Bunny Hours

The JYP CEO, along with two marketing directors, your solo team representative, and Stray Kids' manager, silently flipped through documents.

"Let's get straight to the point," the CEO began, his voice firm and leaving no room for emotion. "(Your Name)'s situation is critical. The leaked audio, the private messages... her image has plummeted. Sponsors are reconsidering contracts, social media is divided, and the hate is affecting the sales of the latest single. We need a strong, immediate, and effective action."

One of the marketing directors cleared his throat and projected a graph on the screen filled with red numbers.

"The numbers don't lie. Minus 47% positive mentions in the last three weeks. The dominant narrative is that (Your Name) is arrogant, mistreats staff, and is ungrateful for her success. The public apology helped a little, but not enough. The public wants to see real change."

You swallowed hard, feeling everyone's eyes on you. Your hands trembled slightly. You wanted to speak, to explain that you were exhausted that day, that the stylist had delayed everything, and that your tone was the result of months of accumulated pressure. But you knew any defense now would sound like an excuse. So you stayed quiet, biting the inside of your cheek.

The CEO continued:

"The solution we've found is a contractual relationship. Six months. Long enough to create a new narrative: an idol who made a mistake but is maturing, in a healthy relationship, and showing another side. And the ideal partner for this is Hyunjin."

Hyunjin, who had kept his gaze down until then, suddenly lifted his head. For the first time since entering the room, he showed a clear reaction.

"Me?" he asked, voice low but full of disbelief.

"Yes," the director confirmed. "You two are close in age, and your artistic concepts complement each other. The ship already exists lightly among some fans because of the dance comparisons. Also, Hyunjin's spotless image will help soften the perception of (Your Name). It's a win-win strategy."

Hyunjin let out a dry, humorless laugh.

"Win-win?" he repeated. "Did you all watch the same audio as the rest of the country? The way she spoke to the stylist... that wasn't just a simple outburst. It sounded like pure arrogance. And the messages? Complaining about being tired of everything, as if the rest of us don't work just as hard. Now you want me to pretend to be her boyfriend?"

His words landed like stones in the silent room. You felt your chest tighten. You lowered your gaze to your hands, blinking quickly to hold back the burning in your eyes. You knew he thought that. Most people did. But hearing it directly hurt differently.

"Hyunjin," his manager interrupted cautiously, "we understand your hesitation. But this benefits Stray Kids too. The group is in an international expansion phase. An indirectly associated scandal could harm schedules. Six months. After that, you end it amicably and each goes your own way."

You finally found the courage to speak, your voice lower than you wanted:

"I... I don't want to force anyone. If Hyunjin isn't comfortable, we can think of another solution."

All eyes turned to you. Hyunjin looked at you for the first time. His gaze was cold, analyzing. As if trying to figure out if you were sincere or just acting for the room.

One director shook his head.

"There is no other viable short-term solution. You two will sign the contract today. Clear rules: shared housing in an apartment prepared by the company, controlled public appearances, posts on social media, joint lives, dates that will be 'leaked' strategically. No unnecessary physical contact when there are no cameras, but enough closeness to make it look real. At the end of six months, an amicable breakup with a joint statement."

Hyunjin ran a hand through his hair, visibly irritated. He leaned forward, elbows on the table.

"And if I refuse?"

The CEO smiled, but it wasn't kind.

"It's not a recommended option, Hyunjin. We all have common goals here. Protecting careers."

The silence that followed was suffocating. You felt the weight of every gaze. The shame burned in your chest. You remembered the leaked audio, the messages taken out of context, the lives you watched while crying as people called you every name possible. And now this. Being forced to fake a relationship with someone who clearly despised you.

Hyunjin glanced at you from the corner of his eye. He saw your tense shoulders, the way you bit your lower lip. For a second, he almost felt pity. Almost. But the sound of your voice in the audio - cold and demanding - came back to his mind.

The meeting continued with the details, but your mind drifted to that fateful day.

---

Flashback

The practice room was chaotic. Sweat dripped down your back as you tried to run the choreography for the hundredth time. The important festival performance was only days away, and everything was going wrong. The stylist had brought the wrong outfits - again. The wrong colors, wrong sizes, completely off concept. The schedule was delayed by nearly two hours.

Your patience, already worn thin from weeks of back-to-back schedules and almost no sleep, finally snapped.

You turned to her, voice sharp and exhausted.

"Oh my god, girl, don't you know how to do your fucking job? We're already behind!"

The stylist looked at you with wide eyes. You continued, unable to stop:

"I try so hard not to be rude to you, but every single day it feels like you work with zero effort! Stop looking at me with that face and just do your job properly. I'm the one who's going to get all the hate if this goes wrong on stage, not you!"

It wasn't screaming. It wasn't a full meltdown. But the cold, tired, cutting tone was enough. The entire team went silent. The stylist's face flushed with embarrassment and anger.

---

Back in the present, you snapped out of the memory when papers were placed in front of you.

The documents were thick - full of clauses, million-dollar fines for breaking the contract, detailed rules about what you could and couldn't do. You both signed in heavy silence. As the pen moved across the paper, you felt like you were signing away a part of yourself.

After the meeting, the managers explained the next steps: moving into the apartment that same week, first "official date" on the weekend, initial subtle posts. As everyone started leaving the room, Hyunjin stood up quickly but stopped beside your chair for a second.

"Just to be clear," he murmured low enough for only you to hear, "I saw the audio. I saw the messages. I don't think you're a good person. We'll do the job, but don't expect me to like you."

You lifted your gaze, meeting his. There was hurt there, yes. But also wounded pride and exhaustion.

"I didn't ask you to like me," you replied, voice shaky but firm. "Let's just... survive these six months."

Hyunjin held your gaze for one more moment, then left the room without another word.

You remained seated for a few more seconds, alone in the now-empty room. Your chest ached. Your hands were still trembling. Six months pretending to love someone who saw you as an arrogant diva. Six months living with him. Six months smiling for cameras while everything inside you was falling apart.

You took a deep breath, wiped away a single escaped tear, and stood up.

The contract had begun.

And nothing would ever be the same again.

────୨ৎ────

The apartment was beautiful. Too beautiful. Located in a high-security building in Gangnam, it had floor-to-ceiling windows, modern minimalist furniture, a huge living room, and a kitchen that looked like it had never been used. Two bedrooms, two bathrooms, and a small terrace with a view of the city lights. The company had prepared everything - even stocked the fridge with healthy meals and placed fresh flowers on the dining table like this was some romantic movie.

But the atmosphere inside felt like a frozen battlefield.

You arrived first with your two suitcases and a manager. The staff helped bring your things inside, then quickly left, saying "Good luck" with an awkward smile. You stood in the middle of the living room, arms wrapped around yourself, feeling completely out of place.

Ten minutes later, the door opened again.

Hyunjin walked in dragging a large suitcase behind him, a black hoodie pulled over his head, earphones in. He didn't even glance at you. He simply scanned the apartment with a neutral expression, then headed straight toward the hallway.

You stayed quiet, not wanting to make things worse. The silence was already loud enough.

After a few minutes, he came back to the living room. You were still standing in the same spot, unsure what to do. He stopped a few meters away, hands in his pockets.

"So... this is it," he said flatly.

"Yeah," you replied softly. "This is it."

Another heavy pause. Neither of you knew how to act. You were two strangers who had been forced into the same cage for the next six months. The air felt thick, uncomfortable.

Hyunjin sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

"Look... we should set some rules. So this doesn't become hell."

You nodded quickly, relieved he brought it up first.

"Okay. Rules sound good."

He leaned against the kitchen counter, arms crossed.

"First, bedrooms. You take the one on the left, I'll take the one on the right. We don't enter each other's rooms. Ever."

"Fine," you agreed immediately.

"Second, schedules. We both have crazy timetables. I'll send you my schedule every Sunday night so we can avoid... unnecessary overlapping in the common areas. If one of us is home, the other tries to stay in their room."

You bit your lip but nodded again.

"Third," he continued, voice cold but clear, "don't talk to me unless it's necessary. No small talk. No asking how my day was. We're not friends. This is work. Outside of cameras and public appearances, we're basically roommates who don't exist to each other."

The words stung, but you didn't show it. You expected this.

"Understood," you said quietly. "I won't bother you."

Hyunjin stared at you for a moment, as if trying to read whether you were being sarcastic. When he saw you were serious, he just gave a small nod.

"Good."

And with that, he grabbed his suitcase and disappeared into the right bedroom, closing the door behind him with a soft click.

You let out a long breath you didn't know you were holding and dragged your own bags to the left bedroom. The room was nice - soft lighting, big bed, private bathroom - but it felt cold. You sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the wall.

Six months.

This was going to be harder than you thought.

-----

The first night was painfully awkward.

You stayed in your room most of the time, only leaving once to get water from the kitchen. When you heard Hyunjin's door open, you quickly retreated back to yours like a scared mouse. He did the same. You could hear faint music coming from his room. You kept yours completely silent.

The next morning was even worse.

You woke up early and made yourself a simple breakfast - toast and coffee. While you were eating at the counter, Hyunjin walked out of his room, already dressed for practice. He stopped for half a second when he saw you, then walked straight to the fridge without a word. The silence was suffocating.

You finished eating quickly, washed your plate, and went back to your room. Before closing the door, you muttered a quiet "Have a good practice," but he didn't respond.

It felt like living with a ghost who hated you.

-----

Later that afternoon, while you were lying on your bed scrolling through your phone, your notifications started exploding.

You had followed Hyunjin on Instagram an hour earlier - as instructed by the company. It was supposed to be the first small "hint" for fans. What you didn't expect was for him to follow you back just ten minutes later.

The fandoms lost their minds instantly.

@stay4lifee:WAIT HYUNJIN FOLLOWED HER BACK??? He only follows the members!!!

@luminas_unite:Okay but why did she follow him first and he followed back so fast??? This is suspicious af

@skzupdat3s:New couple alert??? Or is this damage control after her scandal???

@hyyunjinnieverse:My boy would NEVER follow someone randomly... what is happening 😭

The comments were a mix of confusion, excitement, and suspicion. Some STAYs were happy, others were skeptical because of your recent controversy. Your own fans were split between protective and hopeful.

You stared at the screen, heart racing. This was really happening. The fake narrative had officially begun.

A message from your manager popped up:

Manager:Good job. The company is happy with the first move. Keep it natural.

You tossed your phone aside and buried your face in the pillow.

In the other room, Hyunjin was also on his phone, frowning at the rising comments. He had followed you back because the company told him to, but seeing the reaction made his stomach twist. He threw his phone on the bed and muttered to himself:

"This is going to be a long six months..."

---

That evening, the company sent new instructions: you two needed to post something subtle on your stories soon. Nothing too obvious yet - maybe a photo of coffee cups or the city view from the same apartment.

You were the first to do it. You took a picture of the sunset from the living room window (making sure Hyunjin wasn't in frame) and posted it with a simple heart emoji.

Hyunjin saw the notification. He rolled his eyes but knew he had to play along. Twenty minutes later, he posted a similar shot from the terrace - same sunset, same angle.

The internet exploded again.

"THEY'RE IN THE SAME PLACE"

"This can't be a coincidence"

"Hyunjin never posts sunset pics... this is shady"

You were sitting on the couch when his bedroom door opened. Hyunjin walked out, saw you there, and stopped. For a second, it looked like he wanted to say something. Instead, he just grabbed a water bottle from the fridge and headed back to his room.

Before he closed the door, he paused.

"You posted the sunset," he said without turning around.

"Yeah... they told me to."

He nodded once.

"Don't make it too obvious next time."

Then the door clicked shut again.

You hugged your knees to your chest, the heavy silence returning. Two strangers forced to share the same luxury prison. No talking unless necessary. No real contact.

And six months had only just begun.

Outside, the rumors were already spreading like wildfire.

And deep down, both of you knew this was only the beginning of something much more complicated.

────୨ৎ────

The message from the company came at 2 PM sharp.

"First public date scheduled for tonight. 8:00 PM at La Lumière. Private table near the window. Dress nicely but not too formal. Act natural. Photos will leak naturally - we have people on it. This is the first big step. Make it convincing."

You stared at the text for a long time, stomach twisting into knots. Just four days into this fake arrangement and they were already pushing you both into the spotlight. You knew it was coming, but the speed still made your head spin.

Hyunjin received the same instructions. When you passed each other in the hallway of the apartment earlier that afternoon, he didn't say a word about it. He simply glanced at you once, expression unreadable, and continued to his room. The silence between you two had become almost normal now - heavy, awkward, and filled with everything neither of you wanted to say.

You spent the rest of the afternoon getting ready in your room. You chose a soft beige dress that fell elegantly just above the knees, paired with light makeup and loose waves in your hair. You wanted to look put-together, but not like you were trying too hard. The last thing you needed was more comments calling you calculated or fake.

At 7:40 PM, the company van arrived. Hyunjin was already waiting inside, dressed in a black button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, silver earrings catching the light, and black trousers. He looked effortlessly handsome, as always. You slid into the seat across from him. He didn't greet you. He simply nodded once and looked out the window.

The ride to the restaurant was dead silent. The only sounds were the low hum of the engine and the occasional vibration of phones. You wanted to say something - anything - to ease the tension, but remembered his rule: Don't talk to me unless necessary.So you stayed quiet, staring at your hands.

When the van stopped in front of La Lumière, a famous fine-dining restaurant known for its romantic ambiance and discreet VIP area, your heart started racing. The hostess greeted you both with a polite smile and led you to a beautifully prepared table near the large window. Soft golden lighting, fresh white roses in a vase, and two glasses of wine already poured.

You sat down. Hyunjin pulled out your chair first - a gentlemanly move that felt completely mechanical. Once seated, the real discomfort began.

For nearly twenty minutes, the conversation was painfully stiff.

"How was your day?" you asked quietly, trying to fill the silence.

"Busy," he replied, eyes fixed on the menu. "Practice ran late."

You nodded. "Mine too. We had vocal lessons until six."

Silence again.

You tried once more. "This place is beautiful. The company really went all out."

Hyunjin hummed in response, not even looking up. "Yeah."

The awkwardness was suffocating. You could feel the weight of it pressing down on both of you. To any outsider, it would be obvious something was wrong. You two looked more like business partners forced to share a meal than a budding couple. Hyunjin's jaw was tight. You kept fidgeting with the edge of your napkin. The distance between you across the table felt like an ocean.

That's when you noticed it.

A man sitting two tables away kept glancing in your direction, phone held a little too casually. Outside the window, someone pretended to take photos of the street but clearly angled the camera toward you. The company had done their job - the eyes were already here.

Hyunjin noticed at the exact same moment. His eyes met yours, sharp and alert. A silent message passed between you: They're watching.

In an instant, the entire dynamic shifted.

Hyunjin's posture changed completely. The cold, distant man disappeared. He leaned forward, a soft, charming smile forming on his lips - the same one millions of fans adored. He reached across the table and gently took your hand, thumb stroking the back of it with surprising tenderness.

"You look really beautiful tonight," he said, voice warm and low, perfectly pitched for the setting. "That dress suits you."

Your cheeks flushed instantly. Even though you knew it was fake, the delivery was flawless. You smiled shyly, playing along.

"Thank you... You look handsome too. I like the shirt."

He chuckled softly, the sound rich and convincing. Then he stood up, walked around the table, and sat in the chair right beside you instead of across. The distance closed. His arm draped casually over the back of your chair, fingers lightly brushing your bare shoulder. The contact sent a small shiver down your spine.

"I've been thinking about you all day," he murmured, leaning closer. "With everything going on... I worry about you working too hard."

You turned your head slightly, meeting his eyes. They were incredibly close now. You could smell his cologne - woody and clean.

"I'm okay," you whispered back, voice softer. "Having you here makes it easier."

The words tasted strange, but you sold them well. Hyunjin's gaze dropped to your lips for a fraction of a second before he leaned in and pressed a gentle, lingering kiss to your cheek. His lips were warm. The touch lingered just long enough to look intimate, but not scandalous. You felt your heart skip.

He stayed close after that, whispering small compliments and laughing at things you said like they were the funniest jokes in the world. You shared a plate of pasta, feeding each other small bites for the cameras. His hand never left yours. Every movement was calculated but looked completely natural.

For the next hour, you two put on the performance of a lifetime.

By the time you left the restaurant, hand in hand, the plan had worked perfectly. Phones had been discreetly snapping photos the entire time. The "leak" was already spreading like wildfire across social media even before you reached the van.

---

Back at the apartment, the act dropped the second the door closed.

Hyunjin immediately released your hand like it burned him. He kicked off his shoes and headed straight for the kitchen without a word, grabbing a bottle of water. You stood in the entrance, still feeling the ghost of his kiss on your cheek and the warmth of his hand on your waist.

The silence returned, heavier than before.

You finally spoke, voice quiet.

"...Thank you for tonight. You were really convincing."

Hyunjin paused, back still turned to you. He took a long sip of water before answering.

"It's my job now, isn't it?" His tone was cold again, the warmth from the restaurant completely gone. "Don't get used to it."

You nodded, even though he couldn't see you. "I won't."

He started walking toward his bedroom, but stopped in the hallway for a second.

"The photos will be everywhere by morning," he said without turning around. "Get ready for it."

Then his door clicked shut.

You stood there alone for a long time, fingers lightly touching the spot on your cheek where his lips had been. Your heart was still racing. The worst part wasn't the fake smiles or the forced touches.

It was how dangerously real some of those moments had felt.

And how terrified you were that, over the next six months, the line between acting and reality might start to blur.

Outside, the internet was already exploding with the new photos. The narrative was shifting.

But inside the apartment, the cold silence remained.

----------

The storm hit the very next morning.

Your phone started vibrating nonstop at 6:47 AM. Notifications flooded in - Instagram, Twitter, TikTok, news alerts, group chats with your team. You groaned, burying your face deeper into the pillow for a few seconds before finally grabbing the device.

The photos were everywhere.

Blurred but intimate shots from the restaurant: Hyunjin kissing your cheek, his hand gently holding yours across the table, the two of you sitting side by side with soft smiles, sharing food, looking at each other like the rest of the world didn't exist. The headlines were dramatic but effective:

"HYUNJIN AND [YOUR NAME] SPOTTED ON INTIMATE DATE AMID RECENT SCANDAL"

"From Controversy to Romance? Stray Kids' Hyunjin Seen Getting Close with Solo Idol"

"New Power Couple? Fans React to Viral Photos"

You sat up in bed, scrolling through the comments with wide eyes. The reactions were mixed, but the shift was undeniable.

@st4y4ever:Wait... they look kinda cute together? Hyunjin looks happy

@luminas_shine:Finally some good news after all that hate. She deserves this

@kpoptea_daily:This is so obviously PR but I'm still eating it up

@hyunjinbiaseed:My boy would never date someone who mistreats staff... these photos feel staged

@yournameupdates: Her smile looks genuine. Maybe she's not as bad as the audio made her seem?

For the first time since the audio leak and the private messages went viral, the comments weren't purely hateful. Some were still suspicious, calling it a desperate marketing move by the company. Others were already shipping you two hard. The hate hadn't disappeared, but it was quieter. The narrative was slowly, carefully, beginning to change.

A message from your manager popped up:

Manager:Great job last night. The company is very satisfied with the early results. Trending topics are positive. Keep it up.

You locked your phone and sighed, running a hand through your messy hair. Part of you felt relieved. The other part felt sick. None of it was real.

You got out of bed and quietly made your way to the kitchen, hoping Hyunjin was still asleep. No such luck.

He was already there, leaning against the counter drinking coffee, phone in hand. He was dressed in a simple black t-shirt and sweatpants, hair still slightly damp from a shower. He looked up when you entered but didn't say anything.

You moved around him carefully, grabbing a glass for water.

"Did you see?" you asked softly.

"Yeah," he replied, voice flat. "It's working. For now."

You nodded, unsure what else to say. The silence stretched again, heavy and familiar. You wanted to talk about how strange it felt seeing those photos, how convincing he had been last night, how his kiss on your cheek kept replaying in your head. But you remembered his rules. Don't talk unless necessary.

So you stayed quiet.

Hyunjin finished his coffee and placed the mug in the sink.

"The company wants more appearances soon," he said without looking at you. "Lives. Maybe another date. Don't get too comfortable with any of this."

"I won't," you answered quickly.

He paused for a second, like he wanted to say more, but then simply walked back to his room and closed the door.

You stood alone in the kitchen, gripping the edge of the counter. The warmth from last night's fake affection was still lingering in your chest, and it scared you.

---

Throughout the day, the buzz only grew stronger.

Your Instagram followers increased by thousands. Fan edits of the two of you started appearing - slow-motion clips of the kiss on the cheek, side-by-side photos comparing your aesthetics. Some STAYs were still wary because of the scandal, but many were warming up. Your own fandom was split between protective anger at the company and hopeful excitement that you might be happy.

But inside the luxurious apartment, nothing had changed.

You spent most of the day in your room, working on new music and answering emails. Hyunjin stayed in his. You only saw him once in the afternoon when he came out to make a protein shake. He moved around the kitchen like you weren't even there.

At one point, you worked up the courage to speak.

"Hyunjin... do you want to rehearse what we might say if we have to do a live together soon?"

He looked at you with a cold expression.

"No need. I'll act when I have to. You do the same."

The words stung more than you expected. You nodded and retreated back to your room, closing the door softly.

Alone, you lay on your bed staring at the ceiling. Your mind kept drifting back to the restaurant. The way he had leaned in so naturally. The warmth of his hand. The soft press of his lips on your cheek. The low tone of his voice when he called you beautiful.

They were all fake. You knew that. But your stupid heart didn't seem to get the message.

Stop it,you told yourself. This is exactly what you can't do.

---

Later that evening, the company sent new instructions: they wanted you two to do a casual Instagram story interaction within the next few days. Something simple - maybe commenting on each other's posts or posting a photo with a vague caption.

You were the one who posted first. A simple photo of a book and a cup of tea with the caption "Quiet nights healing ♡". It was innocent enough.

Hyunjin liked it within minutes.

Then, surprisingly, he posted a story of his own - a photo of the city view from the terrace with the caption "Peaceful evenings." The angle was suspiciously similar to yours.

The fandoms noticed immediately.

"They're definitely in the same place again"

"This is too coordinated"

"Hyunjin never does soft captions like this..."

You smiled faintly at the reactions, but the smile faded when you heard Hyunjin's door open. He walked into the living room, saw you on the couch with your phone, and stopped.

"You posted," he said.

"Yeah. They told me to."

He nodded once. "Good."

For a moment, he looked like he might sit down or say something else. Instead, he grabbed a water bottle and headed back toward his room.

"Hyunjin?" you called out before you could stop yourself.

He paused.

"Do you... hate doing this that much?" you asked quietly.

He turned slightly, eyes cold but honest.

"I don't hate you," he said. "I just don't trust you. There's a difference."

Then he disappeared into his room again.

You pulled your knees up to your chest on the couch, heart aching with confusing emotions. The company was happy. The public was slowly shifting. But you?

You were the only one starting to get lost in a story that wasn't even real.

And the scariest part was that you had no idea how to stop it.

────୨ৎ────

The company was pleased with the results so far.

The leaked date photos had done their job - the public conversation was slowly shifting from your scandal to the possibility of a new romance. Sponsors were reconsidering. Your streams were up. And the fans, although still divided, were buzzing with curiosity instead of pure hate.

So they decided to push the narrative further, but in a way that felt more "natural."

Hyunjin was instructed to do one of his casual solo lives from the apartment. Nothing too staged. Just him, the fans, and a normal evening. The perfect opportunity to show a soft, boyfriend-like side without forcing anything obvious.

You were in your room when he set up.

Hyunjin placed his phone on a small tripod in the living room, adjusted the lighting, and sat on the large sofa. He was wearing a loose gray hoodie and black shorts, hair slightly messy in that effortlessly attractive way. He started the live at 9:15 PM.

"Hey everyone," he greeted with his usual charming smile, waving at the camera. "It's been a while since I did a random live like this. How are you guys tonight?"

The comments flooded in immediately. Hearts, greetings, and questions poured across the screen. Hyunjin read some aloud, laughing softly at the funny ones, answering others with care. He talked about recent practices, a new painting he was working on, and how tired but happy he felt.

Everything was going smoothly.

Until it wasn't.

You had gotten thirsty after hours locked in your room working on lyrics. You didn't think he was doing a live - you assumed he was just on his phone. So you walked out of your bedroom in an oversized t-shirt and shorts, hair up in a messy bun, heading toward the kitchen.

For a brief second, you appeared in the background of the frame - just a quick blur of movement. You opened the fridge, grabbed a bottle of water, and closed it again.

Then you spoke, voice soft and low, not realizing the live was on.

"Hyunjin, did you eat dinner already? There's still some chicken in the fridge if you want..."

The words were quiet, but the microphone caught them.

The comments exploded instantly.

"WAIT WHO WAS THAT?!"

"DID SOMEONE JUST WALK BY???"

"WAS THAT HER VOICE?!?!"

"HYUNJIN IS NOT ALONE IN THE APARTMENT OMG"

Hyunjin froze for a split second. His eyes widened slightly before he quickly regained control, but the brief slip was enough. He laughed awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Ah... ignore that," he said, trying to play it off. "Just the TV. You guys know I leave it on sometimes."

But it was too late. The fans had already seen. And worse - they had heard.

A few seconds later, when a comment asked "Who's there with you?", Hyunjin leaned forward slightly, still smiling, but his ears were turning red.

He answered without thinking, tone softer than usual:

"Don't worry about it, angel. Everything's fine."

The word slipped out so naturally - angel - in that gentle, low voice he rarely used with you in private. It wasn't loud enough for everyone to catch clearly, but sharp-eyed fans paused the live, zoomed in, and read his lips.

The chat went absolutely feral.

"HE SAID ANGEL I'M SCREAMING"

"SINCE WHEN DOES HYUNJIN CALL SOMEONE ANGEL???"

"THIS IS NOT PR ANYMORE, THIS IS REAL"

"He looked so soft oh my god"

Hyunjin realized his mistake almost immediately. He straightened up, cleared his throat, and tried to change the subject.

"Anyway, someone asked about the new comeback choreography..." he continued, forcing his usual bright tone. But the damage was done. His cheeks stayed slightly flushed for the rest of the live. He ended it ten minutes earlier than planned, saying he was tired.

The second the live ended, he dropped his head into his hands.

"Shit..."

---

You had gone back to your room right after grabbing water, completely unaware of what had just happened. You were sitting on your bed with headphones on when you heard a knock on your door.

Hyunjin stood there, looking frustrated.

"You walked by during the live," he said bluntly.

Your eyes widened. "What? I didn't know you were live! I'm sorry, I-"

"And you spoke," he added. "They heard your voice. And I..." He paused, jaw tight. "I slipped up."

You stared at him, heart beating faster.

"What did you say?"

He looked away, clearly annoyed with himself.

"Doesn't matter. It's already spreading."

The silence that followed was heavy. You wanted to apologize again, but something in his expression stopped you. He looked conflicted - angry at the situation, but maybe also at himself.

"I'll be more careful next time," you said quietly.

Hyunjin nodded once and turned to leave. Before he closed the door, he paused.

"...Don't overthink it. It was just acting."

But as he walked back to his room, you couldn't stop replaying his voice in your head. The soft tone. The word angel. The way his expression had changed for a split second.

You sat on your bed, hugging your knees.

For him, it was probably just a mistake. A slip caused by the pressure of the live.

For you... it was another crack in the wall you were desperately trying to keep up.

The company sent a message ten minutes later saying they were extremely happy with the "accidental" moment. The clips were going viral. The romance narrative was growing stronger by the hour.

You turned off your phone and lay down, staring at the ceiling.

This was all supposed to be fake.

────୨ৎ────

One month.

Thirty days since the contract began. Thirty days of shared silences, forced smiles, and carefully staged moments. What started as damage control had become one of the biggest topics in the K-pop industry.

The public no longer talked about the leaked audio or your “arrogant” messages. Instead, they talked about you and Hyunjin.

Photos of you two “accidentally” in the same café. Stories with suspiciously similar backgrounds. Lives where a second voice was faintly heard. Small puzzle pieces that fans collected obsessively. The company couldn’t have planned it better.

To keep the momentum going, they escalated.

Matching rings — discreet silver bands with a small engraved line on the inside — were delivered to the apartment. “Wear them naturally,” the message said. “Let the fans notice.” You slipped yours on every time you left the apartment. Hyunjin did the same, though he never commented on it.

The biggest step yet came on a quiet Thursday night.

A joint live.

For the first time, you would appear together officially on camera.

---

The setup was simple but intimate: the living room couch, soft lighting, a few snacks on the coffee table. You sat beside Hyunjin, closer than strangers but not quite as close as lovers. He wore a black hoodie. You chose a cream sweater. Both of you wore the matching rings.

Hyunjin started the live with his usual easy charm.

“Hey STAYs… and everyone else watching,” he said, waving at the camera. “We thought it was time to do a live together. A lot of things have been going around lately.”

You smiled shyly, waving as well. “Hi everyone. Thank you for joining us.”

The comments exploded immediately.

“THEY’RE TOGETHER!!”

“MATCHING RINGS I’M CRYING”

“FINALLY OMG”

At first, the atmosphere was careful. Almost scripted. You answered questions about favorite foods, how you first met properly, and what it was like working in the industry. Hyunjin was polite, charming, and distant in the way only he could be.

But as the live continued, something shifted.

A comment asked: “How do you take care of each other?”

Hyunjin glanced at you. For a second, his expression softened.

“She works really hard,” he said, voice gentler than usual. “Sometimes I have to remind her to eat.” He reached over and lightly adjusted a strand of hair that had fallen over your face — a small, natural gesture that made the chat lose its mind.

You felt your cheeks heat up. You laughed softly and replied, “He pretends he doesn’t care, but he always leaves water and snacks for me when I have late schedules.”

Your hand brushed against his on the couch. Neither of you pulled away.

The tension in the apartment — the cold distance you had both maintained for a month — seemed to melt under the lights of the camera. Small touches lingered. Eye contact lasted longer than necessary. When you laughed at something he said, Hyunjin watched you with an expression that didn’t feel completely fake.

One fan commented: “Hyunjin looks at her so softly…”

He read it aloud and, instead of denying it, just smiled and said, “She makes it easy.”

Your heart stumbled.

For you, the live was becoming dangerous.

Every soft look, every casual touch, every time his voice dropped when he spoke directly to you — it all felt too real. You kept remembering the restaurant date. The accidental “angel” during his solo live. The way he had started leaving small notes or snacks for you even when the cameras weren’t watching.

You were falling. Slowly. Quietly. And you hated yourself for it.

---

For Hyunjin, things were more complicated than he wanted to admit.

Over the past month, he had watched you more than he should. He saw how you thanked every staff member sincerely when no cameras were around. How you cried silently in your room after particularly harsh hate comments. How you pushed yourself harder than anyone else, even when exhausted.

He still didn’t fully trust you. The leaked audio still played in his head sometimes.

But the version of you he had built in his mind — the arrogant, cold diva — was cracking.

During the live, when a fan asked about your first impression of each other, Hyunjin hesitated for half a second too long.

“She surprised me,” he answered honestly. “In a good way.”

You looked at him, surprised. He met your eyes and, for a moment, the scripted answers disappeared. The look he gave you was real.

The live ended after ninety minutes with both of you waving goodbye, shoulders touching.

The second the camera turned off, Hyunjin leaned back on the couch and let out a long breath. You stayed seated, heart still racing.

“That went well,” you said quietly.

“Yeah.” He didn’t look at you.

The silence returned, but it felt different now. Heavier. Full of things unsaid.

Hyunjin stood up first.

“I’m going to my room,” he said. But before he left, he paused. “You did good tonight.”

It was the closest thing to a compliment he had ever given you.

You stayed on the couch long after he disappeared, staring at the black screen of the phone. The fans were already making clips — zooming in on every touch, every glance, every soft smile.

The world was believing the lie more and more.

And you?

You were starting to wish it wasn’t a lie at all.

────୨ৎ────

Two weeks after the joint live, the apartment no longer felt like a battlefield.

It still wasn’t warm. But the ice had started to crack.

Hyunjin’s changes were subtle — so subtle that at first you thought you were imagining them. He was still reserved, still kept his distance, but the sharp coldness from the beginning had softened into something quieter. Something more confusing.

It started with small things.

One night, you came back from a long rehearsal completely exhausted. You barely had the energy to take off your shoes before collapsing on the couch. Twenty minutes later, a plate of food appeared on the coffee table in front of you — warm rice, grilled chicken, and vegetables. No note. No explanation. When you looked toward his room, the door was already closed.

Another time, you were struggling to reach something on a high shelf in the kitchen. Hyunjin walked by, silently grabbed it for you, and handed it over without a word. His fingers brushed yours for a second longer than necessary.

He answered your questions more gently. When you asked about his schedule, instead of a short “Busy,” he would say, “It’s been heavy, but I’m managing. How about you?”

Nothing dramatic. Nothing that couldn’t be explained as “good acting for the cameras.”

But it was enough to keep you awake at night.

The company, thrilled with the growing buzz, decided to take the next big step.

A major awards show — one of the biggest of the season. You and Hyunjin were both attending, and this would be your first official public appearance as a couple. Red carpet, interviews, sitting together, photos. Everything under the spotlight.

The night of the event, the tension in the apartment was thick.

You wore a stunning black gown with delicate silver details that matched the ring on your finger. Hyunjin looked breathtaking in a tailored black suit, hair styled back, silver earrings shining. When you stepped out of your room, he paused for a moment, eyes scanning you from head to toe.

“You look… nice,” he said quietly.

Just “nice.” But the way he said it felt heavier.

The ride to the venue was quiet, but when you arrived and stepped onto the red carpet, the act began.

Hyunjin placed his hand on your lower back as you walked. The touch was firm, warm, and steady. Cameras flashed endlessly. Journalists shouted questions.

“Hyunjin! Are you two really dating?”

He smiled — that dazzling, charming smile — and pulled you closer to his side.

“We’re taking things one day at a time,” he answered smoothly. Then he looked at you, eyes softer than they should have been. “But I’m lucky to have her by my side.”

Your heart skipped.

During the interviews, he never let go of your hand. When a reporter asked about your recent scandal, Hyunjin stepped in naturally.

“She’s one of the hardest working people I know,” he said, voice sincere. “The way she pushes herself… it inspires me every day.”

The compliments didn’t sound like lines. They sounded real.

You squeezed his hand, playing your part, but inside you were spiraling. Every touch, every look, every soft word was making the line between fake and real blur dangerously.

---

Hyunjin’s POV

He didn’t know when it started.

Maybe it was during the late nights when he heard you crying quietly in your room after reading hate comments. Or when he saw you thanking the tired staff members with genuine warmth after long schedules. Or how you never complained, even when you were clearly exhausted.

The image he had built of you — arrogant, cold, someone who mistreated others — no longer fit perfectly.

He still didn’t trust you completely. The leaked audio still echoed in his mind sometimes. But now, when he looked at you, he saw someone carrying too much pressure, trying her best, and slowly breaking under it.

Tonight, on the red carpet, he told himself it was all acting. The hand on your back. The soft looks. The compliments. It was all for the cameras.

But when he said you inspired him, part of him meant it.

And that terrified him.

So he hid it. Behind the role. Behind the “contract.” Behind the excuse that this was all just work.

Back at the apartment after the awards, the masks came off.

You kicked off your heels with a sigh of relief. Hyunjin loosened his tie, watching you from across the room.

“You did well tonight,” he said.

There it was again — that softer tone.

You turned to him, unable to hold it in anymore.

“Hyunjin… why are you being like this?”

He frowned. “Like what?”

“Like…” You gestured vaguely. “This. The touches. The compliments. The way you look at me sometimes. Is it all still acting? Because it doesn’t feel like it anymore.”

He stayed quiet for a long moment, jaw tight.

“It has to be acting,” he finally answered, voice low. “That’s what we agreed on.”

You nodded, but your chest ached.

“Right. Of course.”

You turned to go to your room, but his voice stopped you.

“…You looked beautiful tonight.”

You froze in the hallway.

This time, he didn’t add “for the cameras.” He didn’t justify it. He just said it.

And when you looked back, Hyunjin was already walking to his own room, shoulders tense, like he had said too much.

You closed your door and leaned against it, heart racing.

The public believed the love story more than ever.

But inside these walls, the lines had stopped being clear a long time ago.

And for the first time, it wasn’t just you who was getting lost.

Hyunjin was starting to lose his way too.

────୨ৎ────

The message arrived at 7:12 AM like a bomb.

It was a private group chat used only by high-level staff. Someone — no one knew who yet — had leaked internal documents. Screenshots of the original contract. Emails discussing “narrative control.” Payment details. Timelines. Everything.

Within minutes, the documents were everywhere.

“CONTRACT LOVE EXPOSED: [Your Name] and Hyunjin’s Relationship is FAKE”

The internet exploded.

Clips from your dates, lives, and red carpet appearances were replayed with new eyes. Fans who had defended the relationship felt betrayed. Others who had been suspicious from the beginning celebrated. Hashtags like #FakeCouple and #ContractLove trended worldwide.

The company reacted fast. By 9 AM, an official statement was released:

“We deny the rumors. Hyunjin and [Your Name] are in a genuine relationship. The leaked documents are fabricated and taken out of context. Legal action will be taken against those responsible.”

But the damage was done. The doubt had already spread like wildfire.

---

Inside the apartment, the atmosphere was suffocating.

You and Hyunjin sat on opposite ends of the couch, phones in hand, watching the chaos unfold in real time. Neither of you had spoken for almost twenty minutes.

Hyunjin was the first to break the silence, voice low and tense.

“They’re saying there’s no real proof we’ve ever been intimate. No real kisses. No proper couple moments outside the staged ones.” He laughed bitterly. “They’re not wrong.”

You swallowed hard, eyes still glued to the screen.

“What do we do now?”

“The company wants us to post something together today. Something that looks more… real.” He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. “They’re desperate.”

You nodded slowly. The pressure felt heavier than ever. The line you had both been walking was now razor-thin, and the leak had made everything ten times more unstable.

Throughout the day, the distance between you two became strange — closer in some ways, but more fragile in others.

Hyunjin started hovering more. He sat closer on the couch while you planned what to post. When you got anxious reading the hateful comments, he silently pushed a glass of water toward you without comment. Small things. Almost protective.

But the tension was also worse.

Every look lasted too long. Every accidental touch felt electric. The air between you crackled with everything unsaid — the fake kisses, the real feelings, the fear that this could all collapse at any moment.

In the evening, you finally posted together.

A simple photo: his hand holding yours, rings visible, with the caption “Through everything, we choose each other 💕”. It was carefully crafted, but after the leak, it felt hollow even to you.

Hyunjin posted the same photo on his account with the caption “Always.”

The comments were chaotic. Some believed it. Many didn’t.

That night, neither of you went to your rooms early.

You stayed in the living room, lights dim. Hyunjin sat on the floor leaning against the couch. You were curled up on the sofa. The silence wasn’t cold anymore — it was heavy with confusion.

“Can I ask you something?” you said quietly.

He looked up.

“Do you regret agreeing to this?”

Hyunjin stared at the floor for a long time before answering.

“At the beginning… yes. Now?” He shrugged. “I don’t know anymore.”

You turned to face him fully.

“Sometimes I forget it’s fake,” you confessed, voice barely above a whisper. “When you touch my hand or look at me during lives… it doesn’t feel fake.”

He didn’t answer right away. His jaw tightened, and for a moment you thought he would shut down like before. Instead, he spoke softly.

“I know.”

The admission hung in the air between you.

Hyunjin stood up slowly and moved to sit on the other end of the couch. Closer than usual, but still careful. He looked at you — really looked — and for the first time, the walls seemed thinner.

“The company wants us to do more,” he said. “Bigger gestures. Maybe even… a kiss for the cameras soon.”

Your heart raced.

“And what do you want?” you asked.

He didn’t answer with words. Instead, he reached out and gently took your hand, thumb tracing the matching ring on your finger. The touch was warm. Real.

“I don’t know anymore,” he whispered.

The leak had broken something open.

The public was doubting the relationship.

But inside these walls, the real problem was the opposite:

You were both starting to doubt that it was fake at all.

────୨ৎ────

The company never stopped pulling the strings.

Even after the leak, they adapted quickly. New “accidental” moments were strategically planted: a blurry photo of Hyunjin leaving the same building as you, a story where your voices overlapped in the background, a paparazzi shot of you two getting coffee early in the morning. Everything looked spontaneous. Everything kept the fire alive.

The public was hooked. Some believed it was real. Others called it damage control. But the interest never died down.

To push the narrative even further, the company planned something softer.

A private — but not really private — date by the Han River.

---

It was a cool evening. The company had arranged a semi-secluded spot with beautiful city lights reflecting on the water. A picnic blanket, some snacks, and “discreet” security nearby. They wanted natural photos. Romantic ones. The kind fans would screenshot and analyze for days.

You arrived first, wearing a simple oversized sweater, jeans, and a coat. Hyunjin showed up ten minutes later in a black coat and scarf, looking effortlessly handsome as always.

At first, the awkwardness lingered. You sat on the blanket, the Han River flowing quietly beside you, the Seoul skyline glowing in the distance.

But something was different tonight.

Maybe it was the lack of immediate cameras in your faces. Maybe it was the gentle breeze and the sound of water. Or maybe it was the fact that both of you were slowly getting tired of pretending.

The conversation started slow, but it flowed.

“You’ve been sleeping better?” Hyunjin asked, voice softer than usual.

You looked at him, surprised by the question.

“A little. The new song is almost ready, so I’ve been less stressed.”

He nodded, picking at a piece of fruit. “I saw you practicing yesterday. You’re really good. The emotion you put in… it’s rare.”

The compliment felt genuine. You smiled shyly.

“Thank you. I’ve seen some of your new choreography too. You always make it look easy.”

He chuckled, a real one this time. “It’s not. But I like when it looks that way.”

As the minutes passed, the tension between you two began to melt. You talked about small things — favorite late-night snacks, embarrassing moments on stage, dreams you had before debut. Hyunjin listened more than he spoke, but when he did, his voice was calm and attentive.

At one point, he leaned back on his hands, looking at the river.

“This doesn’t feel so bad,” he murmured.

You turned to him. “What doesn’t?”

“Being here. With you.”

Your heart skipped. The city lights reflected in his eyes, and for a moment, the contract, the company, the rumors — everything faded.

You moved a little closer. He didn’t pull away.

The air grew thicker. Warmer. His gaze dropped to your lips for a second before returning to your eyes. Slowly, almost hesitantly, Hyunjin lifted his hand and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers lingered on your cheek.

Neither of you spoke.

Then, gently, he leaned in.

The kiss was soft. Calm. Unexpectedly real.

His lips moved against yours with no rush, no performance. One of his hands cupped your face while the other rested on your waist, pulling you closer. You kissed him back, fingers gripping the front of his coat. It wasn’t passionate or dramatic. It was quiet. Honest. The kind of kiss that happened when two people stopped thinking about who was watching.

When you pulled apart, foreheads still touching, Hyunjin’s eyes were darker than before.

“…That wasn’t for the cameras,” he whispered.

You smiled faintly, breathless.

“I know.”

You stayed like that for a while — sitting close, shoulders touching, watching the river flow. His arm eventually wrapped around you. You leaned into him. For the first time in months, the silence between you felt comfortable.

But nothing in this relationship stayed private for long.

The next morning, photos from the river date were already circulating. Someone had taken them from a distance. The company denied leaking them, but everyone knew how these things worked.

The kiss wasn’t fully visible in the photos.

But the closeness was.

And the public went wild once again.

---

Back in the apartment the following day, the atmosphere had changed.

Hyunjin was quieter, more thoughtful. You caught him staring at you more than once. When you made coffee in the morning, he accepted the cup with a small “thank you” and a lingering look.

Neither of you talked about the kiss.

But you both felt it.

The line between acting and reality wasn’t just blurred anymore.

It was disappearing.

And neither of you knew what would happen when it finally vanished completely.

────୨ৎ────

The apartment was silent when you returned from the Han River.

You closed the door behind you quietly, heart still racing from the kiss. Your lips tingled. Your skin remembered exactly where Hyunjin’s hands had been — one on your waist, the other gently cupping your face. The way he had pulled you closer. The softness of his mouth. The quiet sound he made when you kissed him back.

You leaned against the door for a moment, eyes closed, trying to steady your breathing.

It was just for the moment, you told yourself. It didn’t mean anything.

But you knew you were lying.

You went straight to your room, closing the door and leaning against it. The memory wouldn’t leave you alone. The way the city lights had reflected in his eyes right before he leaned in. The warmth of his breath. The way his thumb had brushed your cheek so tenderly.

You changed into an oversized t-shirt and crawled into bed, but sleep refused to come.

Your mind kept replaying the kiss on loop.

The way he had whispered “That wasn’t for the cameras.”

The way your body had reacted — melting into him, wanting more.

Your hand slowly slid down your stomach, slipping under the hem of your shirt. You bit your lip, hesitant for a second, but the ache between your legs was becoming impossible to ignore.

You closed your eyes and let the memory take over.

You imagined Hyunjin’s hands again — this time sliding under your sweater, warm palms against your bare skin. You remembered how strong he felt when he pulled you closer by the river. Your fingers dipped lower, brushing over your panties. You were already wet.

A soft sigh escaped your lips as you pressed two fingers against your clit, rubbing slow circles.

In your mind, it was Hyunjin touching you.

You pictured him pushing you gently against the railing by the river, kissing you deeper, hungrier. His tongue sliding against yours. His hand slipping under your clothes, fingers teasing you exactly where you needed it.

You moaned quietly, legs spreading a little wider under the sheets.

“Hyunjin…” you whispered to yourself, voice barely audible.

Your fingers moved faster, pressing harder. You imagined him whispering your name against your neck, voice low and rough the way it got when he was emotional. You imagined him kissing down your throat, sucking gently on your skin while his fingers pushed inside you.

The pleasure built quickly. Your free hand gripped the sheets as your hips started rolling against your hand. You were soaked now, the sound of your fingers moving wet and obscene in the quiet room.

You thought about the way he looked at you after the kiss — dark eyes, slightly parted lips, like he wanted to say something but couldn’t. You imagined him pinning you against the wall in this very apartment, kissing you like he meant it, grinding against you, telling you he couldn’t pretend anymore.

“Fuck…” you gasped, back arching off the bed.

Your fingers moved faster, chasing the high. The memory of his soft “That wasn’t for the cameras” pushed you over the edge.

You came hard, thighs trembling, biting down on your lip to stay quiet as waves of pleasure crashed through you. His name slipped from your mouth again in a broken whisper.

When it was over, you lay there breathing heavily, staring at the ceiling.

Reality came back slowly.

You had just touched yourself thinking about Hwang Hyunjin — the same man who had once called you arrogant. The same man who was only supposed to be pretending.

And the worst part?

You wanted the real thing.

---

In the room across the hall, Hyunjin couldn’t sleep either.

He lay on his back, one arm behind his head, staring at the ceiling. The kiss by the river kept replaying in his mind too.

He remembered how soft your lips were. How perfectly you had fit against him. How you had kissed him back without hesitation.

He turned on his side, frustrated.

It was just acting,he told himself.

But even he didn’t believe it anymore.

He had been avoiding direct contact with you since you got back. He stayed in his room more. Spoke less. But his mind wouldn’t stop. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw you looking up at him by the river, cheeks flushed, eyes wide and honest.

He groaned quietly and ran a hand down his face.

This was getting dangerous.

The contract was supposed to be simple. Six months. Fake it until the end. But the lines had blurred so much he couldn’t even see them anymore.

He wondered if you were thinking about the kiss too.

He had no idea you were touching yourself in the other room, moaning his name under your breath.

The emotional connection between you two was growing stronger every day, even as the physical distance remained. Small gestures. Long looks. Shared silences that felt heavier with meaning.

Neither of you was ready to admit it.

But the kiss by the river had changed something irreversible.

And now, lying awake in separate rooms, both of you were feeling the weight of it.

The contract was still there.

But the feelings?

They were becoming very, very real.

────୨ৎ────

Hwang Hyunjin couldn’t stop thinking about the kiss.

It had been three days since that night by the Han River, and the memory refused to fade. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw it again: the soft glow of the city lights on your face, the way you looked up at him right before he leaned in, the quiet sound you made when his lips touched yours.

He was sitting on the floor of his bedroom, back against the bed, sketchbook open on his lap but untouched. The pencil in his hand had been still for almost twenty minutes.

It was just acting, he repeated to himself for the hundredth time.We were supposed to make it believable. That’s all.

But the more he tried to convince himself, the more the lie fell apart.

He remembered how you hadn’t pulled away. How you had kissed him back. How, for a few seconds, the entire world had disappeared and it was just the two of you by the river — no cameras, no contract, no expectations.

Hyunjin ran a hand through his hair, frustrated.

He had created a very clear image of you in his head from the beginning. The arrogant idol who spoke coldly to staff. The one who complained in private messages. The “problematic” girl the company forced him to date for image repair.

That image was crumbling.

Lately, he noticed things he didn’t want to notice.

The way you thanked every staff member sincerely, even when exhausted. How you practiced until your body couldn’t take it anymore. The quiet way you handled hate comments without complaining to anyone. The small smiles you gave when you thought no one was looking.

He stood up and paced around his room.

This is dangerous.

The contract was clear. Six months. Fake it. End it cleanly. Falling for you — or even starting to care — was the fastest way to complicate everything. For his career. For the group. For you.

Still, he found himself doing things he couldn’t explain.

That morning, when he heard you coughing in your room, he left a warm bottle of honey tea in front of your door without a word. Yesterday, when you came home late from practice, he had ordered your favorite late-night soup and left it in the fridge with a note that simply said “eat.”

He told himself it was just maintaining the act.

But deep down, he knew it wasn’t.

---

Later that evening, you crossed paths in the kitchen.

You were making ramyeon, hair up in a messy bun, wearing one of your big t-shirts. Hyunjin walked in to grab water and stopped for a second when he saw you.

The memory of the kiss hit him again.

You looked up and gave him a small, tired smile.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” he replied, voice quieter than usual.

The air felt thick. You both moved carefully around each other, hyper-aware of the space between your bodies. When your arm brushed his while reaching for something, he froze for half a second.

You noticed.

“Hyunjin… is everything okay?” you asked softly.

He looked at you. Really looked. His eyes traced your face — the slight shadows under your eyes from lack of sleep, the way you bit your lip when nervous.

“Yeah,” he lied. “Just tired.”

He wanted to say more. He wanted to ask if you had been thinking about the kiss too. He wanted to tell you that he couldn’t stop remembering how soft you felt against him.

Instead, he grabbed his water and left the kitchen without another word.

---

Alone in his room again, Hyunjin sat on the edge of his bed and buried his face in his hands.

He was scared.

Not of the scandal. Not of the company. Not even of the fans.

He was scared because for the first time in a long time, he was feeling something real — and it was for the person he had sworn to keep at a distance.

He remembered how you looked at him by the river. How your fingers had gripped his coat. How you hadn’t hesitated.

“Fuck,” he whispered to the empty room.

He stood up and went to the window, looking out at the city lights. The same lights that had witnessed your kiss.

He knew he should pull back. Create more distance. Protect both of you from whatever this was becoming.

But another part of him — a bigger part than he wanted to admit — wanted to get closer.

He thought about the way you smiled when you thought no one was watching. The way you worked so hard even when the world was against you. The quiet strength you carried every single day.

The old image he had of you was gone.

And in its place was something much more dangerous:

You.

Just you.

Hyunjin leaned his forehead against the cool glass of the window and closed his eyes.

He didn’t know what he was going to do.

But he knew one thing for certain:

The contract was no longer the hardest thing he had to deal with.

You were.

And he was starting to fall.

────୨ৎ────

The days after the kiss by the Han River felt like walking on thin ice.

Everything looked the same on the outside — the shared apartment, the matching rings, the occasional “couple” posts required by the company. But inside, the air had changed. It was heavier. More fragile. Like one wrong word could make everything crack.

Hyunjin started pulling away.

It wasn’t sudden or dramatic. It was slow, calculated, almost invisible. He went back to being polite but distant. Short answers. Avoiding eye contact for too long. Spending more time in his room with the door closed. When you were in the same space, he moved around you like you were made of glass — careful, but never close.

You felt every inch of the growing distance.

The warmth that had started to appear after the river kiss was disappearing. The small gestures — leaving snacks, asking if you had eaten, the lingering looks — became rare. He was trying to regain control, and you could see the struggle in his eyes every time he looked at you for a second too long before turning away.

One afternoon, the company scheduled another “casual” public appearance: a short café date in a private room for photos. You sat across from each other, smiling for the cameras that weren’t even in the room but would definitely see the leaked pictures later.

Hyunjin played his part well. He held your hand across the table. He smiled when the waiter came by. He even tucked a strand of hair behind your ear like he had done by the river.

But the moment the staff left, he let go of your hand like it burned him.

The silence on the way back to the apartment was painful.

You finally spoke when you were inside, voice quiet.

“Hyunjin… did I do something wrong?”

He stopped in the hallway, back still turned to you.

“No,” he answered after a pause. “You didn’t.”

“Then why does it feel like you’re running away?”

He didn’t answer. He just went into his room and closed the door softly.

You stood there for a long time, chest aching. The kiss that had felt so real now felt like a dream you were being punished for believing in.

---

Hyunjin was fighting a war inside his own head.

Every time he closed his eyes, he remembered the way you had kissed him back. The way your fingers had gripped his coat. The way you had looked at him afterward — soft, surprised, and honest.

He hated how much he wanted to do it again.

So he distanced himself. He told himself it was the smart thing to do. The safe thing. Getting emotionally involved would only destroy both of you when the contract ended. The company would never allow it. The fans might turn against you. His members could get dragged into the mess.

But the more he pulled away, the more he noticed you.

The way you tried to act normal even when hurt. The quiet way you moved around the apartment so you wouldn’t bother him. The tired smiles you gave during forced public appearances.

He was confused. Angry at himself. Scared.

Because no matter how hard he tried to put you back in the old box — the “arrogant idol” box — you no longer fit.

---

The company, completely unaware of the internal chaos, kept pushing.

They scheduled more appearances: a shopping “date” where you were photographed leaving a store together, a joint Instagram live where you answered fan questions while sitting close on the couch, and even a planned “surprise” visit to one of his rehearsals.

During the live, Hyunjin was perfect on camera — smiling, playful, calling you “angel” again for the fans. But the second the camera turned off, he stood up and went to the kitchen without a word.

You stayed on the couch, staring at your hands.

Later that night, you found a small note on the kitchen counter.

“There’s soup in the fridge. Heat it up before eating.”

No signature. No explanation.

Just another silent gesture that made your heart hurt even more.

You wanted to talk to him. You wanted to ask if the kiss had meant anything. You wanted to know if he was feeling even half of what you were feeling.

But you stayed quiet.

Because you were terrified of the answer.

---

The emotional distance between you two grew every day.

Hyunjin became more calculated in public — the perfect fake boyfriend. But in private, he was a ghost. Present, but unreachable.

You started questioning everything.

Was the kiss real?

Was any of the softness from the past weeks real?

Or had you just been a better actress than you thought?

One night, after another forced public appearance, you sat on the living room floor with your back against the couch, exhausted. Hyunjin came out of his room to get water and stopped when he saw you.

For a moment, it looked like he wanted to say something. His eyes softened. He took a small step forward.

But then he stopped himself.

He grabbed the water and went back to his room without a word.

You hugged your knees to your chest and whispered to the empty room:

“I don’t know how to do this anymore.”

The contract still had months to go.

But the feelings?

They were no longer under control.

And both of you were slowly drowning in the space between what was fake… and what was becoming terrifyingly real.

────୨ৎ────

The silence had become unbearable.

For days, Hyunjin had been pulling away — short answers, closed doors, avoiding your eyes like you were something dangerous. Every small progress you thought you had made after the kiss by the Han River seemed to have vanished. The warmth was gone. The distance was back, colder than before.

You couldn’t take it anymore.

It was past midnight when you finally knocked on his bedroom door. Your hands were shaking. Your heart was pounding so hard you could hear it in your ears.

Hyunjin opened the door. He was wearing a black t-shirt and sweatpants, hair messy like he hadn’t slept either. When he saw it was you, his expression tightened.

“What?” he asked, voice low.

You stepped inside without waiting for permission, closing the door behind you. The room smelled like his cologne and fresh paint.

“Why are you doing this?” you started, trying to keep your voice steady. “Why did you suddenly go back to being cold after the river? After everything?”

Hyunjin crossed his arms, leaning against his desk.

“I’m not being cold. I’m being realistic.”

“Realistic?” Your voice rose. “You kissed me like that and now you act like I don’t exist? Like nothing happened?”

He looked away, jaw clenched.

“It was a mistake.”

The words hit you like a slap.

“A mistake?” you repeated, voice cracking. “You said it wasn’t for the cameras. You said—”

“I know what I said!” he snapped, finally raising his voice. “Fuck, do you think this is easy for me? We have a contract, (your name). Six months. Fake. That was the deal. I’m trying to not make this any more complicated than it already is.”

You felt tears burning in your eyes.

“So you’re just going to pretend it didn’t mean anything? That pulling me closer, kissing me like that… it was all acting?”

Hyunjin ran a hand through his hair, frustrated.

“I don’t know what it was, okay?!” he raised his voice. “I’m confused as fuck! One minute I’m telling myself this is all fake, the next I can’t stop thinking about you. About the way you kissed me back. About how you looked at me. This wasn’t supposed to happen!”

You took a step closer, tears now falling freely down your cheeks.

“I’m falling for you, Hyunjin,” you confessed, voice breaking. “I tried not to. I swear I did. But every time you touch me, every time you look at me like you care… I can’t pretend anymore. And now you’re running away like a coward.”

Hyunjin’s eyes widened. For a second, he looked completely lost.

“Don’t say that,” he whispered, almost pleading. Then his tone hardened again. “You think I’m not scared? I’m fucking terrified! If we let this become real, what happens when the contract ends? What happens when the company finds out? What happens when the fans turn on us — on you — again?”

“I don’t care!” you shouted, crying harder. “At least be honest with me! Stop treating me like I’m nothing after making me feel like I was something!”

Hyunjin stepped forward, eyes blazing with frustration and something deeper.

“You think I don’t feel anything?” he yelled back. “Every time I see you, I want to kiss you again. Every time you smile at me, I forget why I’m supposed to stay away. You’re driving me insane, (your name)! I hate this. I hate how much I want you. I hate that I can’t stop thinking about you even when I’m trying to push you away!”

The room fell silent except for your quiet sobs.

You wiped your tears angrily, voice trembling.

“Then stop pushing me away… or just tell me you don’t want me. Say it clearly.”

Hyunjin stared at you, breathing heavily. His eyes were red, conflicted, full of emotions he didn’t know how to name.

“I can’t say that,” he admitted, voice rough. “Because it would be a lie.”

You stood there crying, chest heaving. He looked like he wanted to reach out and wipe your tears, but he held himself back, fists clenched at his sides.

Nothing was solved.

The silence between you had finally broken, but what replaced it was raw, messy, and terrifying.

Hyunjin looked away, voice barely above a whisper.

“I don’t know what to do anymore.”

You wiped your face one last time and headed toward the door.

“Neither do I,” you said softly. “But I can’t keep pretending like this doesn’t hurt.”

You left his room without closing the door.

Hyunjin stood there for a long time after you were gone, staring at the empty space where you had been.

For the first time since the contract began, both of you were completely lost.

And the feelings you could no longer ignore were becoming stronger than any contract ever could be.

Well half a guard rail.

Just enough for him to pull himself up and go pee.

(Name) Flopped against the pillows and stared up, he hated this.

He couldn't even go into his nest.

Maybe... He could turn the bed into a nest.

That was a fun idea.

“Yes...” He grinned and pulled himself up to get to work.

It was going to be so cozy!

Tim was stressed, he couldn't believe he forgot (name)s birthday!

He needed something romantic and fast.

(Name) Didn't like grand gestures and he was incredibly introverted despite his job in intelligence-- before he transferred he literally was an informant and worked on gathering information, he was only tied to office work because he was pregnant. He couldn't go to most restaurants because of the scents.... He has to figure out... “what is she doing here?” He halted when he saw Isobel in cuffs, dressed in an orange jumper and Grey sighed, he should have expected such a reaction from the Alpha “your ex wife made a deal to be a confidential informant” greys words made Tim's stomach drop, she would be working with (name) as head of intelligence.

“What?!” He whispered, he didn't need this and (name) definitely didn't need this “she has all the contacts on the street” grey tried to defend but Tim wasnt having it “because she's a drug addict!” He hissed out and Grey looked tired of the conversation “with police training--” “which will get her killed if someone finds out!’

“They won't let that happen, at least this way she's staying out of prison” grey said stiffly before walking away, leaving Tim fuming.

(Name) Was having a blast making his nest, it was cozy and warm... A safe place for him and his family, away from the world even for just a bit. Wandering to Tim's closet, he grabbed sweaters and went to his laundry to get clothes from his workout, Tim wasn't here to scent him after all.

Bzzzzt bzzzt

(Name) Glanced at his phone, noting Anderson calling him and walked to pick up the call “hey cap, what's up?” He asked and Anderson sighed on the other line “I hate to call you on your day off ..” she mumbled and (name) furrowed his eyebrows “what's going on?”

“.... We have an informant we need you to meet ASAP but... You're not going to like who it is” (name) immediately knew who it was, how could he not “... Could someone come get me? My car's in the shop” he mumbled and Anderson's greed, having someone come out to get him.

(Name) Was quiet when he walked into the precinct and noted a tension already settled in, looking around and trying to figure out what was happening while walking to the holding area, halting when he saw that look in Nolan's eyes.

A shooting.

No....

(Name) Was kept up to date by Anderson and Grey, his heart sank at what the man must be going through.... No one deserved to die and no one should be forced to take a life. He didn't understand why he was being asked questions but he sat down anyways, wincing when his pups moved “are you alright?” The interrogation officer asked and (name) nodded “yup, let's start this”

“Alright.... How well did you know officer Nolan?”

“I spoke to him occasionally, he would help me walk up stairs and when my lunch got stolen he grabbed me a sandwich from the place down the street” he still needed to pay him back, maybe he could slip a twenty in his truck... “Do you know if he was on any medication?”

“I'm not aware of any medication he would be on” he had a habit of learning things about everyone he knew, he didn't see any medications outside of a pain med prescription seven years ago. “Does he have any troubles in his personal life?”

“Outside of the normal ones we all have, I am not aware” if you ignore the Lucy thing but he hardly counted that fling as a trouble “thank you for your time” she said and (name) tried to stand up “I'm so sorry but could you help me up?” He asked softly and was helped up and waddled up, heart heavy and he hated what he had to do next.

Talk to the woman he replaced.

Isobel looked stunned to see (name), the Omega keeping professional but offered a kind smile to her as if he wasn't going through a tornado of emotions and anxiety for a man he considered a friend “Hello Isobel” (name) said gently, eyes neither warm nor cold but calculating “Hey...” She mumbled awkwardly and (name) pulled out a binder “you have been read your rights and been briefed on what this details?” He asked her and Isobel nodded “yup... It hasn't changed”

“Good... Then you know I need to know everything, right?”

“Yup.”

“Then I'm ready when you are”

Two hours... (Name) Writing down every detail with a speed that was almost scary but then again, his job for three years was being an assistant to two very fast talkers “anything else you can remember?”

“Not that I can think of...” She mumbled as Talia Walked in and (name) looked up “what are you doing here?” Isobel asked and (name) halted his work “I'm helping out the detectives and (name)” she said and Isobel hummed “you got the tap” she mumbled and Talia sighed “this is weird for you I know but... Let's try and work through this” she said and sat beside (name), he would be teaching her core things about information gathering and tells.

The other detectives walked in and Talia briefed them, (name) handing his notes to them and watched Talia as they read everything over “god damn, you are good at this Bradford” Isobel snapped her head to (name), she knew she saw him somewhere.

This was (name), the one Tim replaced her with.

(Name) Let them take over, watching Isobel panic at the concept of wearing a wire.

He was pleased at Talia taking charge.

-

(Name) Wandered to the breakroom and saw Angela, Lucy and Jackson, the three looking at him and (name) sighed before grabbing a drink and leaving.

He had to go home.

He needed home.

The ride home was quiet, Tim driving with one hand on the wheel and the other on his mates leg.

(Name) Could barely focus, today bad been a mess.

(Name) Was led to the bedroom, halting when he saw it.

“It's a bit early but with everything happening...” His favorite takeout, the tv having his favorite movie loaded and a gift on the bed, he struggled all day to make this work but he knew (name) needed a win.

(Name)s eyes watered and he looked to Tim with a wobbly lip “today... Today was some bullshit” he managed and Tim held it close, it absolutely was... He wished he could keep (name) away from it all....The two snuggled in bed, no words shared as (name) held him tightly, Tim admiring the bed nest that the Omega clearly made before he was called in.

-

(Name) Got to finally stay home the following day and he felt his body collapse a bit in the bed... He was scared for Nolan... He was worried about Isobel and his mate, the stress and tension making his head feel light... He needed to sleep.

Anderson avoided calling (name), his notes were detailed and his statement detailed enough but... She missed her assistant.

Especially because of what was coming, Isobel and Nolan... (Name) Had his head drowning in work...

She knew (name) had a bad habit of too much empathy, something be kept tempered down but with the pregnancy...

And Anderson wasn't expecting Tim busting in screaming about the wire Isobel would be wearing, Tim was too attached to this and she couldn't do anything about it.

(Name) Puttered through the house, hands shaking “promise me... Both of you won't become cops” he mumbled to his belly, he hated this-- he hated what came with the job.

(Name) Didn't want his children to go through this, he thought about leaving the force, he thought about it a lot before he stepped back.

But, his job was important... He got information to take down dangerous people.

He's taken down monsters with his skills.

Grey and Anderson always joked about him being in their side.

(Name) Stared at the text he got from his mate, he had a recovery mission and (name) would be alone.

Unaware Tim was watching videos he saved of fonf times between him and Isobel with pained emotions... He wasn't in love with her but... He missed her, the old her.

Tim didn't return that night, (name) clinging to a pillow and trying to not fear for the worst as his mind kept him from sleep.

The clock in the corner of your screen seemed to mock you, its digits crawling forward at a pace that could only be described as glacial. Your shift was supposed to end at five, a solid eight hours away, but the cruel joke was that you'd already finished everything you needed to do for the day. Everything. By ten-thirty. You were bored to the point of existential contemplation.

You glanced sideways, first at Tanaka, who was furiously typing an email that was probably about something utterly unimportant, and then at the young woman whose name you cycled through in your head — was it Aina? Ayano? Well, it was definitely Ai-something. She was staring at her screen with the same vacant expression you were sure you wore.

You weren't close enough to any of them to strike up a friendly conversation. You exchanged pleasantries, borrowed pens, and occasionally shared a collective groan when the coffee machine broke, but that was the extent of it. You supposed that's what you got for working in an average company, surrounded by equally average people. And you? You were the most average of them all, just another face in a sea of gray suits and tired eyes.

But oh well, you didn't really care.

Your philosophy was simple; pretend to work, collect the paycheck, go home, and collapse onto your sofa. You could already picture it — the worn, gray fabric, the way it perfectly molded to your body, the comforting weight of your television remote. You'd watch some mindless variety show, maybe a drama if you were feeling ambitious, and eat something quick and satisfying. Probably yakisoba. Yeah, yakisoba sounded really good. Just as you were mentally debating between pork and chicken flavor, a voice cut through your culinary daydream.

"Psst. Y/N."

You blinked, your focus slowly returning to the present. Your immediate neighbor, the one whose name you honestly had no idea about — a quiet guy with glasses who never said much — was leaning slightly towards you, his voice a low whisper.

"Um... the boss is asking for you in his office."

Your brow furrowed. You turned to look at the man, head tilted in genuine confusion.

"Really?" your voice was incredulous, just a touch too loud for the quiet office. "For what? Did he say why?"

The boss, Mr. Sato, was a man whose face seemed perpetually set in an expression of mild dissatisfaction, as if he'd just bitten into a piece of fruit that wasn't quite ripe. He was a really closed-off, unapproachable figure who rarely interacted with anyone he judged being below him. On the very rare occasions he summoned someone, it was usually for something mundane, like picking up important documents from the printer downstairs.

But you had no important documents. You had a random folder open on your screen and a head full of yakisoba.

Before the quiet guy could respond, Tanaka, who apparently had bionic hearing when it came to office gossip, swiveled in his chair. His eyes were wide with excitement behind his wire-rimmed glasses;

"Oh, I know!" he whisper-shouted, leaning over his desk. "It's definitely about a promotion. I overheard Mr. Sato on the phone yesterday, vaguely mentioning he was planning to give one to someone. Someone in our department!"

Your eyebrows shot up, a flicker of genuine interest sparking in your tired eyes.

"You think?"

You tilted your head to the other side, the movement making you look less like an office worker and more like a confused puppy trying to understand a new trick.

Tanaka beamed, giving you a double thumbs-up.

"One hundred percent, my friend!"

The young woman — Aina, you simply decided to commit to that name for now — let out a soft, light laugh, slightly shaking her head at Tanaka's antics.

"Don't get his hopes up if you're wrong," she murmured, but there was a friendly smile on her lips.

Ah, well. A promotion.

The thought was enough to get your blood moving slightly faster than its usual sluggish pace.

You slowly stood up from your chair, stretching in a way that was probably too crude for the office environment — your arms shooting up over your head, your spine giving a satisfying pop. You caught Aina's slight smirk and didn't care. You readjusted your tie, which had somehow migrated to the side and was hanging completely loose, and then re-buttoned the last two buttons of your white shirt. You really hated wearing ties. They felt like a noose, a constant reminder of the corporate chokehold on your life. But, you supposed, you didn't have much of a choice.

A promotion, huh? You mused as you made your way through the maze of cubicles towards the glass-walled office at the end. That means a bigger paycheck, right?

Your heart gave a tiny, anticipatory thump against your ribs. You pictured the extra numbers on your payslip, the slight increase that would allow you to maybe order takeout an extra night a week, or finally replace your worn-out sofa.

Ah... but wouldn't a promotion also mean more work?

The thought dampened your enthusiasm slightly. More responsibilities, more meetings, more pretending to care. You sighed. There was always a catch.

You finally stopped in front of Mr. Sato's closed door, the frosted glass completely obscuring the view inside. You took a deep breath, readjusted your tie one last time for good measure, and knocked firmly.

The reply was immediate, sharp and to the point;

"Please, come in."

You entered, closing the door softly behind you. You walked up to the desk, your hands clasped loosely in front of you. Mr. Sato didn't even look up, his attention entirely consumed by the documents spread out before him.

The silence stretched for an awkward beat, and you felt your heart rate pick up again, not with panic — you didn't like this job enough to panic about it — but with a nervous anticipation. The promotion. It had to be.

"Good morning, sir," you said, offering a polite smile that felt a bit stiff on your face. "You wanted to see me?"

Mr. Sato finally lifted his gaze, giving you a brief, almost dismissive once-over before instantly dropping his eyes back to his documents.

"I'm really sorry, Y/N," he said, his tone completely flat and devoid of any genuine remorse. "But we're letting you go. Please, clear out your desk."

The words hit you like a bucket of ice water.

Huh?

Time seemed to stutter, and a few seconds passed in complete, ringing silence. Your brain, usually so good at shutting down, scrambled to process the sentence that had just been lobbed at you. Your boss, the one who'd barely glanced at you, was already back to his documents as if he'd just dismissed a minor inconvenience. Your mouth fell open slightly, your head tilting to the side in a gesture of pure, uncomprehending confusion. You stood completely motionless, a statue in an ill-fitting suit.

If this were a cartoon, a little bird would have circled your head, chirping, followed by three comical dots.

"Excuse me?" the words finally croaked out, your eyebrows knitting together.

Mr. Sato's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, and he still didn't bother to look up.

"You're fired, Y/N," his voice was a bit firmer now, clipped and impatient.

Fired? But what about the promotion?! The thought screamed in your head, a frantic, disbelieving shriek. Tanaka said—

"But... why?" you managed to ask.

Mr. Sato let out a very long, very deliberate sigh. He set down his pen, then pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, and closed his eyes, as if your very presence was an unbearable drain on his energy. He took his sweet time responding, and you simply stood there, waiting, your mind a chaotic swirl of confusion and the first flickers of indignation.

Finally, Mr. Sato opened his eyes and fixed you with a tired, unimpressed stare.

"Someone reported that you've been arriving late in the mornings consistently, and that you've also been leaving early without notifying anyone," his voice was monotone, simply reciting facts. "Upon reviewing the security log footage, it's been confirmed that you haven't been respecting your contracted hours. That is the reason."

Oh.

The single syllable echoed in your mind, flat and empty.

Who is the bastard who ratted me out?

It was true, you couldn't even deny it. You didn't respect the hours. But you'd been so careful! The backpack had been the first to go — it was too obvious, a neon sign blinking 'ARRIVING' or 'LEAVING'. So you'd switched to just carrying your laptop in its sleeve. That way, arriving at eleven instead of nine just looked like you were coming from a meeting. Leaving at three instead of five? No, you were just heading to an off-site appointment. People saw the laptop and their brains filled in the blanks, immediately assuming you were going somewhere important. The truth was, you were just going home to nap.

You'd been doing it for months. It had worked perfectly.

Well... until now.

Wait a damn minute, a horrible, sinking realization dawned on you. The promotion... was it for the person who reported me? Is that how this works? Someone snitched, got a pat on the head, and I get kicked to the curb?

"You can leave now," Mr. Sato's voice cut through your thoughts, flat and final.

You blinked.

"Ah, yes," you mumbled, your voice devoid of any emotion.

You had nothing else to say. No arguments, no pleas. What was the point? It was already done.

You turned and left the office the same way you'd come, closing the door behind you with a soft click. Once in the hallway, you immediately reached for your tie, loosening it completely with a sharp tug, and unbuttoned the top buttons of your shirt. You rolled your sleeves up past your wrists, revealing the pale skin and the faint blue lines of your veins.

The simple act of undoing the corporate uniform felt like a small rebellion, the first breath of fresh air.

Your boss's final instruction echoed in your ears; clear out your desk. You almost laughed. Clear out what? You had no personal belongings here. Not a single photo, not a plant, not even a favorite pen. The papers on your desk were all borrowed, the pens you used you'd 'forgotten' to return to Tanaka and Aina over the past weeks. They'd never complained. They probably didn't even notice.

When you walked back into the bullpen, Tanaka's head snapped up immediately, his eyes wide with anticipation.

"So?" he asked, his voice a little too loud. "What did he say? Is it official? Are you moving to a corner office?"

You shrugged, a lazy, unbothered motion. "I'm fired."

The silence that followed was deafening. Tanaka's jaw dropped, his expression morphing from eager anticipation to pure, comical shock. Aina's hand flew to her mouth.

"What?!" Tanaka whisper-shouted, his voice cracking.

"Yeah," you rolled your eyes, a flicker of annoyance finally surfacing. "Someone snitched on me for not respecting my hours. Apparently, I've been a very bad boy."

"But—" Tanaka sputtered, gesturing wildly around the office. "But nobody respects the hours! Everyone comes in late sometimes, everyone leaves early on Fridays! That's—that's not fair!"

You just shrugged again, the fight already leaving you. The initial shock and indignation were fading, replaced by a bone-deep weariness.

"Ah, whatever," you yawned, the sound wide and unrestrained. You stretched once more, a final, theatrical display of your newfound freedom. "Well, I guess my day's officially over then. See you around, Tanaka. Aina."

Tanaka reached out a hand as if to stop you, his mouth opening and closing wordlessly, but you were already walking away, weaving through the cubicles towards the exit, your laptop swinging loosely from your hand.

You didn't look back.

The moment you pushed open the glass doors of the building, the rain hit you. It was a cold, insistent assault, fat drops that soaked into your hair and shirt almost instantly.

"Shit," you muttered under your breath, hunching your shoulders. "I forgot it was raining."

You stood there for a moment on the sidewalk, defeated by the weather. Your honey-blonde hair was already plastered to your forehead, darkened to a dull brown. Your white shirt, now translucent in patches, clung unpleasantly to your skin. You let out a soft sigh, then tilted your head back, closing your eyes and letting the cold drops fall directly onto your face. You could feel the stares of passersby, their quick, curious glances as they hurried past with their umbrellas.

They probably think I'm crazy as hell, you thought, and the idea was oddly liberating.

You stood there for a few seconds, emptying your mind of the morning's events. The promotion that would never be. The extra numbers on your paycheck that would remain a fantasy. The faceless, nameless traitor who'd traded your job for a pat on the back. It all just... washed away with the rain.

Finally, you opened your eyes and began the slow, wet walk home, the rain drumming a steady rhythm against your body.

You forced yourself to look on the bright side — you hadn't even liked the job that much to begin with. It was boring, soul-suckingly dull. The only good part was the paycheck at the end of the month, and that was gone now. But you were only twenty-one. You had decades of boring jobs ahead of you. This was just a chance to rest for a few weeks, maybe sleep in, before diving back into the corporate cesspool.

"Finally fucking free," you said to yourself, a quiet laugh escaping your lips.

You glanced around to make sure no one had heard you.

Your gaze drifted down to your right hand, to the laptop in its damp protective sleeve. You really should have brought a backpack. Then your eyes snagged on something else — your employee badge, dangling from its lanyard around your neck, the plastic card now plastered to your wet shirt.

You stopped walking, looking at the object for a long moment. The company logo, your bland ID photo, your name. Okada Y/N. Employee. Not anymore.

"Well," you murmured, your voice flat. "Guess I don't need this anymore."

With a lazy, almost dismissive flick of your wrist, you grabbed the lanyard, ripped it from your neck, and tossed the badge into the street without a second thought. You didn't watch where it landed, your mind already drifting back to dinner possibilities. Maybe you'd treat yourself to something nicer than yakisoba tonight. Celebrate your freedom. Or mourn your unemployment. Same thing, really.

You should have paid attention.

The badge landed in the middle of the rain-slicked road, bouncing once on the asphalt with a faint clatter. At that exact moment, a city bus rumbled past, its massive tires rolling directly over the plastic card. There was a dry, sharp crack that was almost completely swallowed by the hiss of the rain and the groan of the bus's engine.

The plastic shattered. Pieces skittered across the wet road, propelled by the force of the tires.

You kept walking, your free hand buried in the pocket of your black suit trousers, quietly whistling a tune you couldn't get out of your head. You were thinking about dinner, about your sofa, about the blissful emptiness of the next few weeks.

A single shard of plastic, tiny and sharp as a razor, was flung from the road by the pressure of the bus's tires. It flew through the air in a short, vicious arc, aimed directly at you.

And you didn't even have time to register what exactly was happening;

The tiny piece embedded itself deep into the hollow of your neck. Right in the soft, vulnerable space between your trachea and the sternocleidomastoid muscle. The precise location where your carotid artery and internal jugular vein ran, just beneath the surface.

The effect was instantaneous.

You stopped mid-step, your whistling cut off with a sharp gasp. Your hand flew to your neck, your fingers meeting the foreign object, the searing pain that was only now beginning to register. Surprise was the dominant emotion, a stark, cold shock that eclipsed the pain for a fleeting second.

Then you pulled your hand away and looked at your fingers.

They were scarlet. Your blood, vivid and shockingly red, washed away instantly by the rain as it poured down your hand, only to be replaced by more immediately. You didn't need to be a doctor to know you were in deep, unfathomable shit. The amount of blood, the way it was pulsing, pumping from the wound...

You've got to be fucking kidding me.

You took a shaky step back, as if you could somehow undo the last five seconds. You could feel it now — the frantic, powerful pulse of your carotid artery against the embedded shard, the hot gush of blood hemorrhaging from your neck. It was soaking your collar, staining your white shirt a deep, spreading crimson before mingling with the rain and pouring onto the wet ground at your feet. Why was there so much blood? Did it hit something vital? You needed a hospital. You needed to put pressure on it, to call for help—

Your knees buckled.

They gave way without warning, the strength draining from your body as quickly as the blood from your neck. Your laptop hit the ground with a wet thud, and you felt your consciousness, your very grip on reality, beginning to slip away, a curtain of gray closing in on the edges of your vision.

Around you, the world continued its indifferent hum. You could still vaguely hear the blare of a car horn in the distance, the fragmented chatter of passersby, the hurried slap of footsteps on the wet pavement. And then, piercing through the fog, a high, horrified scream. A woman's scream. Was that for you? You couldn't be sure. Your senses were failing, shutting down one by one.

Your light brown eyes, glassy and unfocused, fluttered closed against your will. As your body began its slow, inevitable tilt forward, you caught a final, fragmented glimpse through the rain — a young woman, her face twisted in absolute horror, running towards you, a phone pressed to her ear. Her mouth was moving fast, but the sound was distant, muffled, like you were underwater.

Your body violently hit the wet ground with a sickening, heavy thud. Your eyes were closed now, your chest still. The blood continued to pulse from your neck, a relentless, rhythmic flow that pooled around your head, a dark red halo spreading in the gray rain.

Your very last breath, a soft, almost imperceptible sigh, escaped past your lips and was lost to the wind.

And just like that, at twenty-one years old, on a random rainy Tuesday morning, Okada Y/N died in the most humiliating way imaginable.

You felt like you were floating in the middle of a strangely calm ocean.

The sensation was nearly impossible to put into words — not that you were trying very hard, given that your brain felt like it was wrapped in the softest, warmest cotton imaginable. If you had to describe it, you'd say it was like the moment just before falling asleep, when you're perfectly comfortable and all the worries of the day have completely melted away, except magnified by a thousand. Your mind, usually cluttered with mundane thoughts about work, dinner, and the general monotony of your existence, was now completely empty.

Blissfully, peacefully empty.

Your body felt impossibly light, as if gravity had simply decided to stop applying to you, and for the first time in... well, ever, you felt absolutely nothing negative.

No boredom. No exhaustion. No vague sense of existential dread. Even the wound on your neck—

The wound on your neck?

Your eyes suddenly snapped open, and you only realized at that moment that they'd been closed in the first place. The first thing you saw made your brain stutter to a halt, then desperately try to reboot.

White.

Absolutely everything around you was white.

Not even the warm, creamy white of your apartment walls, or the harsh fluorescent white of your former office — this was a white so pure and absolute that it seemed to go on forever in every direction, with no horizon, no shadows, and no texture. Just... white. Endless, silent, pristine white.

By reflex more than anything, your hand shot up to your neck, reaching for the spot where that tiny piece of plastic had embedded itself, where you'd felt your life pumping out of you in hot, terrifying pulses.

But your hand... you couldn't feel it moving.

You looked down, and yes, your arm was definitely there, rising towards your neck, but your body refused to transmit any sensation of the movement. In fact, now that you were paying attention, you realized you couldn't feel anything at all. Not the ground beneath you (was there ground?), not the air on your skin, not even the phantom echo of the pain that should have been screaming from your throat.

"What the actual fuck?" the words came out as a murmur, but your voice sounded strange — distant, echoey, like someone else was speaking far away. "I'm dead, aren't I?"

The thought should have been more alarming, but your newly calm soul seemed to buffer the impact.

"And this is... Heaven?"

You squinted at the endless white around you, trying to find something — anything — that would confirm or deny this theory. If this was truly Heaven, then it was the most boring, minimalist version imaginable. No harps, no clouds, no pearly gates. Just... white, and white again. And if you were dead, then why did you still feel so aware? So present? Your memories were intact — you remembered the rain, the bus, the shard of plastic, the blood. You remembered the woman running towards you with her phone. You remembered the exact moment your body had given up.

So why were you here, alone, in this infinite white void?

Having absolutely no other options and no idea if you were even supposed to be doing anything, you decided to try walking. Maybe there was something other than white a little further ahead? A door, a sign, literally anything? You sincerely hoped so, because the alternative — wandering completely alone in an endless white room for eternity — was a special kind of hell you hadn't even considered.

You started walking.

Or rather, you willed yourself to walk, and when you looked down, your legs were indeed moving in a walking motion. But you felt nothing, again. No pressure of your feet against the ground, no shift of weight, no subtle movements of muscles and joints. It was like controlling a character in a video game, except the character was your own body and the sensory feedback was completely disconnected.

You looked down at yourself.

Your clothes were still the same — the damp white shirt now dry and pristine, your black suit trousers, and your loosened tie. No bloodstains. No rain. You looked exactly as you had before the whole disaster unfolded, except for the complete lack of any physical sensation.

"Is this a joke or what?" you sighed, genuine annoyance creeping into your voice despite your soul's persistent calm. "Why am I even here, to begin with?"

You were supposed to be dead. Dead in a really embarrassing way that you'd like to forget forever, thanks very much. So why were you still breathing (you realized you were, in fact, breathing), still seeing, still thinking, still existing as if nothing had happened? None of this made any sense.

The brief burst of energy that had prompted you to walk faded quickly, replaced by your characteristic laziness.

What was the point, really? If this void was infinite, walking wouldn't accomplish a single thing. If it wasn't infinite, something would eventually appear whether you walked or not. Either way, effort seemed pointless.

You decided to sit down instead.

Or rather, you decided to sit, and your body complied, arranging itself into a seated position on... whatever was beneath you. You still felt absolutely nothing — no ground, no pressure — but you were getting used to this strange, disconnected existence.

Hell, even the thing you were sitting on wasn't really ground. It was just more of the same endless, formless white.

After a very long moment of staring blankly into the void, you leaned back and laid down completely, spreading your arms and legs in a starfish shape. If you were going to be trapped in an infinite white space, you might as well be comfortable. Or as comfortable as one could be without actually feeling anything.

You stared up at... well, up.

There was no ceiling, no sky, just more white. Your mind, freed from the need to process sensory input, began to wander. You thought about your apartment, your sofa, the yakisoba you'd been planning to eat. You thought about Tanaka's shocked face, Aina's soft laugh. You thought about the bastard who'd ratted you out and wondered if they were enjoying their promotion right now.

And then, at the exact moment you decided to stop trying to understand anything — because really, what was the point, and honestly you couldn't be bothered — you felt something.

Not on your body, but... a presence. A presence so powerful, so vast, so utterly overwhelming that it made the infinite white void around you feel suddenly small and contained. It was suffocating in its intensity, pressing against your consciousness from all sides, and yet there was nothing threatening about it. It felt ancient. It felt divine.

"Y/N."

The voice resonated directly in your head, gentle and melodious, like the most beautiful sound you'd ever heard wrapped in warmth itself.

"You're finally here," a little pause, weighted with something that felt like centuries of patience. "Do you know how long I've waited for you?"

Your head snapped up, your body moving without your conscious command.

What stood before you was... incredible. Fascinating, even. Terrifying in the most beautiful way possible.

At first glance, one might say it was just an ordinary man. But you knew, with an immense certainty that went deeper than thought or reason, that this was no man. The aura emanating from this being was so powerful, so undeniably divine, that it stirred something deep within your very soul — something you hadn't even known existed until this very moment. This being in front of you was a God. You were absolutely certain of it.

And yet, when you tried to make out his face, your mind refused to comply.

It was like trying to hold water in your hands — the moment you thought you had it, the details instantly slipped away. All you could perceive was that this being was roughly your height, around six feet tall, with hair so light it was almost white, verging on an ethereal, luminous gold. A magnificent golden scarf covered his eyes, the fabric itself seeming to shimmer with its own inner light, divine and untouchable. His clothing was very simple — just a white robe sprinkled with delicate gold accents, the kind of robe a God would wear in ancient paintings.

He was so magnificent it almost hurt to look at him.

And his smile. That smile was so gentle, so warm, so full of something that looked like love, that you felt a sharp, aching pain deep in your soul. You didn't know why; you'd never seen this being before in your life. But something in that smile made you feel like you'd been missing something your entire existence without knowing it.

"Who are you?" the question tumbled out before you could stop it. "No, before that—where am I? Why am I here? I'm supposed to be dead, I felt myself die, but I'm still—I'm still here, and I don't understand anything, and—"

"Please, calm down first," the divine voice resonated in your head once again, cutting through your rambling with gentle authority. "Your soul is so agitated, Y/N."

"I..."

The divine being stepped closer, closing the distance between you with a fluid grace that didn't seem to involve actual walking. He raised a hand and placed it delicately on your shoulder, and the moment those fingers made contact — through your shirt, through your skin, directly to something deeper — you felt your soul settle. The confusion, the anxiety, the desperate need for answers... it all smoothed out like ripples disappearing from a pond.

You were still confused, still had a thousand questions, but the frantic edge was gone.

"I have waited for you for a long time, Y/N," the being removed his hand just as delicately, and you almost wanted to ask him to put it back. "A very, very long time."

He waited for me? The thought echoed in your newly calm mind. What does that even mean? Why would a God wait for me? I'm just... me. Average Y/N who got fired and died in the most embarrassing way possible.

You swallowed hard, your throat working even though you couldn't even feel it. Your soul might be calm now, as serene as an ocean without a single wave, but your mind was still spinning. Way too much was happening in too short a time, and your poor human brain, used to processing nothing more complicated than what to eat for dinner, was really, really struggling to keep up.

"Let's walk, shall we?"

The being looked at you — you couldn't see his eyes behind that golden scarf, but you did feel that gaze, heavy and warm and full of something that made your chest ache. It was the look someone might give a long-lost treasure they'd finally found again. And you couldn't understand why. Really, you were nothing special. You'd never done anything remarkable. You were just... you.

But you pushed your questions to the back of your mind for now, letting them wait patiently, and decided — without really hesitating — to follow this God.

You fell into step behind the divine being, walking slowly, deliberately keeping yourself a few centimeters back. It felt right, somehow. Disrespectful to walk alongside such a superior being — but the God himself didn't seem to share that opinion; he slowed his own pace, matching your stride until you were both walking side by side. His gentle smile never wavered.

You still felt like you were walking in place. The white void around you didn't change, didn't shift, didn't offer any landmarks to measure progress against. You could have been walking for seconds or hours; you had no way of telling.

"Where are we?" you finally asked, your voice still carrying that strange, distant quality.

The divine being made a small pout, his brow furrowing slightly as if considering the question carefully. It was such an unexpectedly human expression that you felt your tension ease just a little.

"Well..." the being tilted his head. "Let's just say we're at my home. Kind of like my sanctuary."

That doesn't explain anything at all, you thought, but you kept it to yourself.

"So why am I here? And who are you? Are you a God?"

The being's smile didn't falter. If anything, it grew warmer, more amused. You could feel his unseen gaze on you, gentle and penetrating.

"You are here because I was waiting for you, Y/N," he said it simply, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "I waited for quite a long time, you know? Watching you live your life was... entertaining. Quite enjoyable, actually," his smile took on a slightly amused curve. "I was rather surprised, and admittedly quite amused, by the way you lost your life. Very creative. Very... you."

You stopped dead in your tracks.

He... watched me live?

The realization hit you like a truck.

He saw everything? Every boring day at work, every nap on my sofa, every embarrassing moment?

Your face flushed hot with mortification.

And he saw me die? In such a stupid, pathetic, completely avoidable way?

"Oh my God." You hid your face in your hands, your voice completely muffled. "Tell me this is a bad dream. Please. I'm begging you."

A soft laugh escaped the divine being, his shoulders shaking with quiet amusement.

"And I wouldn't call myself a God," he continued, as if your existential crisis was merely a pleasant interruption. "Please, you can simply call me Shinji. I am absolutely nothing like a God."

Shinji. The name settled into your mind, feeling somehow familiar and completely foreign at the same time.

You lowered your hands, your face still warm.

"Shinji," the name felt strange on your tongue. "What did you mean when you said you waited for me? I really don't understand. Why me? What's so special about me?"

Shinji crossed his arms behind his back, his expression serene, peaceful in a way that you'd never seen on any living face. You continued walking — or at least, your legs moved, and Shinji moved beside you, though the void remained stubbornly unchanged.

"If I offered you the chance to be reborn," Shinji said, gently ignoring your question. "What would your answer be?"

You didn't hesitate for a single second. "Oh hell no."

The response came from somewhere deep in your soul, automatic and absolute. Live another life? Start over from scratch? The very thought made you tired.

Being reborn would mean going through everything once again — childhood, school, puberty, the awkward teenage years, the struggle to find a job, and the monotony of daily existence. Even if you kept all your memories, even if you had some kind of advantage, you'd still have to redo your entire education. Sit through endless years of classes you'd already taken. Deal with teachers, with homework, with exams. And for what? So you could eventually end up in another boring job, in another gray office, pretending to care about something meaningless?

No. Absolutely not. Death was supposed to be the end. The final rest. You'd earned that much, at least.

Shinji let out another soft laugh, his shoulders shaking with genuine amusement.

"I knew you would say that," his smile softened, becoming something almost apologetic. "But I'm really sorry to tell you... you don't actually have a choice, Y/N. After all, that's the reason I waited for you for so long."

You stopped walking.

Your eyes fixed on Shinji, searching for... something. A hint that this was a joke, maybe. Or some sign that you were simply misunderstanding.

"What?" your voice came out flat. "What do you mean, I don't have a choice? Wait—I have to start a new life? Really?" Indignation crept into your tone, sharp and hot. "You're telling me I died, and instead of resting in peace like a normal dead person, I have to do the whole thing over again?"

Is this some kind of cosmic joke? Did I offend some deity in a past life I don't remember?

Shinji's expression remained gentle, patient, like a parent explaining something difficult to a child.

"Unfortunately, Y/N, it's far too early for me to explain everything," he paused, his unseen gaze heavy on your face. "There are things you're not ready to understand yet. Things that will become clear in time."

Shinji looked away then, his head tilting slightly as if listening to something, or perhaps looking at something in the distance. His brow furrowed just a fraction. You followed his gaze, squinting into the endless white, but saw absolutely nothing.

"Do you have any other questions?" Shinji asked, turning back to you. "We don't have much time left."

You opened your mouth, a dozen questions fighting for priority — why me? What do you mean you waited? What's going to happen in my new life? Why can't you explain now? But something stopped you. The look on Shinji's face, perhaps. The sense that whatever was coming was inevitable, and fighting it would simply be useless. This wasn't a situation where you had any real choice.

You sighed, running a hand through your honey-blonde hair — or at least, you went through the movement, since you still couldn't feel anything.

"Will I at least be rich?" you asked.

It was honestly the only question that came to mind, practical and self-interested and perfectly in character. You tilted your head to the side like a confused puppy, your hair falling across your eyes.

"In my new life. If I have to do this whole thing again, the least you could do is make me rich."

Shinji chuckled once more, the sound warm and fond. He took a few steps closer, closing the distance between you until he was standing right in front of you. Even without seeing his eyes, you could feel the weight of his gaze, full of something that looked suspiciously like affection.

"You will be," Shinji said softly. "Indeed, you will be very, very rich."

A huge smile spread across your face, bright and genuine, and excitement bubbled up in your chest.

If you were going to be rich — really rich, as Shinji promised — then you wouldn't have to work in your next life at all! You could just... exist, and enjoy yourself. Do absolutely nothing all day, every day, and eat only the most delicious foods ever. You could travel, maybe. Or just stay home and be lazy in absolute luxury. Either way, it sounded infinitely better than your previous existence of gray offices and mind-numbing boredom. You could clearly see it now; a beautiful mansion with a beautiful view, a kitchen full of ingredients for whatever you wanted to cook (or better yet, a personal chef!), a sofa so comfortable it would be illegal. No boss, no coworkers, no pretending to care about things that didn't matter — just peace, just freedom.

Your new life was looking excellent.

"It deeply saddens me," Shinji's voice brought you back to the present. "But it's already time for you to leave."

Shinji's expression shifted slightly, something melancholic flickering across his ethereal features before settling back into that gentle smile.

"But please, don't worry—I will always be with you. Although not physically."

Your excitement dimmed slightly, replaced by confusion. "What do you mean?"

Shinji didn't answer directly. Instead, he reached out and placed his hand delicately on your head, his fingers threading gently through your honey-blonde hair, ruffling it with a tenderness that made your chest ache again.

"I wish you good luck, Y/N, because you will need it," his voice was softly serious now. "Seeing you has been my greatest pleasure. I sincerely hope we meet again."

You opened your mouth to ask what he meant — What do you mean I'll need luck? What do you mean you'll always be with me? What does any of this even mean? — but no sound came out of your mouth. Your throat seized, your vocal cords refusing to cooperate. You brought your hands to your throat instinctively, frowning in confusion.

What's happening now?

When you pulled your hands away, they were covered in blood.

Your blood — fresh and red and pulsing, just like before, just like on the rainy street. But this time, you felt no pain. No sensation at all. You looked down at yourself and saw the blood spreading across your white shirt, soaking through the fabric, but your body refused to acknowledge it.

Your vision began to darken at the edges, the endless white slowly fading to gray, then black. You felt your breathing become difficult, your chest struggling, but still no pain. No fear, just the strange, detached observation of your own death.

Did Shinji make it so I don't feel anything? you wondered distantly. Is this his parting gift?

Through the darkness creeping across your vision, you could still see Shinji. The divine simply being stood there, watching you with that same gentle smile, his golden scarf hiding eyes that you suddenly desperately wanted to see. His lips moved, forming words that didn't reach your ears, didn't resonate in your head.

And for the second time, just like that, Okada Y/N died.

[ Welcome back, Y/N! ]

Or rather — a soft voice that sounded suspiciously exactly like Shinji's echoed in the void you left behind, welcome to your new beginning.

previous masterlist next

note ∘ ∘ ∘ omg i’m sooo excited to write more for this book, i already think its the best thing i ever written in my life 😖 like i have sooo many things planned!! and oh my god—i absolutely ADORE Shinji sooo freaking much, like… hes so dear to my heart 💔

You tried to look him in the eye but couldn’t hold his gaze for longer than a second without it transforming into the leer it had been the last time you had seen him.

“What?” he thrust his arms out to the sides, “What is it, man?”

“Um…” you shifted minutely from foot to foot, one of your hands coming up to fiddle with the end of your tie.

“Look, I –” Morgan scoffed self-consciously, rubbing at the back of his neck, “I know I must have gone overboard ‘cause I suddenly woke up at home Saturday morning. I mean, I never do that.”

You found yourself nodding at his words. It was definitely the first time you had ever seen him completely lose himself. It happened to the best of people once or twice. Others, much more than that. You blinked, forcing your mind back to the present moment.

The doors pushed open as Anderson walked in, smiling and greeting you both. You side stepped to give him room as both you and Morgan bid him a good morning before he strode toward his desk. A still moment passed before Morgan turned his attention back to you.

“But…” he shook his head, “What did I do? What was so bad? Garcia’s giving me the silent treatment, and now you, too?”

The coarse stitches itched beneath the bandage hidden under the thin layer of your shirt. Your expression echoed the grimace you wore that night his grip tore your flesh open again.

I knew he was a fruit, man!

“I… uh…” you fumbled for words to possibly explain it all, mind going blank.

“Hey!” Prentiss called from somewhere behind you in the bullpen.

You turned to see her standing several paces away in front of the coffee machine, beckoning you over rather frantically as she glanced around at others passing by to start their days.

“Can you help me with this thing? I – I don’t know why it’s not working,” she craned over the machine, tapping it on all sides and muttering, “Oh, god, I hope I didn’t break it.”

Almost instantly, you began to rush over to her. You spared Morgan a backward glance and a quick shrug, taking note of the tilt of his brows before he started on his way to his desk.

“So what’s the problem?” you eyed the machine as you sidled up beside her.

Prentiss’s lips slowly curled into a smile.

“Nothing.”

Your eyes found hers and the knowing glint in her gaze rendered you motionless for a moment. A grateful smile then broke through your surprise.

“Thanks,” you muttered, fighting to rein in your expression as you faced toward the counter again.

“Mhmm,” she hummed, still smirking and keeping her eyes forward.

Continuing the charade, you let your fingers run over the smooth plastic top of the machine.

“How’s your shoulder?” she spoke quietly.

You lifted the lid and gave a cursory peek inside, the aroma of the coffee grounds wafting over the two of you.

“Alright,” you responded as you removed the pot and filled it with water from the sink, “Stitches are starting to itch a little but it’s okay.”

She hadn’t brought it up over the weekend in any of the texts you had exchanged, but now you silently prayed she didn’t ask how Morgan’s hand could have possibly caused such a wound.

“Debated just not coming in today, honestly…” you added.

She huffed a soft laugh, leaning closer toward you until your arms touched momentarily.

“Hey, no one would blame you,” she said.

You poured the water into the open lid, then put the pot back in its place and switched the machine to the correct setting that everyone seemed to ignore. Finally, you glanced at her out of the corner of your eye.

A faint smile graced her expression as she took in yours.

“I’m just glad you’re okay,” she spoke, the loud burble of the machine providing a cover from any prying ears, “That was… a hell of a night.”

A wry chuckle forced its way out of your chest.

“Yeah,” you agreed, “It was mostly okay, though.”

You gave her a smile, your chest feeling lighter when you saw how she returned it brightly.

“I mean, I had fun with you,” you continued.

The skin around her eyes crinkled as she emitted a soft laugh.

“Yeah, me too,” she agreed.

The pair held each other’s gaze, the memory of a frenzied dance flitted through both minds in the same moment. You blinked as the memory skipped ahead to what came soon after. And you glanced away toward the machine that was now beginning to drip contents into the pot.

“It was just, well, you know…” you mumbled.

She nodded, her gaze drifting toward Morgan’s desk where he seemed to be taking an incredibly long time to find a suitable pen. His eyes continued to dart over toward the pair standing at the counter.

“Are you gonna tell him about it today?” she asked.

A heavy weight settled in your chest, your brow creasing. An irrational flood of annoyance filled your head, swimming behind your eyes. How did this become your responsibility? Why did you have to worry about having a big discussion, informing someone else of their actions?

Prentiss watched the range of emotions dart across your expression. Her eyes widened for a brief second, her hands coming up to wave away her question.

“Uh. I – I don’t know,” you spoke before she could, “I guess I just wanted to do my work and not really worry about it for a while.”

She nodded quickly, biting at her bottom lip as she studied you.

“Yeah,” she patted your arm, “Okay. Go ahead. I’ll bring you a cup once it’s finished.”

She jabbed her thumb at the machine, still pumping out a wonderfully strong scented liquid.

“Alright,” you smiled at her before turning away.

Skirting around co-workers, you wound your way through the paths in between the desks. Carefully avoiding the eyes that burned into your back, you made it to your own desk and sat down with a heavy sigh.

The feel of the paper beneath your fingertips allowed a deep, steadying breath to pass through your lungs. This was easy, it was methodical. Paperwork was simple, structured.

At times it was utterly boring but at the moment, the repetitive nature was exactly what you craved.

You could feel people passing by as the air around you whooshed in waves against your skin but you kept your head down and focused on your tasks.

A soft clink of ceramic against wood made you start, your head whipping up to find the source.

Prentiss smiled as she left you the promised mug of coffee, just how you liked it, and moved on to her own desk. Smiling back gratefully as she passed by, you grabbed the mug and blew at the gently coiling steam before taking several long sips. You relished the rich flavor and awaited the much needed caffeine boost as you continued to push through your large slog of work.

Eventually, your hand began to cramp and you needed to set your pen down. Blinking away the slight bleariness that came from staring so hard at your files, you sat back in your chair.

A soft groan sounded in your throat as a joint your lower spine popped. You stretched your arms above your head. You risked a quick glance in Morgan’s direction but found he was miraculously focused on his own work as well. As you looked around, you caught Reid’s eye and he gave you a tiny smile. You returned it, watching as his gaze flicked toward Morgan too before he went back to his own tasks.

The parts in your chair strained as you leaned further back, your lips pressing together as you wondered how Reid felt about the whole situation. Perhaps he had something to do with the peace you were being granted at the moment. He certainly could have told Morgan to give you some space in the time you were hiding behind coffee related excuses with Prentiss. Your fingers tapped softly against your thigh as you made a mental note to ask him later.

A trilling phone ringing ripped you from your speculation and you glanced around the busy office. Now seemed as safe a time as any to take a quick bathroom break. The others were all occupied and you could quickly dash away. Your chair creaked as you stood, but luckily the office was filled with so many sounds, it was not enough to bring any attention your way.

Your hands went to your tie, straightening it as you made your way to the nearest bathroom. You tended to avoid public bathrooms when possible, given that there was a ninety-five percent chance they would be disgusting. But the bathrooms here were kept so pristine, you had no qualms using them whenever you needed to.

Pushing the door open, you found the bathroom miraculously empty and you were able to take a stall for once. Afterward, you washed your hands slowly, methodically. The rush of the faucet hit your ears. Your eyelids fluttered as you recalled the last time you were in a public bathroom.

On a whim, you splashed a bit of the frigid tap water against your face. A muffled gasp pushed past your lips as you leaned over the sink, clear droplets falling from your nose and chin. The little shock was enough to banish any creeping feelings.

Ripping a paper towel from the dispenser, you quickly patted your face dry. The bright, white overhead lights shone harshly and accentuated the faint purple crescents beneath your eyes. You exhaled heavily from your nose at the sight. You could only hope they were less noticeable out in the bullpen.

Turning to leave, your shoes squeaked against the tiles as you stopped short when the door was pushed open from the other side.

Hotch halted in his tracks when his gaze landed on you, staring as the door closed behind him. The soft thud as it landed back into place seemed to echo in the quiet. For a couple of seconds, neither man moved, merely peering at each other in surprise.

“Hey,” Hotch said as he took a small step forward to avoid the door’s range, should it open again.

“Hey,” you repeated, your hands balling up the damp paper towel you had yet to toss away.

“I thought I made it clear that you could take today off if you needed to,” he muttered, surprise etched on his face.

A quiet moment crawled by where you held his scrutinizing gaze. You saw past the wall with the boss personality projected onto its surface, and saw the worry hidden behind it.

“Well, I don’t need to,” you responded plainly.

He stood very straight, his eyes flitting over you, looking you up and down in a quick flash.

“Okay,” he agreed placidly, giving a tiny nod.

You nodded in return. Then you turned to toss your clump of a paper towel into the bin near the edge of the row of sinks.

Hotch moved toward the stalls, giving your upper arm a soft pat as he brushed past you. A ghost of a smirk flitted across your lips as you moved toward the door.

As you strode through, your chest felt oddly tingly. You turned back to glance through the rapidly closing door, the sight of the bathroom within quickly becoming obscured.

You caught sight of Hotch as he paused in front of a stall, turning back in the same moment, his eyes finding yours through the waning sliver just before it shut completely.

The bright sun that shone through the windows had faded slightly when you finally broke free from your trance, whipping a file on top of the stack you had piled up on your desk. You slowly turned your head and exhaled sharply when a joint in your neck gave a crack.

The clock on the wall informed everyone that it was now well past noon, running closer to one o'clock. You rubbed at your eyes before glancing around to catch Prentiss look up and give a faint smile.

You gave a minute nod. Leaning back, the hole in your stomach suddenly made itself known as if your stretch had provoked it.

That coffee was ages ago.

A late lunch seemed to be in order.

Taking special care to not look anyone in the eye, you grabbed your things and made your way out of the room.

The sleek, grey elevator closing in front of you allowed a deep breath to release from your chest. Finally, you were away from any fleeting glances. Your stomach emitted such a loud rumble, you found yourself grateful for the empty elevator for another reason entirely.

Out on the street, the midday air warmed you quite quickly. The sun against your skin was a stark contrast to the cool air conditioned state of the building you worked in. You closed your eyes momentarily, turning your head toward the sky and inhaled deeply.

A waft of something delicious hit your nose. Your eyes snapped open and you spied a man hurrying by on the sidewalk with a paper bag in hand that contained what seemed to be some kind of bagel sandwich.

Stomach grumbling at the sight, you turned and began walking in the direction he had come from. Weaving in between people, you kept a sharp eye out for anyone else with a bag or cup with a similar design that the man’s bag had printed on it.

Only a few minutes later, you smiled when you spied an awning with the very same design. Walking in, you weren’t surprised to find it bustling with customers and the staff members scurrying about behind the counter.

You slotted yourself into the back of the long line for ordering. You already knew what you wanted. That bagel sandwich smelled like a dream and your heart was set on it.

Pulling out your phone, you thought it wise to check it while you waited. No missed calls or sudden messages yet. You let out a heavy breath.

Absently, you scrolled through everything possible in your phone while taking a couple of shuffling steps forward in line. Clicking through your contacts, you finger stopped when you landed on a new one that had recently been imputed but had yet to be used.

Javi

You fixated on the contact for so long, you didn’t realize you were suddenly several paces away from the man in front of you in line. Moving up quickly, you stowed your phone and banished all thoughts of anything except food.

When it came to be your turn at the front you hastily ordered the egg and bacon bagel sandwich along with an iced coffee. After stating your name for the order, you rushed out of the way to allow the next person their go.

The smell of various cafe foods swirled and danced in the air around you as you shuffled around people to head toward the single person tables.

Once in your seat, you looked about and felt a tickle of restlessness on your back. You should have brought something to occupy yourself with.

Pulling your phone out again, you stared at the little illuminated screen.

Your finger hovered over the selected contact for so long, it started to tremble slightly.

You clicked it before you could think better of it and were putting the phone to your ear to listen to the nerve-wracking ring. By the time it rang for a fifth time, you figured there would be no answer and you pulled the phone away to end the call.

“Hello?” a voice answered.

You put the speaker back to your ear, stunned.

“Hello?” he repeated.

“Hey,” you finally found your voice, “Uh, you might not remember me. We met at the bar the other night –”

Javi’s laugh cut you off.

“Oh, it’s you,” he said, his tone shifting from wary to pleasant, “Are you kidding? How could I forget?”

“Heh,” you chuckled self-consciously, your hand tapping against your thigh.

Javi continued, undeterred.

“First off, and I take personal offense to this, you had no idea how to drink a Jägerbomb and then –”

“Is that what it’s called?” you interrupted with disbelief, recalling the odd drink that required dropping one glass into another.

“Yeah,” he chuckled, “Man, you don’t get out much do you?”

“Well,” you tiled your head, releasing a light scoff, “You saw what happens when I do.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, “I left for, like, five minutes and I come back to you basically bleeding out. And your really weird group of… friends taking you away.”

Your throat grew tight and you struggled to swallow around the phantom pressure that coiled around your esophagus.

“What, uh…” Javi’s light tone gave way to seriousness, “What exactly happened there?”

You gripped the phone a little tighter, swallowing before speaking again.

“It was – It was just an accident,” you managed to say.

He was silent on the other end for a few moments, possibly under the impression that you would expand on that. When you didn’t, he spoke up.

“Listen, I, uh,” he gave an airy chuckle, “I hope I didn’t, um… read things wrong that night.”

Sitting up straighter in your seat, the words tumbled from your lips.

“Oh, no – no, um, it was my –” you stuttered, your neck suddenly growing hot, “I thought that you…”

You picked at a nick in the table with your fingernail, wondering how to reveal you assumed he was into Prentiss. When you didn’t finish your thought, Javi continued.

“Are you sure?” he pressed, “You looked kinda… Well. Let’s just say, I didn’t think you’d call.”

You could almost picture him rubbing at the back of his head nervously.

He had good reason. The paper with his phone number hastily scrawled onto it was nearly illegible, thoroughly worn from the amount of times you had folded and unfolded it. It had nearly found a home in the trash on more than one occasion until you finally saved the number in your phone.

“Well, I was…” it was your turn to release a nervous laugh, “I was kinda messed up by time you gave me the number.”

“Yeah, okay, that’s fair,” he agreed.

A staff member shouted out a name and you jumped a little, pulling the phone away from your ear for a moment, but it wasn’t yours that she repeated.

“Sorry about…” you paused.

You didn’t know exactly what you were apologizing for. There was the obvious of the insane manner in which you parted ways. The way you had been too dense to realize who the object of his attraction was. And of course… Morgan. But you weren’t sure if Javi himself was aware of that one. You had a strong suspicion but you dearly hoped you were wrong and he hadn’t heard Morgan’s drunken words.

Realizing you had gone silent for too long, you cleared your throat before finishing your thought.

“Well, take your pick.”

You were graced with his hearty laugh at your parroting of the same words he said to you that night at the bar, the sound pulling your lips up in response.

“Well, damn. That’s hard, there’s just so much to hate about you,” he said, laying the sarcasm on thick.

The laugh that pulled from your chest was a little louder than appropriate for the public setting and you glanced around before speaking again.

“I guess there was one thing I… wanted to say sorry for, specifically,” you hesitated, “Uh, I don’t know if you noticed but one of my friends was really drunk. Like, black-out drunk.”

“Oh, yeah. I remember,” his nod was almost audible, “He could barely stay on his feet. Are you talking about, uh, what he said? After I came outside?”

A hot spike of nerves rammed through your gut at the confirmation that he had heard Morgan’s drunken comment after all. His voice had gone soft as he asked the questions and your nail dug deeper into the groove in the table.

“Ah, don’t worry about it,” Javi tried to wave it off, “That was, uh, pretty tame compared to most things I’ve heard.”

It was meant to put you at ease, but it only served to compound your guilt. Your continued tense silence must have made your thoughts clear, as he spoke again hurriedly.

“It – It’s fine, really,” he reassured, “I mean… I’m guessing you wouldn’t hang around him if he really was… you know, not cool.”

Your finger stopped scratching at the dark wood as you swallowed with difficulty.

“Uh…” you couldn’t get much else past your lips.

Your chest had begun to rise and fall more harshly. His words had struck a target in your throat that you had been unaware of. You tried to clear your throat.

“Hello?” Javi paused, most likely checking that the call was still going, “Um. Are you good?”

“Y-Yeah,” you said, your voice a little hoarse, “Yeah, I’m good. You?”

“Yeah,” he spoke with a breathy chuckle, “Well, uh, you wanna make it all up to me?”

Your heart soared at the possibility.

“Yeah,” you replied honestly.

“Alright. I just need one thing,” he said.

“Sure, anything,” you said.

“Buy me a coffee,” he declared.

Your eyes snapped up, scanning the bustling place as if Javi were about to stand up from one of the other tables and reveal himself.

You couldn’t undo the other night, but you could do this. Coffee and a chat with someone who knew next to nothing about you but seemed to enjoy speaking with you.

Perhaps it would help. He didn’t look at you like you were about to break at any moment. He didn’t ask you how you were doing every twenty minutes, didn’t watch your every move. It could be fun, refreshing.

“Yeah,” you laughed, “Okay.”

“Great!” you could hear the smile in his voice, “When are you free?”

You paused, considering it. Today felt far too soon.

“Does tomorrow evening work?”

“Yeah, I’m down. I’ll see you then,” he said.

You could picture him drumming his hand against a table as he spoke.

“Alright, bye,” you said, ending the call.

You slowly set your phone down on the table, unblinkingly. Your phone chimed after a few moments and you saw that Javi had texted you the name and address of a coffee shop along with a little smiley face. A soft chuckle left your chest at the sight and the thought of him typing that out.

The cafe had become rather subdued, all the patrons glancing around at each other. You hadn’t noticed the way the chatter died down to muted mutterings.

It took the staff member another two tries of shouting your name for you to process what you were hearing. Shaking yourself free of your thoughts you realized you were holding up the delivery section at the counter. Standing in a rush, you quickly scurried over and apologized quickly as you retrieved your iced coffee and bacon bagel sandwich.

Heading back to your small table and carefully avoiding the judging gazes of the other customers, you sank down into the chair. Spying the deep gouge you had left near the corner, you discreetly covered it with a napkin. You took a sip of the coffee to quell the deep grumblings your stomach was making at the smell of your food.

Unwrapping it, you wrestled back a groan of delight at the fluffy looking egg nestled above the perfectly cooked bacon inside of the bagel. You were only a single, savory bite into your late lunch when your phone rang once again.

Brows drawing together, you fished it out of your pocket and swallowed your bite before you were ready to.

“Hello?” you answered slightly hoarsely.

“Hey,” JJ replied, “We have a case.”

Your feet pounded against the floor, the loud heavy sounds echoing through hall as you rushed back to the building. Garcia was waiting at the doors to inform you that the team had already headed down to the cars. Thanking her, you gave her arm a quick squeeze before you dashed off to the garage as your heart rate picked up.

If they were down there already, it was clearly serious and time was of the essence.

The air dropped to a slightly cooler temperature as you made your way into the parking structure, your footsteps echoing off the cement walls. Rushing over to the team’s usual set of cars, you saw them split between three cars. You paused for just a sight moment, a few feet away, wondering which you should join.

Hotch finally spied you from one of the driver’s seats and beckoned you toward his car.

Grateful, you jogged over and opened the back door. Prentiss greeted you quickly from the passenger seat as you slid into the back.

“Hey,” you said breathlessly as you swung the door shut with a slam, “What do we got?”

Hotch had already begun to pull the car out as you were still closing the door and you turned to watch the others follow suit closely behind.

He launched into an explanation, with Prentiss chiming in periodically with bits of her own.

The team had been called in to help as soon as possible to a small, woodland town that was within driving distance. A series of explosions had been set off with a variety of different methods. Yesterday alone, there had been three fires set. One had been in a small gas station market in the early hours of the morning, another at an abandoned house around midday, and the final one in the middle of a small, outdoor shopping street in the evening.

Only the single staff member of the gas station had been injured, but it was luckily rather superficial burns and scrapes from when he was thrown to the ground outside after the blast. If he had been inside the shop, it would have been much worse. No one in the shopping street had been injured.

“Why are we just hearing about this now?” you asked.

Hotch took a sharp turn on the road and your hand shot out to brace against the car door.

“Aside from yesterday, there was only one minor fire a couple of weeks ago that they ruled out as an accident,” Hotch said, “The local police said the ones from yesterday were done so randomly, they couldn’t be sure if it was the work of the same person.”

Prentiss gave a light scoff as she tossed her head back briefly.

“Three explosions in one day?” she said, incredulity dripping from her words, “And they didn’t think that was cause for alarm?”

You shared a look with her, your own scoff coming out rather harshly.

“So, what changed their minds?” you asked, your fingers twisting the seat belt.

The following quiet thrummed with a vibrating intensity as Hotch pressed down on the gas pedal a little harder.

“Well, they made it clear to get there as quickly as possible,” Prentiss said, her nose scrunching in thought before her voice dropped to a low mutter, “So, I guess we’re gonna find out.”

You know what you did.

8.

The local police chief showed the team the ashen note with the accusation scrawled on it after they arrived. The piece of paper now sat on the table between everyone, glaring up at them. They were momentarily situated in a small room in the police station.

The chief assumed the eight meant that they had until eight o’clock that night until the unsub struck again and there would be another blaze somewhere. They were asked to build a profile as quickly as possible in order to find the person before the next explosion could happen in a place where a greater number of people could be hurt.

The team was skeptical about the eight meaning a time, but they still didn’t want to risk it. Time was always of the essence with any case, but this one had everyone exceptionally tense as the minutes ticked by.

Hotch spoke quickly, his back not even touching the chair as he assigned tasks.

“We’re going to need to split up and visit each of the sites,” Hotch ordered, “See if we can find any connection between all of them. Starting with –”

He tossed a photo on the table. Everyone gathered in close to peer at it.

“The gas station.”

The photo displayed the tiny shop of the station, blackened and charred. The ashy remains of shelves and products scattered across the floor.

“We can go check that one out,” Morgan volunteered, his fist nudging you, “Right?”

All team members stilled as their eyes flitted between the pair of you and Hotch, waiting to see what his say on the matter would be. The wind faded from Morgan’s sails as he noticed the way the others were silently regarding you and the slight shift in the already tense air.

Morgan let his hand drop onto the table with a dull thud that was much louder than normal in the tense silence.

“Oh, my god, just tell me already!” Morgan groaned, slumping in his chair as he looked at everyone in turn with exasperation.

“Morgan,” Hotch spoke quickly, “Now isn’t the time.”

Morgan shot upright in his seat.

“Well, when is?” he spread his arms as he gazed at all of the other team members before jabbing a finger at the photo on the table, “I can’t focus on this with this thing hanging over my head, man.”

You kept your gaze trained on the photo, feeling Morgan and the others watching you. Even Hotch was quiet for a moment, giving you the option to handle it yourself.

“It’s fine, we’ll go check it out,” you said, looking up to give everyone a clear view of your calm expression.

Hotch gazed at you evenly until he gave you a resolute nod.

The drive to the crime scene was rather silent, with only sporadic snippets of small talk interspersed between theories. You tried to keep on track, throwing out ideas of why people tend to lean toward fire and destruction.

Morgan stayed in that lane with you, analyzing what could possibly make someone angry enough to do so. This wasn’t the work of someone that simply got off on the chaos of it all, there was obviously some sort of grievance that the unsub was reacting to. Whether it was real or perceived was another matter entirely.

The sun that had been so pleasant a mere hour ago now beat down against your neck once you arrived at the gas station and exited the car.

You fell into step alongside him, your feet crunching loudly over the loose gravel. Scanning the environment, you attempted to put yourself in the unsub’s shoes. You pointed out that coming at an angle from the back would hide the unsub from the security camera outside.

After gleaning all you could from the smoky remains of the place, you set back to the station. The tires tore through the pebbles, sending some flying in all directions as Morgan pulled back out on to the road.

You kept your gaze pointed out of the window, watching the large trees flit by quickly. Your mind raced as you pondered what this unsub’s goal was. It clearly wasn’t hurting as many people as possible, considering they targeted an old abandoned house as well as the other locations.

“What are you thinking?” Morgan’s voice pulled you from you trance.

You blinked, turning away from the window to look at him. He was glancing at you furtively, his fingers tapping on the steering wheel.

“Don’t you think it’s weird that…” you muttered, your mouth twisting in confusion, “It’s almost like the gas station worker’s injuries were just an accident. The unsub clearly waited until they knew no one was inside the building.”

Morgan nodded, his expression growing thoughtful as he took a turn in the road.

“Yeah…” he mumbled, “So what do you think it means?”

You shook your head, scratching at your neck in agitation.

“I don’t know,” you said, frowning as you thought aloud, “Just… kinda weird that we’re on the clock like this… And no one has really been hurt, you know?”

The silence dragged out as Morgan rubbed at his chin before looking to you with the same confusion in his gaze that you felt.

Back in the small room at the police station, the air sparked and crackled as everyone hung around in varying states of quiet agitation. The other scenes had offered little insight and building an accurate profile so quickly would prove difficult. It certainly wouldn’t be enough to figure out where the unsub might go next, there simply wasn’t enough information yet. But time to get more information was exactly what police chief made it clear they did not have.

Everyone had taken their seats, looking over the facts and throwing ideas out.

Hotch had risen to speak with the chief when he burst in asking for an update. After trying to explain to the man why they felt the eight on the note didn’t mean a deadline, he only became further irritated.

“I thought this was your whole job?” he threw the question at Hotch, stepping close into his space, “Aren’t you guys supposed to be the best at knowing what this guy’s gonna do?!”

You bristled when you noticed how the older man was nearly toe to toe with Hotch, the pent up energy radiating from him. Hotch remained steadfast and though you couldn’t see his face, you could guess what it looked like at the moment.

Before you could think better of it, the sparking in your gut had propelled you up and out of your seat until you were beside them.

“Problem, Chief?” you asked measuredly, as you stopped mere inches away just as he was doing to Hotch.

The chief blinked at your approach, the aggression in his gaze fading as he backed away, grumbling something under his breath about the FBI. You glanced sidelong at Hotch and saw his carefully constructed mask of neutrality paired with authority that he crafted specially for situations like this.

You retreated back to your seat, avoiding the eyes of the rest of the team. Reid and JJ were burning holes into your head from their end of the table. If they had lasers in their eyes, they probably would have fired their beams to the middle of your brain by now.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw when Hotch returned to his seat at your left side. On the other end, you noticed Prentiss exchange a brief look with Rossi.

As Hotch brought his seat closer to the table, he looked at you momentarily and gave you a quick nod before addressing the others.

“Okay,” he said, taking a deep breath, “What do we know?”

He let his hands fall onto the photos they were given and spread them out in order.

“Three blasts,” you said, “Where no one got hurt on purpose.”

Reid’s brows furrowed, the pen he was fiddling with going still in between his fingers.

“What? What makes you say that?” he asked as he leaned forward.

All eyes were on you as you gave your explanation, Morgan already nodding along from his spot to your right, having had heard your speculation on the drive back.

Rossi tapped a rhythm against the table, his other hand rubbing over his mouth as he seemed to take in your words.

“Okay,” he said, “So, let’s just say he’s not doing it to harm anyone. What’s the point of this then?”

JJ shook her head, her hands forming a half shrug motion.

“Maybe he just likes the destruction?” she suggested.

“Yeah, but explosions and fire?” Prentiss said, her brows raising, “It’s one of the easiest things that can slip out of your control.”

A deep sigh passed your lips as you let your head rest in your hands, raking your fingers through your hair.

Morgan noticed your growing agitation and reached over to give you a soft clap on the shoulder.

At the feeling of his touch, a gasp was wrenched from your throat. You jerked away instinctively. The momentum propelled your chair sideways and you nearly rolled right into Hotch. Morgan was left with his hand still partially aloft, his eyes wide as he stared at you and then to everyone else.

“Dude, what is it?” Morgan threw his arms out, “What? Did I try to fight you or something?”

Reid lightly worried his bottom lip as he peered between you. JJ and Prentiss exchanged tense looks, Prentiss picking at her thumb nail. You glanced at Hotch, now mere inches away, a slight heat building under your skin at your overreaction as you carefully scooted your chair away from him and back to it’s original spot.

“No, nothing,” you muttered, training your eyes on the photos, “It’s fine, let’s try and figure this –”

“Oh, come on,” Morgan said, indignant, “How am I supposed to get anything done if you’re – what, you scared of me?”

“No,” you repeated sharply, your hands clasped together tightly on the table’s surface.

“Really?” Morgan said, the single word as bitter as vinegar as he let his hand fall on to the table with a huff.

“Ohh-kay,” Rossi cut in, his voice jamming into the exchange as he dragged the word out, “I think we’re all just a little frustrated. Maybe we should take a quick break?”

He looked to Hotch questioningly, who gave a nod as he began to push his chair back.

“Yeah,” he said, addressing everyone, “Let’s clear our heads, meet back here in five minutes?”

Reid seemed like he was trying to sink right into the floor, like he couldn’t wait to exit the now incredibly tense room. Prentiss looked just as eager and JJ appeared eerily blank. The soft creak of everyone’s chairs as they moved to stand filled the thick, heavy air for just a moment.

Then Morgan scoffed and spoke under his breath, his gaze downcast.

“Yeah, so you can find another way to avoid me?”

The crack of the pen slammed down against the table had everyone halting in their movement, eyes snapping up in surprise at the sound.

JJ gazed at Morgan evenly from the other end of the table.

“Can’t really blame him,” she said with a wry shrug, her mouth rather tight.

Ice dropped into your stomach when you saw the irritation burning behind her eyes as she continued.

“Hell, I probably wouldn’t know what to do either if you had me bleeding and –”

“JJ,” you pleaded in a wheeze.

Reid tried to put a hand on her arm in the same moment but the words were already blurting from her mouth.

“– called the guy who hit on me a derogatory term.”

The silence that followed could have been cut and served up on a plate.

“No…” Morgan gaped, “I – I did that?”

“JJ,” Hotch admonished quietly, fixing her with a level stare.

She finally looked away from Morgan. Turning to Hotch, her eyes widened as the realization of what she had just done seemed to dawn on her. She turned to you, her hand coming to rest in front of her mouth.

You clenched your hands into fists, pressing them hard into your lap. Heat spread like wildfire in your veins, mostly from embarrassment and shock but also a spark of anger. You absolutely could not let it catch and flare to life. You always worked to keep your anger in check, you couldn’t let it get out of control now.

“Did I?” Morgan turned to Prentiss, at a loss.

She looked at him, slightly paralyzed as she glanced around at the others. When Morgan looked to Rossi, he was much the same as Prentiss and glanced toward you with uncertainty.

The unsub could possibly strike again in a matter of hours. You didn’t understand why time was being wasted on this. You pointedly remained silent in the hopes that Hotch would put a stop to all this.

“I… No, there’s no way,” Morgan shook his head as he turned his attention back to you.

Irritation flared in your chest and flooded all the way down to your toes after hearing how he denied it and suddenly the dam broke.

“No?” you fired at him, tone cracking like a whip, “You want me to call him so you can ask him yourself? He heard what you said, man. Forget my shoulder, that might be the worst part.”

You were on your feet without recalling doing so, your chair clattering behind you. Before the bellows could stoke the flames of your temper, before your voice had a chance to rise further, you took the best course of action and removed yourself from the situation.

Though you already knew you had messed up having an outburst like that, you avoided a much more horrible scenario. You shook out your tight fists, taking in deep breaths to steady yourself as you stalked away and pushed into a small, unoccupied room.

Sinking down into a chair, you let your head drop heavily into your hands with a soft groan. Your mind drifted longingly to the time before everything got so difficult. The tick of the watch on your wrist was loud, right next to your ear. You let the steady beat calm you, willing your heart to match the pace.

After several bracing ticks, the door opened slowly after a quiet knock. Unmoving, you listened to the soft padding of footsteps coming toward you.

“Sorry,” you muttered without bothering to look up.

The shiny, almost reflective shoes you could see from under your arms were enough for you to be certain who you were speaking to.

“It’s alright,” Hotch said as he lowered himself to a seat beside you.

A huff left your lips as you finally lifted your head. There were no traces of anger anywhere in his expression that you could detect.

“Oh, really?” you smirked in disbelief, “You tell JJ it’s alright?”

His expression mirrored yours, a flash of mirth dancing in the background of his gaze.

“Well. I think it could’ve gone a lot worse,” he murmured, an eyebrow quirking at the thought before his tone shifted into more serious territory, “But out here, we need to be able to rely on each other. No matter what else may be going on between us personally. I’m going to talk to Morgan, too. But you still shouldn’t have spoken to him like that –”

You shook your head before you cut him off.

“No, I know I shouldn’t have –” a heavy groan left your chest as you dragged your hands through your hair, “Honestly, I was already kinda over it. It really wasn’t even that bad. But just now, when he said “no” it just – it made me so mad for some reason.”

“Well, we’re not exactly on a relaxing retreat at the moment,” he said, “We’re all feeling the strain.”

You fell heavily against the back of the chair, your hands coming up to scrub harshly at your face.

“Ugh, god…” you lamented, “When this is over I just might actually go on a relaxing retreat.”

A soft snort sounded from your side and you looked to find Hotch nearly grinning as he studied you, the skin around his eyes crinkling.

“W-What?” you said, your lips upturning despite yourself.

“Nothing,” he murmured, shaking his head, “I’m just imagining you trying to relax on a retreat. It’s… very amusing.”

Forcing your expression to remain neutral, you nudged your foot against his.

“You’re gonna go, too,” you declared seriously, biting back your smile, “If any one desperately needs a retreat, it’s you.”

Hotch laughed properly at that as he shook his head at you. An odd lightness emerged in your chest at the sight, remembering the easy moments shared over whiskey at a late hour. You finally cracked and felt your own laughter rush forth at the sheer incredulity of the turn in conversation.

When your mirth subsided, you glanced at your watch before looking back at him with a slightly raised eyebrow.

“Don’t worry,” he said, waving a hand, “I decided a ten minute break would be more appropriate.”

A soft, amused huff left your nose at this. Grateful for the extra minutes, you let yourself slouch in the chair, eyes drifting shut, and tried to think of absolutely nothing.

“So…” Hotch spoke after a couple minutes of silence.

You shifted to look at him again. The slow quirk of his lips was the only hint you got at what the rest of his sentence would be, yet you never would have guessed it.

“You did call him.”

The silence in the room pressed on you heavily. Your lungs momentarily lost the ability to take in air as you gaped at his raised brows and smirking lips.

“Uh – I,” you faltered, whipping upright in the chair.

Your mind provided a flash of the look on Hotch’s face when he spoke to Javi that night.

“Well…” you stared at him wide-eyed, your hands clasped so tight around the armrests that your knuckles were turning white.

Hotch’s features smoothed out, fading from teasing into a muted disbelief as he noted the apprehension thrumming through your rigid form.

“You don’t think that I…” he faltered, a brief flicker of something like hurt in his eyes.

The door opened once more, causing both of you to jump and whip around.

JJ skidded to a halt just inside the room, her lips pressed together as she regarded you.

“Hey,” she breathed, taking a small step toward you, “I – I’m so sorry I said that. I don’t know why I did it. I should have let you decide if you wanted to talk about it, I –”

Hotch watched as you rose from your seat. You cut her off gently with a hand on her arm to stop her apology.

“It’s okay,” you said carefully, “Really. It’s fine. Let’s worry about it all later, okay?”

JJ blew out a harsh breath, glancing to Hotch quickly, before giving you a grateful nod and falling into step with the both of you to head back to the rest of the team.

You gave a sidelong look at Hotch, catching him still studying you with a worried tilt to his brows. Swallowing and turning your gaze forward again, you couldn’t believe the relief you felt at reentering the room you had been so eager to exit mere minutes ago.

Tensions only ratcheted higher with each passing hour. The closer it got to 8 p.m. the more agitated the chief got with the team.

With only a partially complete profile but not much else to go on, there weren’t many answers they could give him. Even Garcia couldn’t find anything of note about any of the targeted locations or any suspects that fit. Irritation hung in the air like fireflies, sometimes flying right into their faces when they least expected it.

Not to mention the fact that whenever Morgan attempted to speak to you about anything other than the case, he’d find himself cut off by someone else. The message rang clear to him after about an hour of this occurring and he focused only on the work.

Once the clock announced it was eight o’clock, a sudden stillness washed over everyone. Even Reid stopped moving entirely as the team gazed at one another in quiet apprehension.

The chief barreled into their room a few minutes later, informing them rather testily that they would keep a close eye on all the news outlets.

Minutes crawled by, slowly turning half an hour into a whole hour.

Prentiss peered at you, her brows raised silently. You shrugged helplessly at her.

After nine o’clock pushed forward into 9:38 and there was still no word, the team came to the conclusion that they were safe from another disaster. Their suspicions about the note proved to be correct.

The chief failed to appear in their room again.

The wooden stirrer scraped softly against the bottom of the ceramic mug. You added another spoonful of sugar to your coffee, feeling like you were wearing a weighted vest as you stirred.

The break room’s name suddenly became crystal clear to you as you stood alone, heaving a sigh. Another half hour had slogged by with not a single new insight that could help the team.

Tossing the small stick into the trash, you raised the mug to your lips and took a long, desperately needed sip of coffee.

The break room door opened behind you and you turned, only to set your mug down on the counter with a loud clack.

Morgan approached you cautiously, his thumbs hooking into his pockets as he stood a couple of paces away.

“Reid told me,” he said, “What I did and, uh, said that night.”

“Okay,” you said plainly, moving to exit the room.

“Come on, man, you have to know I don’t really think like that.”

“Yeah, I do,” you said, then gestured past him, “Can I please just –”

“Oh, that was real convincing. Look, I shouldn’t have said those things, alright?” Morgan heaved out a huge sigh, his jaw tight as he gazed at you, “I don’t even remember saying it. I – I still can’t believe I said it. But –”

Your fingers dug into your eyes, breathing slowly as you willed yourself not to get heated again. A presence lingered just outside the door that you failed to notice in the moment your eyes were closed.

“Just stop, dude, we’re fine. Honestly, I’m just glad you didn’t say a lot worse,” you muttered, “I’m getting tired of talking about this. And we have an unsub to find.”

You skirted past him to exit the small break room that had begun to feel like an interrogation room instead.

“Hey, hold on –”

The sensation of his fingers curling around your upper arm–

Sparks of alarm flew across your brain.

“Dude!” you exclaimed.

You twisted away from his touch, spinning around, your back now to the door.

Morgan held his hands up, palms facing you, his mouth falling open at your outburst.

“What?” he asked plainly, stunned.

“Seriously –?” you rasped, your throat going dry.

Memories clawed their way to the forefront of your exhausted mind.

Your lungs screaming for air. Morgan cackling too close to your ear. The flames tearing across your shoulder.

The breath skittered out of your lungs as Morgan’s eyes grew wide with realization.

“We just talked about that,” you ground out the words.

Morgan watched as your eyes screwed shut and you took a deep breath, gently rolling your right shoulder.

“Oh, damn. Right,” Morgan shook his head at himself, “I –”

Morgan’s gaze focusing on something past you made your turn to follow his line of sight.

Hotch stepped through the doorway, studying the both of you coolly.

You tried to stand straight, to look normal, but once glance at the way Hotch was scanning you and you knew it was futile. You chest puffed out as you forced yourself to take in a great breath, some of the spikes of alarm already fading.

“Give us a minute,” Hotch muttered firmly as he locked eyes with Morgan.

Morgan tried to catch your eye, lingering in the hopes that you might speak up and perhaps negate the need for Hotch’s order.

You said nothing.

He dipped his head in a low nod as he stepped around Hotch to exit the room.

“I’m fine,” you spoke between slightly gritted teeth.

Hotch merely stared at you evenly, his hands sliding into his pockets as he allowed your tone to float in the air between you and refute your words.

“Maybe it is too soon for you to be back,” he suggested, “If you need to take some time, you know you’re allowed to do that.”

You were already shaking your head vehemently.

“No. I can work,” the words came out firm.

His lips pressed together in a rather resigned line.

“What makes you so sure about that?” he asked.

You lifted your gaze, holding his steadily.

“You’re here, too,” you said.

The quiet that followed was so loud it nearly burst your eardrums. You didn’t break his gaze. You knew if he was half as obstinate as you thought him to be, he couldn’t possibly contradict your claim without damning himself.

A full thirty seconds passed. Both studied each other, unyielding.

“Let’s go help the others,” he spoke at last.

You nodded, and followed as he led the way out the door.

As the minutes ticked away relentlessly and midnight fast approached, the team accepted that they would not be headed to bed tonight.

Everyone had spread out to think.

Reid was spinning his chair in soft, half-circles as he stared at a map that marked the known locations of the explosions.

JJ had her feet tucked beneath her on the tiny sofa that was in the corner, turning the pages of a collection of old reports on fires in the town.

Prentiss had the end of her pen in her mouth as she studied the photo of the charred abandoned house.

Rossi turned the ring on his finger absentmindedly as he also observed the map on the board.

Morgan tapped his fingers against his knees, not looking at anything anymore but leaning back with his eyes closed.

Hotch was slouched in his chair, his hands resting on top of his head as he peered between all the evidence gathered.

You had called Garcia back a couple of hours ago to let her know nothing bad had happened after eight o’clock and to let her know she had not been “forgotten” like she had claimed.

“What’s the point of me being here if it’s just gonna be the seven of you going off to do everything on your own?” she had complained.

Your lips quirked up at the memory of how she had sounded so genuinely hurt and the way you cheered her up by promising to watch a movie together when you returned.

The pen in your hand scribbled aimlessly against a piece of paper. You let it glide and form random lines. They mirrored what the inside of your head felt like.

Sighing, you stood and stretched with a quiet groan.

“Anyone want any more coffee?” you asked generally.

Everyone turned to you, mostly all shaking their heads except for Reid who nodded appreciatively.

You gave him a thumbs up as you left to the break room again. The sounds of the station had grown slower, quieter. All the local officers looked subdued and worn out.

Entering the room and heading toward the coffee machine, you were surprised to find someone had recently brewed a fresh pot that was mostly full. Grabbing two paper cups, knowing Reid wouldn’t want someone else’s mug, you began to fill them both.

You were only just stirring in the sugar when a voice sounded behind you, making you jump and nearly spill the coffee all over yourself.

“Woah,” Morgan said, a surprised chuckle pushing past his lips, “Easy.”

You turned to give him the ghost of a sheepish smirk. He lingered silently for several moments. Clearing his throat, he finally spoke.

“Can we just do all this again?” he said, with a half-smile tinged with regret, “I don’t like bein’ like this, man.”

He gestured between the two of you with a heavy sigh. You found yourself nodding in agreement.

“Me neither,” you muttered.

“Look, I…” Morgan glanced away for a moment before steeling himself, “You know I have no problem if you’re, you know, gay or –”

“Wh – I’m not gay, Morgan,” you cut him off, whipping your head around to see if anyone was within earshot.

Morgan faltered, blinking as a current of confusion swam across his face.

“Uh, you’re not?” he threw his hands out, “Well, then why are you so pissed at me for this?”

A scoff pushed past your lips as you shook your head, turning back to the coffees.

“Wait. Please,” Morgan’s tone softened as he scurried to your side, “I just – I thought since you were this mad, just about something I said –”

The breath came harsh from your chest, and you could almost hear your blood pumping in you ears. Every word, every thought that you had been pushing away finally bubbled up to the surface and burst out in a rush.

“Do I have to be gay to not want you to say homophobic things?” you said, looking him dead in the face, “And I’m not mad. I’m just… It was kinda embarrassing, man. And disappointing. That guy, Javi? He was real nice. Just because it wasn’t… the worst you could’ve said, doesn’t mean I don’t wish he didn’t have to hear you say anything at all. I’ve seen firsthand how little thoughts like that… can lead to actions. Which lead to bigger, scarier actions. It can – It can really make people feel unsafe, man. Like – Like they aren’t allowed to exist.”

You realized your breath was coming quicker and you forced your mouth shut. You blinked rapidly, a hot spiral coiling deep in your gut. You had disclosed much more than you intended to.

Morgan had gone still as he took in all of your admission. His fingers tapped nervously against each other at his side, remorse swimming in his eyes. You shifted from foot to foot, unsure of where to look now, wondering if you could walk away without him trying to stop you.

“Damn it,” Morgan said under his breath, a hand coming up to scrub at his face in agitation.

A tug pulled inside your chest at the sight of his rising guilt.

“Look, Morgan. It’s – I know that you’d never –” you began, your hand reaching out toward him tentatively.

“Hey!” Reid called, as he leaned in through the doorway, cutting you off, “Come on, we might have the unsub.”

You shared a stunned look with Morgan, silently agreeing to shelve the conversation for now before rushing off in unison after Reid.

The tip that came in to the station directed them to a large expanse of property with several buildings spaced out across the land where the unsub could be hiding. Hotch sent everyone off, splitting up into groups to cover as much ground as possible.

The buildings were spaced so far apart, you couldn’t even see where the others were, not even a glimpse of their lights. The dry, unmaintained grass crunched lightly under your feet. Slowly stalking around a vast, old brick building, you held your gun down at your side. You glanced at Morgan, with his back pressed up against the wall, and nodded silently toward the back end of the building.

He nodded back as he began creeping ahead, the cold darkness of the night only serving to make both men extra cautious. You had agreed silently to walk around the perimeter first, attempting to check the windows without alerting anyone that may be inside.

The exhaustion, irritation, anger, everything that had been warring within gave way to adrenaline as you poured all your focus to the matter at hand. Finally, the both of you pushed into the building from the back entrance and immediately swept your field of vision. Your small flashlights cast concentrated beams of light across the interior.

Old machinery and what appeared to be long forgotten crates of random storage filled the large building.

Your footsteps sounded painfully loud as you checked behind every object where anyone could possibly be hiding, your chest rising quicker with each spot. You kept your ear trained on Morgan doing the same on the other side of the space.

Finally reaching the other end of the large, open area at the same time, you both lowered your guns.

“There’s nothin’ here, man,” Morgan heaved out a breath, the tension dropping from his shoulders.

“Yeah,” you blew out your own deep breath as you glanced about, “Think it was just a prank call?”

Morgan shook his head, shrugging and letting his hand fall sharply against his side.

“Whatever this is, it’s a waste of our time,” he muttered, moving past you toward front exit, “I mean, what’s the point of all this?”

You remained still as his words sunk into your brain. Something snagged in your mind, the clarity from the burst of adrenaline that remained still thrummed in your limbs.

What’s the point of me being here if it’s just gonna be the seven of you going off to do everything on your own?

“Morgan…” you murmured, brow creasing.

He turned back to you, his hand on the door, already pushing it open. Your eyes landed on the small square just above the door.

Heart racing, you lunged forward to stop his motion.

“Morgan, wait!”

He was already through, the door swinging open and pulling something free from the block above their heads. Morgan was turning to follow your gaze when you tackled him through the doorway, shielding him as best you could as you turned to look behind you.

The door was swinging shut.

It didn’t close fully before it was blasted off its hinges.

The darkness that enveloped you was like tar, thick and sticky, clinging to you and unwilling to release you. Hands were under your arms, dragging your limp form across a bumpy terrain. Each sharp movement over a rise or dip in the ground caused flares of pain to dance across your torso. A harsh ringing hit your ears, like someone had just hit the world’s largest tuning fork an inch away from your head.

“I’ve got ya,” a labored voice near your ear cut through the ringing.

Blinking blearily, your eyes peeled open. In a dull daze, you registered that the vision in your left eye wasn’t working correctly. Only a blurry darkness was visible, creating an unsettling one-sided perspective of everything.

The sight of your own legs dragging slack in front of you appeared like something happening on a film screen you were watching, as opposed to reality.

The hands dragging you must have deemed your journey complete, for you came to a halt. The scorching that spread across your chest from the harsh movement faded to a blessedly dull simmer. A weak wheezing sounded in your ears.

Your eyelids seemed to be the only part of your body responding at the moment. Apart from the wheezing, the all encompassing ringing drowned out almost every other noise.

Soft jostling from behind made you blink, and you felt what seemed to be someone propping you up against their chest as they sunk down to sit on the ground. The hands rested carefully on your upper arms, holding you in place and tucking your head beneath their chin.

“I’ve got ya, kiddo,” the voice came again.

You knew that voice. Didn’t you?

You managed to turn your head to the right, and spotted a shiny ring, glinting a raging orange, on the hand at your side.

Rossi’s ring.

Burning pressure built on your chest like someone was slowly releasing a palate of bricks to rest atop of it.

A stifling cloud of smoke hung in the air.

No.

Wait.

Something else.

Alarm slashed through the thick wool in your head.

There was something–

Pushing away the burn, you forced your arms to obey your will and pressed your scraped palms flat against the ground, sharp, dry grass poking into your wounds.

“No, no,” Rossi’s grip tightened a fraction, “Don’t move. It’s okay, it’s me. It’s Rossi. I’ve got you, kid.”

The blurry sight of the blaze overtaking the brick building a distance away had you straining against Rossi’s hold.

There!

You had to get back.

“N–” a cough wracked through your body, dry and husky.

“No, no. Listen to me,” Rossi muttered, pressing lightly against your chest to keep you flush against him, “Listen. Don’t try to get up just yet.”

Patches of fuzzy edged blackness skirted across your limited field of vision when Rossi touched your chest. The burn spread wildly through your torso, mirroring the inferno before you. A groan tore past your lips, a grimace twisting your features. Your chest rose hard and fast, the wheezing in your ears growing louder and quicker.

Weakly, you fought to sit upright against Rossi’s grip.

Your arm outstretched toward the flaring windows of the building.

“No!” you rasped.

Rossi didn’t understand–

“M – Morgan!”

Rossi had been running the instant he recovered from the intense shock wave of the blast. Even from the smaller building he had taken on his own, he could still feel it.

He ran toward the sound, his breath coming harsh when he saw the flames roaring to life and beginning to consume the interior of the building. The anxiety rendered his mind useless as he tried to remember who had taken this building.

When he finally reached it, he turned the back corner and his heart dropped at the sight before him. You were lying on the ground, frighteningly still, and a right mess. He pushed away the fear at all the blood he could see seeping from your form.

In a split second, he leapt into action. He rushed to your side, squinting and shielding his eyes from the thick smoke that billowed from the nearby windows. After a brief once over to rule out any obviously broken bones, he had hooked his hands under your arms to drag you away before he could debate it a moment longer.

The smoke made it difficult to know for sure, but he thought he spied two other forms ahead in the distance and he heaved you in that direction. Chest heaving from the exertion and the dwindling oxygen in the air, he came upon another grunting and gasping team member.

“Hey! Oh, thank god, I – couldn’t carry both of them,” Prentiss panted, sweat and ash smudging her face as she held an unconscious Morgan, exactly the same way Rossi dragged you, “You okay?!”

“Yeah,” Rossi grunted, “You?”

She had nodded as they continued pulling the other two away until the growing heat of the building didn’t feel like it was cooking their eyeballs.

Now, he fought to keep you still in his arms as you struggled agitatedly.

He took stock of the blood running down your face from a spot near your eye, the area bloody and swollen. The glint of something embedded in your face, a jagged piece of shrapnel. He winced at the thought that your eye might be damaged beyond repair. Crimson trails flowed down your head and the back of your neck. And another dark spot spread slowly on your torso.

He knew it was best for you to not move. He had already risked moving you and potentially causing more damage. But you had been lying on the ground, so scarily limp and far too close to the building that was currently roaring and cracking.

The blazing heat was incessant, even at a distance. He wouldn’t be surprised if the hair on his arms had been singed off in the process of getting you to safety.

You were trying to speak, and Rossi shared a horrified look with Prentiss when your voice came out in a weak, dry cough. He tried to reassure you, knowing you were probably operating at the slowest capacity.

“No!”

When you strained against him and began reaching toward the building, he held you still with confusion

“M – Morgan!” you lamented.

Understanding flooded the fully conscious pair when they heard this.

“It’s okay!” Prentiss called breathlessly, “I got him. He’s here.”

You tried to move in Rossi’s arms, he felt your arms trembling from the effort.

“Here,” he said softly, “Hang on.”

He rose to a crouch and rotated the pair of you carefully.

Prentiss, sat on the ground and cradling Morgan, shifted into the line of sight from your one working eye. He was still out cold, but he seemed largely unharmed by some sort of miracle.

Rossi settled back down, feeling you finally relax in his grip as you took the sight. Your horribly weak wheezes slowed as you looked at them.

“It’s alright,” Prentiss said, wiping at her forehead, smearing the blackness across it, “You’re gonna be okay. I – I already called the ambulances.”

Pounding of footsteps brought hers and Rossi’s attention away and they heard Hotch, Reid, and JJ yelling in the distance.

“Here!” Rossi yelled.

He craned to look down at you but your eyes had fluttered shut after taking in Morgan and Prentiss, going fully limp against his chest.

“Hey,” he suppressed the instinct to shake you awake, “Kid, come on. They’re almost here.”

The distant wail of sirens growing closer was all he got in response.

Morgan shifted, his head feeling rather heavy as he blinked blearily to find Prentiss at his side, watching him carefully. She looked like she had just attended a finger painting party where the only colors available were grey and black.

“Hey,” she said, “Take it easy.”

Sitting up slowly, he groaned as his mind processed the fact that he was lying on a gurney. The thick, choking smell of smoke still clung to the inside of his nostrils. The slight tremble of everything around them made him realize they were inside a moving ambulance.

A medic appeared at his side. After getting a light flashed in his eyes and his scrapes cleaned off, they let him try to reorient himself.

“What… Wait,” Morgan rubbed at his head, eyes screwing shut, “Wait, we – we were… Why –”

Prentiss put a hand on his arm, prompting him to look at her.

“The building went up. You were caught in the blast.” she spoke quietly, “We’re all headed to the same hospital. Everyone’s mostly fine.”

Morgan tried to sit up straighter, his chest rising quicker.

“Mostly?” he repeated, “What do you mean ‘mostly’? What –”

Prentiss squeezed his arm, pressing her lips together momentarily.

“Well, it was you, and, um…” she trailed off, blinking rapidly.

Morgan’s blood stopped pumping for a split second.

Your yell echoed in his mind.

He squeezed Prentiss’s hand when he remembered how you had thrown yourself on top of him.

Hotch gripped the steering wheel so tightly that JJ feared he might rip it off before they could reach the hospital. He stayed right on the tail of the ambulances that carried Morgan, Prentiss, you and Rossi.

Reid was nearly thrown into the door of the backseat when Hotch took a sharp turn. JJ turned back from the passenger seat to glance at him. They could only stare at each other in concerned silence.

The sight of Morgan and you lying unconscious on the ground had rendered all of them still in shock for a few seconds. They didn’t have much time to react before the medics arrived and were carting everyone away.

They left the firefighters at the scene, jumping into a single car to follow behind their teammates.

What felt like eons later, they reached the hospital and everyone was bolting inside. When Hotch merely stood in an incredibly disconcerting silence, staring rather vacantly, JJ attempted to get answers from the nearest staff member. She quickly explained who they were and what had just happened.

Soon after many questions that felt absurdly unnecessary, they were being directed to a waiting room. There they found Rossi and Prentiss collapsed into chairs, their shoulders touching.

Reid rushed over to give Prentiss a tight squeeze as she stood up. JJ followed suit after him. Hotch walked over and put a hand on Rossi’s shoulder silently.

“We’re… probably not gonna get word on the kid for a while,” Rossi murmured, sounding rather sapped of energy.

“What about Morgan?” Reid asked.

“He woke up on the ride over,” Prentiss said, rubbing her hand on her thigh, “They think he’s pretty much fine, but they’re running scans on him now just to be safe.”

A collective relief spread through the others, Hotch releasing a sigh as he rubbed his fingers over his eyes.

They all settled into seats, preparing for a long wait for any news. An hour somehow felt triple its length as they waited without a visit from any staff member.

Fatigue caught up to them, crawling up their legs and coaxing them into fitful sleep.

Reid’s head had fallen sideways against Prentiss’s shoulder as he finally fell to the heavy pull after the clock passed two in the morning.

“Hey,” Rossi spoke quietly, rousing him and the others. “Why don’t you go on home?”

“No,” Reid’s brow furrowed, “We can’t.”

“Here,” he produced a card from his wallet, “Take this. Go get a few rooms nearby. Go ahead and get some rest. Save a room for me, I’ll stay and let you know anything once I hear it.”

JJ looked like she was about to protest, as did Prentiss, but Hotch spoke up as he shifted in his seat.

“It’s a good idea,” he said.

Reluctantly, the trio was ushered away and reminded them several times to call the moment they heard any news. Once they were alone in the room, Rossi turned his gaze to Hotch. He was hunched over in seat, his arms resting against his knees as he gazed into space.

“I should have sent you with them,” he remarked.

Hotch turned his weary gaze on him and Rossi knew he would have failed if he attempted to do so.

Hotch lost a firm grasp on how much time had passed by. He alternated between pacing the room and sinking heavily into his seat.

When the door to the room finally opened again, both he and Rossi shot up to meet the doctor that entered. He appeared to share their exhaustion. He explained how they had to remove several pieces of shrapnel from your body, and the main concern was a large piece that had gone into your torso. Hotch felt his breath speed up when he heard how close it had come to fully puncturing your lung.

“What about his eye?” Rossi asked.

“Also rather lucky it was just a gash above the eyebrow,” the doctor said, “He could have been blinded if the object had landed any lower.”

“But he’s okay?” Hotch asked, his hands clenched at his sides.

“He’s definitely not going anywhere for a while, but he should be,” the doctor replied, “We can’t know for sure until he wakes up but being so close to an explosion like that, it might have caused some damage to his brain. He might have… trouble remembering things or be confused and disoriented. His body had gone through a lot, so it might be a while before he wakes. We going to have to watch him carefully to make sure he doesn’t have any trouble breathing and everything’s healing correctly.”

“Can we see him?” Hotch said.

The man hesitated, looking between both of them.

“I can let one of you in at the moment,” he said.

Hotch locked eyes with Rossi.

“Go ahead,” Rossi nodded at him.

The walk to the room as the doctor lead the way passed in a stuttering blur. He blinked forcefully, willing himself to remain calm. When the man paused outside a door and opened it for him, he halted just outside.

“Sir?” the doctor said.

“Yeah, thank you,” Hotch muttered.

He walked into the quiet room, gaze locked on your unmoving form. Somehow, the sight of you in the bed with monitors hooked up to you and oxygen flowing into your nose, bandages across your head and face, was worse than when they had found you after the blast.

A shaky breath left his lips as he tentatively approached your bedside.

“Hey,” he whispered.

He tried and failed to remember the last thing he had said to you. Glancing backward, he was glad to find the doctor had closed the door behind him. Slowly, he reached out and let his fingertips rest on your arm. He scanned your face for any sign of a reaction.

When you remained still, his head dropped forward as he let out a harsh breath. He kept his fingers where they were, contenting himself with the reassuring feel of the warmth of your skin under his touch. He glanced up to the beeping monitor, finding the number that signified your pulse.

Alive.

At least you were alive.

“You better wake up,” Hotch muttered, blinking hard against the burn in his eyes.

He blamed it on the effects of the smoke.

Morgan had finally been freed from the short observation they were holding him on. After asking about his colleagues, he was directed to the room where you had ended up. Lingering in the hall, he checked his phone and replied to the texts he had received from Prentiss hours ago when he was still getting his scans.

Rossi appeared from around the corner, a vending machine sized bag of pretzels in hand. He approached him slowly, a hand coming up to give his back a quick pat.

“Good to see you on your feet,” he said, “Gave us a scare, there.”

Morgan looked to him briefly, his arm coming up to drape loosely around Rossi’s shoulders for a moment before dropping away again. He looked back to the room that contained his teammate and boss.

“Safe to say,” Rossi murmured with a quirk of an eyebrow, nodding at the door, “Pretty sure you’re forgiven.”

Morgan gave a small nod, swallowing thickly. Rossi fiddled with his bag, heaving in a deep breath.

“I won’t lie, it was pretty damn scary all around. You knocked out. Him with a piece of metal sticking out of his face.”

Morgan shook his head, his gaze growing hard.

“What?” Rossi questioned.

“I can’t believe I’m walking out of here, man. With barely a scratch. Thanks to him,” Morgan spoke stiffly, his jaw clenched, “While he’s –”

He ran a hand over his head, blowing out a long breath.

“What if he doesn’t…?” his voice grew quiet as he trailed off, unwilling to speak the fear into existence.

“He’ll wake up,” Rossi said resolutely.

Morgan finally turned to him, regret painting his features.

“How do you know?”

Rossi locked eyes with him, a firm belief in his gaze.

“Because he has to.”

The words were spoken with such authority that both had to believe it. Several beats passed where they allowed themselves a brief time to revel in the fact that they were okay. Hospital staff walked back and forth in front of them and they watched silently.

“Feeling in fighting shape yet?” Rossi asked, nudging him with his shoulder.

“Huh?” Morgan said, surprise in the single word.

“You gotta help me with the most difficult part of all this,” he nodded solemnly, “Worse than any unsub.”

Morgan’s brows drew together as he peered at him silently, wondering what could possibly be worse.

Rossi quirked an eyebrow wryly.

“Convincing Hotch to let us take turns waiting with him,” he concluded.

Morgan couldn’t hold back his wide grin and genuine peal of laughter.

“Ooh, man,” he groaned lightly, “I think I’d rather take my chances with another blast.”

Rossi smirked, their quiet chuckles lifting the grim air off their shoulders for a moment. Morgan then skirted around him, giving his arm a pat.

“Well, you’re on first watch right now,” he gave a faint smirk, “I gotta go wash all… this off me.”

He gestured at his darkened skin and clothes, ash smudging nearly every inch.

Rossi blew out a heavy breath, gaze drifting across the hall to land on the door of your room and imagined the utterly resolute state Hotch must be in on the other side of it.

“Hurry back,” Rossi muttered, raising an eyebrow at Morgan.

The night sky had given way to daybreak when Morgan awoke from his nap. After a heavenly shower where he scrubbed himself clean and rubbed his sore muscles, he had fallen like a log into the bed of the hotel room.

After checking his phone, he returned Rossi’s missed call and agreed to trade places at the hospital. He had sounded dead on his feet. Morgan didn’t envy him. He knew Hotch was probably more stubborn than ever and would not listen to any suggestions to take a break.

Arriving at the place, he passed Rossi in the hall and handed him the room key.

“Good luck,” Rossi muttered, the darkness under his eyes wasn’t just from the ash. He patted Morgan on the back as he continued toward the exit.

Lingering outside your room, Morgan gathered his courage and tapped a knuckle against the door as he entered.

Hotch’s head lifted toward the sound, his features shifting into surprise at the sight of him. A distant corner of Morgan’s brain latched onto how odd the sight of Hotch with no tie or jacket was.

“Hey,” Hotch said softly, passing a hand over his face and sitting up straighter as he surveyed him, “How are you feeling?”

Morgan stepped in slowly, his eyes on your pale, still form on the bed.

“Well,” Morgan shrugged, “A couple of scrapes, a few bruises. Took about an hour long shower to get rid of that smoky stench.”

He lifted his hands and let them fall at his sides with a slap, making Hotch huff quietly in amusement.

“But other than that, I’m alright,” Morgan sighed.

He pulled up a chair on the other side of the bed, looking back at you. Hotch stayed quiet, allowing Morgan to take in the sight in his own time. He noted the way Morgan’s hands had balled up in his lap, one of his fingers scratching at his thumb erratically.

“Is he…” Morgan murmured as he looked at the needle piercing your skin, “Is he gonna be okay?”

Hotch stayed silent long enough that Morgan turned his gaze toward him. He was staring at you, his lips in a tight line. Hotch looked away from your face to meet his eye and nodded.

“They say he should be,” Hotch muttered, mouth still a rather rigid line.

“Should be,” Morgan repeated derisively, shaking his head.

One of his legs began to bounce rapidly as he ran his gaze over your body and the bandages visible on your face, head, and arms. The stark whiteness of them seemed to sap any remaining color in your skin, giving you a deathly pale look.

“You know… He saw it. Right before the bomb went off, he yelled at me. He – he pushed me down and covered me, Hotch. If he hadn’t… I don’t know. I’d probably be the one in this bed right now. Or... worse.”

Hotch was silent for a while as he took in this new information, the monitor beeping loudly for several moments.

“Speculation doesn't do us any good, Morgan,” he spoke quietly.

Morgan’s fingers tapped agitatedly against the armrest of his chair.

“But look at that,” he pointed at the thick bandage just above your left eye.

“Rossi said he had a shard of metal in there,” he tapped a finger on his own face to demonstrate the location, “He was one inch away from losin’ an eye, man.”

A wry scoff tore from his lips, a smirk of disbelief cracking across his face.

“I don’t get him,” he spoke tightly, “I mean, the dude’s pissed at me but then risks his life? To save me? I…”

“I don’t think he is,” Hotch gestured at you and the room as a whole, “Clearly.”

Morgan was apparently unable to find a way to argue with that, for he went silent and peered at you again.

Hotch did the same, a heavy sigh exiting his nose and his hand in front of his mouth.

The steady beep of the monitor kept the time for them, counting off the minutes. Morgan had entered an almost meditative state, lost in the steady tone, when Hotch threw a wrench in the silence.

“He can’t keep doing this,” Hotch muttered, his brow creased.

Now, it was Morgan’s turn to gaze at Hotch with surprise.

“What?” he asked.

“This,” Hotch repeated, a tinge of frustration leaking into his previously calm tone, “He has little to no regard for his own safety. He keeps running headlong into danger, into the literal line of fire for us.”

Hotch’s frown deepened as he shook his head.

“That’s not how decisions should be made in the field.”

Morgan bodily turned in his chair to gape openly at Hotch in disbelief.

“Hotch,” he said, voice going rather high with skepticism, “All due respect, but are you kidding me, man?”

Hotch turned his agitated gaze away from the unconscious man and onto the other staring at him with wide eyes.

“You know I wish he wasn’t lying here right now,” Morgan began, gesturing toward you, “But if I’m being real with you, and I was the one who saw the bomb before he did…”

His shoulders rose in a harsh shrug.

“I probably would’ve done the same thing,” he leaned forward to drive home his point, “Can you honestly tell me that you wouldn’t have?”

Hotch’s expression had become rather fixed.

The beep of the machine was the only thing that answered Morgan.

A thick fog enveloped your whole being. You weren’t even sure if you had a being… You felt like… you were thoughts, floating around a vast, black nothingness. You dreamily bobbed along, not a single care to worry about.

Eventually, the heavy mist grew thinner. Cold began to creep in.

Light peeked through the darkness.

With the light, came a bright, searing feeling.

Taking in a stuttering breath, your were plunged back into a physical form.

You heard your own agonized groan as you fought to remember how to open your eyes.

“You’re fired.”

Your eyelids moved slowly, blinking so languidly that you nearly slipped back down into unconsciousness once more. The pillowcase crinkled under your ear as you managed to turn your heavy head to the side where the weary voice had originated from.

Hotch was folded into a small hospital chair, elbows on his knees, gazing at you from behind his hands clasped together at his lips. Darkness was visible past the small window behind him.

The first thing to filter through your snail’s pace of thoughts was that he had shed his suit jacket, giving him an undressed look despite being fully clothed. The second was the dark shadows under his eyes that contrasted starkly to the pallor of the rest of his face.

“What –” you grimaced as the word scraped on its way out.

Flames tickled up your throat, you swallowed with difficulty.

“Where am I?”

“It’s alright,” he reassured quietly, “You’re in the hospital.”

At this, your eyes opened wider.

“What?!” alarmed tinged your tone, “The – the team?”

Hotch quickly leaned forward until he was on the edge of his chair, hovering with his hand outstretched like he was about to keep you down in the bed.

“It’s alright, it’s okay,” he murmured, “Everyone's fine.”

A labored breath passed through your lips as your eyelids grew heavy again.

Hotch watched silently as you slipped back into unconsciousness, his fingers slowly moving back and forth over one another.

Cracking your eyes open, you winced as you felt a tug above your left brow. Blinking, you turned your head slightly to find Hotch watching you. His gaze was so steely, it was nearly a glare.

“You're… angry,” you rasped.

He said nothing for a moment, pausing as if he were about to deny it.

“Hmm. Well,” he muttered, “Good to see you still have your observational skills.”

After a moment of regarding him silently, a hazy memory floated up to the surface of your mind.

“Did you…” your brow creased with the effort of remembering, “Did you fire me? Or… did I – dream that?”

A soft huff came from Hotch’s lips.

“I did warn you to never do this again,” he said, the playful tone undercut with just a whisper of sincerity.

“Do… what?” you sniffed, grimacing as you noticed the nasal cannula threaded across your face.

Your hand wandered up toward it, instinctively wanting to remove the foreign object from your nose.

“Leave that,” Hotch said.

You dropped your hand onto your chest as you turned your head toward him again.

“C’mon,” you blinked heavily at him, taking in a labored breath, “Hire me back.”

Your hazy gaze locked onto his concerned one, a lazy smirk pulling at your lips.

“How am I gonna… pay for these hospital bills?”

Hotch shook his head softly, letting it fall into his hands for a moment as soft chuckles emanated from behind his arms.

“Barely conscious,” he muttered, “And you’re already joking.”

You gave a soft laugh of your own. Hotch lowered his hands in time to watch your face twist into a faint grimace as you cut yourself off. You inhaled with effort, your chest rising slowly with an audible wheeze.

He brought his chair closer, the armrests nearly touching the edge of the bed. Your gaze flicked over him.

“Stop that,” you ordered weakly, your eyes fluttering shut.

“What?” Hotch asked.

Your eyes creaked open again to peer at him blearily.

Hotch watched you with concern, leaning closer to catch your faint speech. Your hand came up toward his face. He stilled, fixating on you as your hand cradled his temple. Your thumb brushed at the crease between his brows, smoothing it out.

Hotch’s chest stopped moving up and down for several long seconds.

“Stop… worrying,” you muttered.

Your hand fell back onto the sheets as your eyes fluttered shut once again.

Hotch remained completely still, eyes slightly widened, until someone rushed by in the hall, shouting something. He blinked, coming out of his stunned state, and fell heavily back into his seat.

The time he had gone with hardly any sleep except fitful dozing was now incredibly difficult for him to calculate. His chin slipped from his hand as he nearly fell into sleep again. Shaking himself, he straightened in his chair as he scanned your form for any notable change.

A soft ringing tore his attention away from your face. He peered up at your monitors, trying to find the source. All of them beeped steadily.

Rubbing his eyes, he stood up and followed the noise. Realizing it was coming from the bag of your personal affects, he opened it and fished out your phone that had amazingly survived the explosion.

On instinct, he brought it to his ear and answered the call.

“Hello?” Hotch said rather wearily.

“Hello?” a man repeated, confusion evident in the single word.

“Who is this?” Hotch asked.

“Javier Madrigal. Who’s this?”

“Aaron Hotchner.”

“Sorry, I must have called the wrong number. I thought I called a, um – someone I met recently but –”

The realization thrummed through Hotch’s limbs as his sluggish mind finally placed the voice he had heard what felt like a lifetime ago.

“You called the right number,” Hotch cut him off, “I’m his… We work together.”

“Oh. Oh, wait,” Javi paused, recognition blooming in his tone as well, “Yeah! I remember you, man. Real serious, tall dude, right?”

Hotch had nothing to reply to that with.

His gaze flitted over to the pale form lying so still in the bed, debating whether he should try to wake him or if he should end this call immediately.

“Uhh, why are you… answering his phone?” Javi asked lightly, but the nervous energy still bled through the phone speaker.

Hotch tried not to dwell on the manner in which he had asked, at the implication under the words.

“He’s in the hospital. He’s not awake at the moment,” Hotch said, wondering exactly how much was appropriate to tell this man.

“Wait, seriously?” Javi’s tone dropped everything except a growing worry, “Is – Is he alright?!”

Hotch paused, his hand coming up to rub at the hair at the back of his head.

“It might be a while before he’s out, but yes. He should be.”

The line was quiet for a moment as the other man processed Hotch’s words.

“Shit… Okay. How – What happened?” Javi sounded genuinely concerned.

Hotch glanced over to you, blinking harshly, hating how entirely still you were apart from your chest stuttering up and down.

“There was an explosion,” he took in a great breath, as if ensuring the air was clear of smoke, “He got – He got pretty banged up.”

“Goddamn…” Javi murmured, his voice slightly muffled like he had a hand over his mouth, “Well, shit. That’s a hell of an excuse to stand me up.”

A beat passed.

“Excuse me?” Hotch’s brow creased as his hold on the phone tightened.

“We had a date.”

Hotch’s widened gaze fell onto the unconscious man.

“A date?”

Even through his drowsiness, Hotch noticed you’d been grimacing quite often in your sleep. The next time a doctor came in to check you over, he’d mention it.

He must have drifted off for a while because he opened his eyes at the sound of rasping breaths. You were awake, your hand at your chest as you seemed to struggle to take in air.

You looked to him, frightened at the fact that even the oxygen being delivered directly into your nose didn’t seem to help much.

“Is the pain getting worse?” Hotch asked in a rush, his gaze boring into yours, “What’s happening?”

You noted how he kept his expression carefully blank, a tactic he used a lot at work, but the angle of his brows clued you in to how horrid you must look.

“I – I don’t know,” you gasped.

Hotch tilted his head, lips pressed together. Your eyes squeezed shut as your breath came accompanied with a lick of fire in your chest.

“Okay,” you gritted your teeth, “Maybe.”

Hotch watched as your frame shuddered, your nose scrunched, and a thin layer of sweat broke out across your brow. He was opening his mouth to suggest calling a doctor when your hand shot out toward him.

“What?” he asked, alarmed, as he grasped your hand.

“H–Hotch –” you wheezed.

Hotch’s fingers squeezed together in your tightening grasp, producing a faint wince of shock from him. Your other hand came up to your neck, fingers clawing at nothing but air around the strained muscles of your throat.

“Okay. Hang on,” he pulled away from you.

The pang of guilt that he felt when you gave a frightened grimace as he disappeared from your side could be dealt with later.

One of the machines next to your bed began to shriek. The sound served to quicken his run to a sprint toward the door.

“I need help in here, please!” he shouted out into the hall.

Mere seconds had never felt so prolonged.

Hotch’s breath came in short pants as he hung outside of the door frame, his frenzied gaze scanning up and down the vacant hallway. He glanced back toward you to see your eyes fluttering, the machine’s beeping growing more shrill.

He felt pulled in two directions at once. The urge to rush to your side and another to sprint to find help. Both warred against each other, pulling him from both sides equally and resulting in rooting him to the spot instead of doing either.

“In here, please!” he called again, voice cracking, any care for other sleeping patients now dashed to pieces.

The moment he heard hurried footsteps approaching from all sides, Hotch rushed back into the room and skidded to a halt at your side.

“They’re coming, they’re coming,” he panted, hands hovering slightly above you.

Your eyes fell on him but they were so panicked, he was unsure whether you were recognizing him at this point. Your hands moved erratically around your chest and throat as you thrashed as hard as your weakened body would allow.

Hotch’s own breath was coming hard and fast at the horrible sight of you unable to breath. It was the same thing all over again. He blinked hard, forcing his sight to clear away the images of dark, murky water rising quickly over their heads.

Rossi didn’t bother calling to announce his arrival, knowing Hotch would tell him it wasn’t necessary. His best chance at getting him to go to the hotel was if he showed up without warning. Walking toward your room, he turned the corner and halted.

Hotch stood in the middle of the hallway, his back turned as he looked in the opposite direction. The sound of hospital staff speaking in hurried tones was fading around the far end of the hall.

He approached and looked into your room to find it empty.

It was easy to surmise what had just transpired. He cursed under his breath before cautiously approaching Hotch, who was utterly quiet apart from his ragged breaths.

“Hotch,” he called softly.

No reaction.

“Aaron,” he said.

Hotch finally turned, a blank wide stare landing on him.

As he turned toward him, he wobbled as if he were a precarious stack of books that someone just piled another heavy volume on. His hand shot out instinctively for the nearest thing to steady himself on. It just so happened to be Rossi.

“Okay,” he said, his hands firm on Hotch’s upper arms as he caught him, “Come on. It’s alright.”

He guided Hotch back into the room and eased him into a chair.

“It – It’s fine,” Hotch managed to force out, his gaze still rather vacant.

“Mhmm,” Rossi hummed pointedly, sarcasm tinging the sound, “Sure looks like it.”

He fished out his phone and flipped it open, dialing a number.

“Hey, bring some water and anything easy to eat,” he spoke quickly into the speaker, no introduction or preamble.

Rossi hung up and focused on keep Hotch conscious, coaching him to get his breathing back to a regular pace.

Later, Morgan entered the room with a water bottle, a couple granola bars, and a bag of pretzels. Hotch was already shaking his head when he laid eyes on Morgan.

Rossi shared a long-suffering look with Morgan.

“Come on. It’ll do him no good if you end up in a bed right next to him,” Rossi said.

Together, they managed to force Hotch to eat one of the bars and half of the bag, along with one full water bottle.

“He… he couldn’t breathe,” Hotch muttered.

Morgan met his haunted gaze.

“How long has it been?” Hotch asked.

Rossi glanced to his watch.

“I don’t know,” he said, “Twenty minutes since I showed up.”

Hotch’s eyes drifted shut as he leaned back in his chair, completely drained.

“How long can you go without breathing?” he whispered before falling asleep.

Everything hurt. You weren’t sure where you were or what was happening but the pain was a certainty. As you surfaced back into wakefulness, you realized that every breath brought a dull flare of pain.

Peeling your eyes open, you saw the blank ceiling above you and the rectangular lights. You shifted as you realized something hard was on your face.

“Hey, there,” a voice came from your left.

You turned to see Morgan watching you, a smile pulling his lips upward. You blinked slowly, something in the back of your mind giving way to relief at the sight of him.

Weakly a hand came up to your face, trying to pull the obstruction away.

“Leave it,” another voice came from your right.

You looked to find Hotch watching you. A strange sense of déjà vu filled you for some reason.

“Your lungs need all the help they can get,” he said with a horribly spent air.

The knowledge that you were wearing an oxygen mask slowly filtered into your brain and you relaxed.

“I…” you tried, but your chest burned.

“No, no, no,” Morgan shushed you, “It’s all good, man. Just… rest, alright?”

Nodding minutely, you felt yourself following his direction immediately. Hotch shared a subdued look of amusement with Morgan at the sight.

“You can go ahead to the room now, Hotch,” Morgan said, “I got it. Go sleep in an actual bed for a while.”

Hotch passed a hand over his face, finally appearing to consider the words instead of instantly rejecting them. Morgan cocked an eyebrow.

“And honestly, man?” he said, “You kinda stink.”

Hotch tore his gaze away from you to fix Morgan with a wide stare, disbelief coloring his face. Morgan grinned brightly. Hotch broke into a slightly delirious fit of laughter. Morgan chuckled as well, rubbing a hand over his mouth.

Hotch finally stood and patted Morgan’s shoulder on the way out.

Morgan didn’t even look behind him before he spoke.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll call ya if anything happens,” he said, beating Hotch to the punch as he paused at the door.

Hotch closed his mouth, smirking before exiting.

The rise and set of the sun had passed three times before you could manage to stay awake for significant periods of time. You kept forgetting things you had already asked before, or asking to see members of the team that had just been in to visit you. This brought a terrible panic over Hotch but after an assessment from the doctors, they informed him that it was a concussion that would eventually heal.

On the fifth day, you suddenly sat up straighter and winced at the sudden motion.

“Hey, easy,” Hotch admonished carefully from his seat, putting his book down.

“No, no, I – I just remembered,” you rasped, the oxygen mask still on your face, “Garcia. Call Garcia! Get – Get her safe. Where – where is everyone?”

Hotch was already used to these bouts of confused babble, scooting closer as he attempted to reassure you that the team was fine.

“Hotch!” you exclaimed, reaching out and grabbing his arm, “The – the unsub. It – it wasn’t about…”

You paused, head ducking as you took in several labored breaths.

“They were after us,” you muttered, “The note. The – the eight. There are eight of us.”

Hotch stilled, taking this in. It did seem odd to him. But the preoccupation of you in this state had overridden everything else.

The fact that the other explosions were so random. No one targeted specifically.

The convenient tip call that came in.

The only time anyone was injured coming as a result of that call.

The eight on the note.

Your grip on him tightened and brought him out of his thoughts.

“Okay,” he agreed, “I’ll tell her, don’t worry.”

He watched as the tension bled from your form and you began to slip back into sleep, the strain having sapped your energy. Fishing his phone out of his jacket, he called Garcia to let her know and then told the rest of the team, just in case.

By the eighth day, you were mostly able to stay awake for the whole day. You had finally been able to switch out your oxygen mask for a nasal cannula. Though it still bothered the hell out of you, it was still miles better than the uncomfortable mask that dug into your face.

You had told Hotch the day before that he didn’t need to stay by your side anymore. You were lucid enough now to realize that he had spent the whole time in the hospital along with you and that guilt of that fact was settling in.

He had waved off your words, but you still forced him to at least go get something to eat from the hospital cafeteria. You had joked that you were sick of seeing him and were rewarded with his unreserved laugh before he complied to your order.

A doctor entered about ten minutes later.

“Well,” he said, clapping his hands together, “Quite a ride. But if you’re ready to go home, you can now. Of course, you’re going to need help getting around. No strenuous activity for at least two weeks and even after that, take it easy.”

You nodded eagerly, you had never longed for your apartment as much as you currently did.

“And of course, you’ll be given oxygen to take with you,” he continued.

You looked at your hands, wondering how you were going to get up the stairs to reach your floor.

“Sir?” the doctor prompted, “Do you have someone waiting at home that can help you?”

“Yeah, I’ll be alright,” you said.

“So, you do have someone who can help you?” he repeated, his eyebrows raised as he peered at you over his glasses.

You faltered for only a split second.

He pursed his lips, looking down at a paper on his board.

“If not, you might as well just stay here,” he murmured, his brow furrowing as he looked at your chart.

“No, I – I can –” you tried, pushing yourself up straighter in an attempt to look healthier.

The doctor gave you a sympathetic but firm look.

“You can’t be on your own, sir. Not yet,” he said, “I’m sorry, but if you don’t have anyone who can –”

“I’ll be there.”

Both you and the doctor turned at the sound of a new voice.

Hotch passed through the open doorway, a nurse with a waiting wheelchair following in behind him.