your head. “No, I liked it. I just…” you’re going to end the night being vulnerable. Robby has done nothing to indicate he does not like you. You will not be the kind of pathetic person who argues with someone when they show they like them. “Is it selfish to say I want to matter to someone?”

Robby steps impossibly closer to you. “Not selfish at all. In fact, bare minimum.” His gaze drops to where his breath is fogging the air between the two of you. It’s freezing. You don’t feel so silly in your thrifted winter coat. “I would go as far to say you already do.”

Robby looks different under the glow of your street light - different than at work, different than at the diner. You think you might start to understand him. He is still direct in front of you, solid and unmoving. But he shifts in the light: kitchen cabinets with their doors taken off. 

There are so many things you could say to him. Thank you. I’m sorry. Please don’t forget me when the sun comes up and it’s loud again and I am still quiet. 

You think of all the times you have spent standing in this very spot, feeling temporary in your own life. 

Robby falters. You realise with a start it’s not the first time you’ve seen him do that. If anyone had asked three hours ago you probably would have answered as honestly as possible that you’d never seen it. How many times had it happened and you hadn’t seen it?

“Can I-” he stumbles over his words. Reconsiders. “Do you want me to kiss you?”

You feel rooted to place. The honesty of his voice hurts. “Are you asking permission or if I have the audacity?”

He laughs and you feel it against your face. “The first one.”

Robby smiles, warm and unmistakably fond. When he kisses you it’s soft and coursing with something you can’t name. He tastes like decaf coffee that you didn’t realise was shitty now you’re still tasting it almost two hours later. You can feel his beard against your face and the scratch is electrifying. You’re just two people. His hands settle into your waist, palms against your scrub top under your coat. It’s just the two of you and the quiet hum of the city you live in. 

“You should get some sleep,” he mumbles against your mouth. He lets you kiss him for another few minutes, seeming like he’s indulging himself more than letting you have what you want. It’s dizzying, the idea of being wanted, and by someone like Robby. 

The kind of guy you think might’ve liked you even if you didn’t like him back. 

You’re working tomorrow. You’re pretty sure he is too. You hope, as well, that Santos is and that she’s in a good mood. The seed of an idea plants itself within you hopefully, and you decide tomorrow will be the shift you ask if she maybe wants to get drinks after work. The thought of her saying no terrifies you, but the thought of her saying yes terrifies you a little less than you’d first thought. 

“I’ll see you soon,” he pulls back, flushed and seemingly just as enthralled as you. Soon. Continuously. “Text me when you get up there, need to make sure you’re awake enough to lock your door.” He doesn’t walk away until you’re up and locked away in your apartment. 

The oven clock blinks at you as you turn the overhead lamp on. You shoot him a door’s locked text that he heart-reacts to.