red

Sun is the first thing that your brain registers. The soft, warm sun of early morning gracing your bedroom pulls you softly from your slumber. When was the last time you got to wake up with the sun?

The next thing your brain registers is pain. An ache in your body and a throbbing in your head. You try, albeit not very hard, to open your eyes and whimper escapes you. Now the sun is too bright, scorching your retinas. You slowly reposition yourself away from the light. There is a tugging at your waist that you pay no mind. You start slowly. Blinking once, twice, holding your eyes open for longer and longer until you can officially call yourself awake.

The tugging at your waist has becomes firmer, almost persistent. You slap gently at whatever is wrapped around you before turning back around toward the light. There you find the culprit. There is a man beside you. A man. A very naked man. The strong arms that are wrapped around you are connected to broad shoulders, which are connected to a contoured neck, which holds up a head that you have seen almost every day of your life for a year now.

John Shen is in your bed. For a moment all you can do is stare. The look on his face is relatively peaceful, however there is a slight crease between his brows. Probably because of your moving. Your eyes can't help but scan the softness of his face, noting every little beauty mark or blemish his skin holds. His hair is ruffled and mushed, sticking out slightly in every direction. A little bit of drool making its way from his mouth onto his pillow. Your pillow. Fuck.

Your attending is naked in your bed and all you can think about is how cute he is. You really need to get your priorities together. You begin to move out of his grasp but his grip just gets tighter the more you try. In your frenzy you don't notice dark eyes slowly taking in the scene in front of them. It is only when his arms actually tug you that your attention is drawn to the now awake man beside you.

"Hey." Shen's voice is horse, offering you a lopsided smile. You notice how his eyes trail on you and it is at this point that you realize that you are also painfully naked. You pull the duvet high on your chest as fast as your pain-riddled body can manage.

"Hi." Your eyes are saucer like as you stare at him.

He studies your face a little harder before saying, "Do you remember last night?"

Do you? There is defiantly bits and pieces. You had the night off so your friends took you on a, according to them much needed, night out. Your recent breakup has been never far from your mind and your friends were ready to change that. The spot they picked was nice, not a ton of people but still enough to make dancing not awkward. Perfect for you to "get your freak on". Their words, maybe not yours. Drinks and laughs were had and that's really where the the solid memories end. You remember dancing, though you can't put your finger on when you stopped dancing with your friends and started dancing with one specific person. Shen. He was there. Why was he there?

"Why were you there? At the bar."

"Had the day off, went out with some buddies. You called me."

You called him. Shit, you called him. You can remember it now. "Heyyyy Shen, it's meeee. I don't really know what you're doing right now but I'm out dancing and I think it would be soooo cool if you were here. Like you are just so fun and I think your hot face when make the func- funct- the place like ten times hotter. Okay byeeeeee." You hadn't even given him a chance to speak before hanging up and sending him your location.

"And you came?"

"Yeah."

Your breath hitches a little as you take it all in. Shen has leaned his head back, eyes still fixed on you and arms still hold strong around your waist. His voice comes slower then before,"Do you remember anything after that?" If you didn't know any better, if it wasn't Shen, you would think he sounded desperate. You don't really remember, it's just a blur of heat, sweat, and tension.

You shake your head. "Do you?"

Shen heaves a sigh. "A little, not as much as I'd like," Not as much as he'd like? "But I do remember being very insistent about wearing a condom, so that's good at least."

You burry your head in your hands and let out a long breath. That's good. That's really good. Condoms are important. You two don't need any medical issues to come of this on top of all the social issues. Oh god the social issues. How are you supposed to look him in the face after this? Wont be able to hand him a chart without thinking about those hands on your skin. And he's the main attending you present to, for totally professional reasons, the rumor mill is going to go haywire if you start only going to Abbot. Will you have to leave PTMC if people find out? Did you just throw out your entire medical career just by sleeping with your superior?

"Hey," Shen's arms finally remove themselves from around you before a hand comes to guide your hands away and cup your face, "What's going on in that head of yours?"

You almost roll your eyes when he says it. Shen has asked you that a thousand times. When you worked on a particularly hard trauma, when a patients story hits a little too close to home, when your ex showed up unexpectedly during shift change to berate you. When he was being your boss. Two contrasting feelings hit you like fright trains going opposite ways at the same time. There is the calm breath out that usually comes with that question. The recognition that there is someone in your corner, that wants to know how your feeling. Then there is dread, pure dread.

You finally do what your body has been craving to do since you first saw him, flee. You dash out of the bed, grabbing the first clothes your fingers touch on the floor and tugging them onto your person. "I'm so so sorry Dr. Shen. This never should have happened, I'm so embarrassed. I'll let Robby know that I want to be on day shift and we can just pretend this never happened." You don't takes your eyes of what you're doing, finally looking back at him once you've deemed yourself modest.

Crestfallen is the only way you can describe the look on his face. You've never seen him look like that. Your heart aches in your chest.

"Is that what you want?"

"I don't know," Your breath is shaky and your voice cracks a little. You cringe before making your way back to the bed, sitting on top of the covers. "What do you want?"

"I wanna try."

"Try what?"

"To be with you." The bewildered look on your face must have been extreme because he quickly added, "I mean-I've been meaning to ask you out for a while now, just couldn't find the right time. It doesn't need to be anything serious I just think you're great and would love to take you out. Properly."

It feels like you're entire stomach has shriveled up inside you. He likes you. He wants something more than one night neither of you can remember. And you want it too.

"What about work? I don't think HR is going to like a resident being with an attending. Plus you know how the nurses can be sometimes."

"We do whatever you feel comfortable with. In my mind work is work. We don't have to be whatever this is at work if you don't want to."

"That doesn't negate HR needing to know about anything that happens and if we don't tell them then they'll-"

"One date. That's all I ask." For the first time this morning Shen moves from his position on the bed, scooting closer to you and cautiously taking your hands in his. "I don't think HR needs to know about one date. When we get more serious we can go and talk to them together like the professionals we are."

When.

When you get more serious. Not if, when.

"And I'll make sure no nurse gossip floats our way, promise."

You let out a little chuckle. "Oh yeah? How do you plan on doing that?"

"Might need to use those Dunkin rewards points I've been racking up." Shen's tone is light, almost like this was all normal. Like you two were just chatting at the nurses station rather then in your home.

"Really? The great Dr.Shen would resort to bribery? With his own Dunkin no less."

"Please don't call me Shen, I was literally inside you last night." Right, not normal. You groan as heat finds it's way to your cheeks. But you're smiling, you can't seem to stop yourself.

A moment of silence falls on the bedroom. You lean into not only to the soft warmth of the sun, but also the smooth feeling of his skin on yours. His fingers busy themselves by tracing the angles of your hands. His stare is not heated or demanding, it's just a stare. One person persevering another as he waits. What for, neither of you are really sure.

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"I would really like to go on a date with you, John."

"Fuck yeah." He says this mostly to himself, fist pumping in triumph.

It's then when your walls finally break fully. It's not even that funny, however the whole situation mixed with how genuinely proud of himself he seemed sent you into a fit of giggles. By the time you've calmed yourself down enough to glance at him it seems as though his been put into some kind of trance. John's face is adorned with the same lazy smile, relaxed shoulders, and eyes that can't seem to get enough of what they are looking at. You.

"Oh my God."

"What?" John tenses a little.

"I don't know how I didn't see it earlier."

"You mean my feelings?"

"Yeah, you're like the most obvious person ever."

"Shut up." It's his turn to laugh, a flush coloring his cheeks. He can't take his eyes off you. Almost without thinking he brings his hands to your cheeks, pulling you closer. He catches himself, a new question lingers in the silent space between you. You probably shouldn't, but you do. The smallest hum and nod from you is all that he needs to place his lips on yours. The union is quick, but still soft with intent. You breath him in, partially rubbed off woodsy cologne mixed with dried sweat from the night before still linger on his skin.

As you pull away your eyes open and find your alarm clock over his shoulder. It reads 9:06 am.

In this moment you hate to think about work, you want to keep whatever hellish things await you both as far away from whatever this is becoming as you can. However, the reality is that time will move forward outside this room and you need to move with it. So in a small voice you ask, "Do you work tonight?"

He gives a small nod, so close you can feel the tips of his hair brush you as he does. You mumble out a little "me too" before sliding your hands to his biceps. You push him away ever so slightly. "You should head home, get some more sleep before tonight. I don't want to mess with your routine."

John hums in agreement, adding a soft "Okay,". His eyes yet again rake down your body before meeting your eyes again. Something in them holds a newfound mischievous. "But I think I might be needing my shirt back."

You look down. Yep, that is definitely not a shirt that you own. If there was a record for the amount of times you can embarrass yourself in an hour, you're sure you've beat it. When you start fumbling to remove the shirt his hands find yours. "I'm kidding, you can keep it. Looks good on you." This guy is going to be the death of you. "But do you have something I could wear?"

The next hour is spent slowly but surely getting John dressed. He never asked for his shirt back, instead taking one of your sleeping T-shirts while saying something about 'an eye for an eye'. It took much longer then it should've because you two just couldn't stop talking. It starts as John teasing you but then becomes about anything. Plans for the rest of the day, what your schedules look like, whatever the last piece of gossip Princess has brought up to you.

Once John is finally ready to venture into the world you find yourselves stood in your front door way. He seems to remember something.

"Do you want me to pick anything up from Dunkin' for you? Y'know, for our shift."

"Oh, yeah sure."

"Awesome, text me what you want." He leans in and steals a quick kiss on your cheek, "Bye!" With that he is walking away from you. You find yourself touch your cheek where he kissed you.

This is so not normal for you two. But he is still him and you are still you. You can only hope that this might become normal, your new normal. Because this, a morning full of softness and what you can only hope is love, sounds like a pretty nice normal to have.

The past few hours might have been the most unhinged ones of your life. Might is the key word, as you can't seem to remember any hours besides the ones you've spent in this tin can.

Right now the only things you know for sure is that,

You are in space

You had been sent with three other crew mates

Two of those crew mates are dead

So here you are, your only company being your one remaining crewmate and the stars. The majority of your time conscious has been spent drinking away your sorrows and going through your belongings. Everything seemingly important enough to bring with you to god knows where. This is how you and your crewmate discovered your names. You weren't sure how you felt about your name. However once you told it to you companion he said, "That's a nice name." Something in his tone felt like the comment was more then just a formality, but you brushed it off. His name, in your mind, is another story.

Ryland Grace.

You like his name. You like it a lot. There seems to be no rhyme or reason for you liking his name so much. It just sounded like the name of a kind person.

Grace had proven to be just that in the short time you've been with him. After your initial joint mental breakdown involving copious amounts of your deceased crew mates vodka, he has made it his personal mission to figure out as much about who he is and who you are as he can. Little things have come easily, some things you both are sure you'll have to dig for.

Right now you have taken a break from digging, instead doing some much needed hygiene and cosmetic upkeep. This is how you find yourself sat with Ryland Grace in between your legs.

Once you two found the scissors, clippers, and razors stowed away on the ship you gave yourselves the big chop, getting rid of the majority of the hair that had grown since leaving Earth. It all came off in chunks and left harsh, choppy lines where the strands used to meet. The hairs weight removed from you felt like a breath of fresh air, but you're not done yet.

You're sure the both of you could have cut your own hair. You had mirrors and a general idea of what you were doing. But you didn't want to. And it seemed like Grace didn't want to either, because he took a seat on one of the small beds you'd found and beckoned you to join him. He guided you to sit on the floor in front of him while he muttered a little, "It'll be easier like this." before asking how you wanted your hair. Over the course of your haircut you and him fell into a comfortable silence. You couldn't help the goosebumps raising on your skin when his finger would graze your neck. You're not sure how long you've gone without the touch of another person, but it feels too good.

Before you know it, it was your turn to reciprocate. He gives you a brief description of what he wants which is basically just 'short and not stupid looking' before letting you have free reign over his scalp. The buzzing of the clippers fills the room as you work on the back of his head, taking care to go around Grace's ears and not nick him. You find yourself placing your non-dominant hand on his shoulder to keep you stable. His firm muscles readjusts under your touch, retreating forward before slowly settling further back into your lap. The press of his back against you send heat into almost every part of your body, but every time your mind begs to wander you pull it back to the task at hand.

Once you're happy with the back of his head you tap Grace's shoulder, urging him to turn around. You realize you're fucked when he finally settles back down and looks up at you. Azure eyes gaze at you from underneath his glasses and the long, choppy bangs he had given himself. In isolation the look would not have done much to you. Sure his eyes were a beautiful shade of blue and you could see a reality where you would let yourself get lost in them, but that's it. However, those eyes combined with the soft look that accompanies them as he stares up at you from in between your legs uncovers a deep seeded feeling in your gut that you are having a very hard time ignoring. You do your best to even up his bangs, trying and failing to not make eye contact in the process.

Once you've decided it's good enough you stand up and go to find something to clean the mounds of hair now littering the floor. When you come back with a vacuum-looking contraption you find Grace barely moved from when he was, now back on the bed you were just sat on. Unlike when you were cutting his hair, he seems to be the one avoiding eye contact.

"Hey, I found this thing. I think it should help with the clean up but we'll see." You give a strained chuckle before turning to start setting up the machine. The response Grace gives comes out as a mumble.

"What was that?"

"Can you shave my face?" His voice is louder now, maybe a little louder than he meant, because he adds a quick "Please."

You blink at him. He can do that himself. That is something he can absolutely do himself. He is still avoiding your eye and you can see a redness blossom over his cheeks. You give him a small nod and make your way over to him again.

Even though he had chopped a lot of his beard off, the hair is still pretty long and thick. Your first move is to take the clippers in your hand and slowly shorten the hair to something manageable. You are bent over at an awkward angle, trying to get a decent view of what you are doing while keeping a respectful distance. Very quickly your back starts to protest.

Grace seems to take notice. If he didn't his next actions would probably need more explanation. You feel the warmth of his arms make their way to your back and they slowly guide you closer. You pause shaving briefly as you walk. Even when your knees meet the edge of the bed he pulls you closer. The only thing you can think to do in that moment is get on the bed, straddling Graces hips and sitting on his lap in the process. He takes a shaky breath in as his hands finally rest on the small of your back.

This is okay. This is fine. This is totally normal. This is absolutely something you do with someone that is essentially a stranger. You take a moment to let your current position sink in before going back to shaving. Grace lets out a soft hum as the clippers meet his neck. Finally the comfortable silence slips back into place. When it's finally short enough you take the razor to his face, having him hold a small bowl of water you had poured earlier and using as little shaving cream as you can. You reach your unoccupied hand to cup his jaw, moving his head to get the angle you need. His stubble prickles the skin of your palm and you can feel his soft breaths hit your skin. That feeling in your gut grows.

You should be weirded out. You don't know this guy. In any other circumstance you would have freaked. And yet the feeling of your body against his has you feeling the most grounded you've felt since waking up. His warmth surrounds you and lulls you into a sense of calm that you didn't know you needed. Now that you know that you need it, you can't imagine not being exactly where you are right now, sat in Ryland Grace's lap.

It almost comes naturally to you, shaving his face. The razor slides over his skin until before you know it his face is clean-shaven. You lean back slightly to take in the entirety of his face and there is only one thing you can think.

Handsome.

He is so handsome.

Fuck.

His jawline, finally revealed to the world (r.e. you), is defined and strong. The small smile gracing his lips can only be described as cute. Your thumb grazes his cheekbone as you admire him. His flush has reached his ears and finally he takes a risk. Grace leans into your hand, almost like he's afraid that at any moment you will stop touching him. That you'll stop being here, real and alive, with him. That you would cease to exist and he will be all alone.

This night is not brought up again for a very long time. Not the following 'day' when you give your dead crew mates a final farewell. Not when you both finally make it to Tau Ceti. Not when Rocky enters your lives. It is only when you both lay in the Hail Mary, newly landed on Eridani that you whisper to each other about this moment. You lay side by side as you both remark on the moment, eyes shining as you both look at the other with your hands clasped together. There is no sign of that touch ever leaving. Warm, real, alive, not alone.

"Ok, yes he can be a little... Disarming but he pays good money!" Your voice rings out into the hallway as you shoulder your way into the apartment complex and head towards the mailboxes. The phone screen feels cool against the skin of your cheek as you reach your hand into your bag and start feeling around for your keys. You balance a cardboard cup holder in the other hand. The heat of the drinks creeping over your palm the longer you keep it there.

"I just don't understand why he needs you? It's not like he's a real celebrity, I'm pretty sure he can get his own coffee." Your friends voice comes through the other line, sounding annoyed as ever. "It surely isn't enough money to skip out on our hang out. Again."

"You know it's not like that, I need this money so I can do the stuff I actually want to do. I'll make it up to you I promise." Your finger finally grazes rigid metal and you pull the keys out, fiddling with them to find the right one.

"Mhm sure."

"I mean it!"

"Whatever you say."

There's a brief silence when you finally find the right key and go to unlock the mailbox.

"Well I gotta get back to the grind, don't wear yourself out and I'll promise to do the same, okay?" Your friend says with a sigh.

"... Okay, yeah sure."

"Cool, see you later."

"Alright I'll see you, bye."

You finally pull the door open as your friend hangs up, quickly taking the phone from your shoulder and dropping it in your bag. The box has a few letters, from the looks of it mostly bills and ads, but the thing that catches your eye is a small box. Beige with minimal postage and stamping. Strange, not never before seen, but never the less strange.

Your legs find their way to and up the ever familiar staircase, mail tucked under your arm with keys still in hand. When said disarmers apartment door comes into view, it takes everything in you not to sigh. Another day that will be the same as the day before. Work, classes, writing, repeat. Boring, but dependable.

You find yourself at the door and immediately give a quick knock before opening the door yourself.

"Good morning Mr. Molloy! How are you doing today?" You holler into the space as you scan the room for your employer. The faint rhythm of a basketball game being played on the radio fills the apartment as you knew it would be. As much as he hates it, Mr. Molloy is a creature of habit. You find him in the kitchen, puzzle splayed over the counter and he works yet another piece in to place with his fingers.

"I told you to call me Daniel. You're making me feel old." His voice comes out in a grumble as his eyes stay focused on the near-perfect picture in front of him.

"Well I hate to say it, but I think your ancient bones are doing most of the work when it comes to that. Got mail and coffee for you." You slide said items on to the counter in front of him, making quick work of the cup holder and taking a sip of your own drink. His eyes flick slightly towards the items as he huffs out some sort of laugh before going back to the puzzle. Slowly his hand makes its way to the paper cup, taking it in his grip and bring it to his lips.

The next hour goes as follows. Mr. Molloy stares at his puzzle, takes a sip of coffee, and goes back to staring. You settle on his couch, your laptop set up on his coffee table as you get to work. Responding to any loose ends regarding his master class, fielding congratulatory emails about said master class, noting notices from the clinic and his insurance company, and politely declining every single student journalists offer to interveiw him. Once you are all caught up you steal some "work time" to do your best to write one sentence, just one, of your thesis.

You pull your head away from your screen when you hear shuffling from Mr. Molloy. Looking over your shoulder you watch as he tears open the box, picking up a letter placed on top of the contents. And then there's a pause. A long pause, what it's filled with you're not sure, but Mr. Molloy knows.

"What is it?" Your voice comes out soft, that delicate type of voice one uses when they aren't sure if someone is going to react with something trivial or a full on breakdown.

"Uh, I've been invited to Dubai for an interview." Mr. Molloy puts down the letter, almost hastily going through the rest of the package.

"That's it? Talk about 'could have been an email'" You huff out as you swivel back to your laptop.

"Yeah this guy isn't really about... subtle." The clacking of plastic against plastic follows his response, his fingers fiddling with whatever is inside that box.

"Still, Dubai sounds nice. Who's this interviewee? Sounds like you know him, some Saudi Arabian dignitary you did coke with in the 70's?" The joking nature of your voice didn't seem to sit right with your employer, his brows furrow and you can tell by the slight, dull tapping that he's started bouncing his leg.

"Yeah, something like that."

Dismissive. Daniel Molloy is being dismissive. Daniel Molloy is never dismissive, at least not with you. He is a man that wants the facts, only the facts, and will dig for the facts until he gets them. He takes pride in being upfront and honest, even to the detrement of himself and others. He's lost and gained so much over this one part of his beleifs, and at some point in the time you've spent in his apartment today he has decided that it could go kick rocks. The look you give him is incredulous, the raise of your eyebrow and your pointed eyes bore into the back of his head until he finally turns to face you.

"What?"

His voice comes breathy, exasperated. Comfermation.

"Whats going on, you're being weird." You say, blunt and confrentational.

"Arent I always weird?" The small, half assed smile that makes its way onto his face comes as quickly as it goes.

"Yeah but you're being a different type of weird, which is weird in and of itself so something is wrong and you're not telling me."

"Please tell me how exactly you got that from the five sentences I've spoken to you all day."

"Deductive reasoning which of course I leared from the best," you say, vaugly gesturing towards his figure, "So please tell me what on earth has you acting so...like this." Another vauge gester, more pointed with the addition of the look on your face. A stareing contest insues. Your eyes fix themselves on Mr.Molloy's icy blue irises. In moments like this you know not to back down, you've learned very quickly that behind that stubborness is the path to your employer becoming a more vunreable and trusting person. You know it's not your job or place to guide him to this path. But when you see the opprotunity, you take it. He looks away first, opting to fix his gaze on the ground in front of him.

Mr. Molloy takes a moment, the valleys of his forehead get deeper and the tapping gets quicker. You sit and you wait, you give him that moment. To think or panic or whatever he needed to do. Then he sighs, looks up at the ceiling, runs his hands over his face, through his hair, picks up the package, and finally walks over to sit on the couch next to you.

As the new weight on the couch makes it shift beside you, you follow the angle of his arm until your eyes land on the package. For the first time you can see the inside of the small box. It is full of cassette tapes bound together by a single, clinging to life, rubber band.

"Ok, uh, this is gonna sound insane but you have to come along with me on this..." He tells you everything, at least everything he can remember. The bar, the man in the corner who turned out to be something more — something unatural — and Daniel Molloy learned, and recorded, it all. Then the attack, hazy at best and completely gone from memory at worst, mainly the memory of hurt and pain corsing through his body had stuck around but the specifics escape him.

Mr. Molloy cannot stay still during his confession. He fiddles with his fingers, then the rubber band holding the casettes, until finally he feels compelled to start pacing. Back and forth in his living room as you stare at him, letting his words settle into your body.

"You know what? Let me just," He makes a break into the hallway and starts digging through the closet. Miscellaneous objects come flying out behind him, some of which seemingly belonged to his daughters in their youth, as he digs into the space. You make a mental note to go through and organize that closet when you find the time. "Aha!" The exclamation comes with the uncovering of a boom box. Mr. Molloy quickly dusts off the device before making his way back to the couch, quickly plugging it in and placing the first casette into the speaker.

Voices make their way through the speaker, one young with a similar countenance to the man sitting in front of you. "Um, first question. You weren't always a vampire, were you?"

The other a smooth, unfamiliar voice follows. "No. I was a thirty-three year old man when I became a vampire"

A vampire. Vampires are real. Or at least this mystery man had convinced Mr. Molloy that they are. Or your employer is more mentally unhinged than you had taken him for. Probably all of the above.

The voices go back and forth before you lean forward and press pause. When you lean back you peek at Mr. Molloys face. His eyebrows have shot up, lips parted slightly as his eyes search for something.

"Okay." Your voice doesn’t come out the way you would like, it's clunky and unsure of itself. And yet you continue. "What are you going to do about it? How are you going to move forward with this invitation?" Your arm makes its way to the back of the couch, trying to exude casualty.

"Really, that's your question. You just learned that vampires are real and your first reaction is to question me about me?"

"Look, I am not paid to know anything and everything about these people. Believe me I want to know everything. But I am paid to handle your scheduale, coraspondence, and make sure that you don't send yourself to an early grave. So first things first I need to know whats going on in your brain. What are you going to do?"

"...I'm going."

"Okay. I don't think that is a very good idea but okay."

"You can't ask what my decision is and then judge me. You are not 'being paid' to judge me." Mr. Molloy scoffs.

"Whether I'm being paid for it or not, and believe me I am, I care about your wellbeing. You just told me a story of how this man almost killed you and you expect me to be enthusiastic about you interveiwing him again. What happens if he hurts you again? Or kills you? Especially when you would be on the otherside of the world presumably with only me knowing where you are. How does any of that sound like a good idea."

He goes to speak, but you give him no room for rebuttal.

"Also have you forgotten that your health isn't doing the greatest right now? Do you really want to put your life prolonging treatment on hold just to what, listen to this guy's sorrows for god knows how long. You won't even be able to finish the interveiw. By that point you will have forgotten what you have and haven't asked!"

"That's the point!" His aggression spooks you into silence, he continues. "I'm not going to be around much longer, at least with my mind intact. I have nothing to loose. I'm dead anyway, might as well close out that chapter of my life and learn as much as I can while I'm at it." A beat as his words linger. "Plus, Dubai does sound nice."

You stare at him. He stares back. You're both too stubborn to admit that the other may have a point. The two of you do this a lot.

"If it makes you feel better," Mr. Molloy says, "you can always join me to make sure I don't parish until you decide I should." An olive branch.

"...Maybe."

"Maybe?"

"Maybe."

With that you turn your body back to your laptop. Over your shoulder Mr. Molloy sees you pull up different international airline websites. You can sense a lazy smirk spread over his face, then you hear and feel Mr. Molloy let out a huff. Then he stands up, walks away, and comes back with a leather bound notebook and a pen. His arm reaches out and presses play on the speaker. Neither of you speak for the rest of your time in Mr. Molloy's apartment, just working next to eachother and ocassionally getting up to use the restroom or keep yourselves hydrated. Boring, dependable, just like any other day.

You wont have dependable after this day, at least not in the near future. Because when you really think about it, Dubai does sound nice.

The Pitt

an ode to the night shift by @erwinsvow - jack abbot x f!reader*

Diagnosis Married? by @s-writing-s - jack abbot x f!reader

On a whim baby by @burgundysnow - jack abbot x f!reader*

that was me blue by @docrobinavitch - jack abbot x f!reader

coffee (that kisses you) by @skymouth - jack abbot, john shen, and parker ellis x gn!reader

that's not your phone... by @justalittlepitt - john shen x f!reader

DC

His Bed 1, 2 - bruce wayne x gn! reader

IWTV

Daniel's Assistant Who...

A Box of Tapes - platonic! daniel molloy x gn! reader

The Pitt

Dinner - dennis whitaker x gn! reader

Go Go Juice - john shen x gn! reader

Mel King with a s/o that has chronic pain hcs

Rygos Characters

Haircut - ryland grace x gn! reader

"You really couldn't keep yourself out of trouble, could you."

You fingers and his mingle among each other as he slowly but surely makes a knot in the final stitch.

"Please I just got a little carried with dinner, sue me."

Dennis doesn't even look at you as he laughs in your face, eyes instead still fixated on your wound probably making sure he didn't miss anything. But still his breath fans your face making your nose scrunch up.

"If you can call almost slicing your finger in half trying to cut onions getting carried away then yeah, you got carried away." He pulls away, placing all of the suturing materials back into the first aid kit. 

"You really need to be more careful, a knife blunt enough or sharp enough or with enough force put behind it can really do some damage. For instance if..." Dennis goes on talking about possibility after possibility. It's only after he finishes packing up the kit, shutting it with a soft click, when he finally turns to face you completely. For someone who's trying to be stern, he's doing an awful job at it. His brow is creased and yet he's smiling a lose, small smile. Your not even sure he knows he's smiling. It's like his face is trying to chose between being worried for your health and happy that you are here, with him.

The harsh light of the kitchen doesn't do anyone any favors, and yet Dennis still looks handsome. His hair curly and a little frizzy after a long day at work, eyes slightly bloodshot and fingers fiddling like muscle memory. He's still rambling, moving on to more extremes, more specifics. That is when you strike. That is when you close the small gap between you both. You snake both arms up his chest and around his neck, being mindful of your wound as you do. That is when he stops, eyebrows shooting up as his hands quickly find their place at your hips.

"Hey, what's this about?"

Before you say anything you pull him into a kiss. It's nothing special, no sparks or butterflies, but it's real. Soft, sure, if not a little teasing. The next thing you say comes out as a murmer in between kisses as your non hurt hand starts running through his hair.

"You're just" kiss "too cute" kiss "when you" kiss "act like that." Another kiss, even longer then the ones before.

The sound he lets out is closest to a giggle, but not quite. You feel him slowly smile into the kiss and feel the slight tingle of his hands trailing under your shirt and up your spine. You pull away and another, more disgruntled, noise is pulled from his throat along with it. 

"Why'd you stop?"

"Because if we keep going, we are never getting fed and I need to make sure you eat something so Trinity doesn't give me lip about you not getting enough nutrients."

As you slip away from his grasp his body tries to follow, but he ends up just standing there as you make your way back to the cutting board. As quickly as you pick up the knife Dennis is by your side again, moving to take the knife from your grasp.

"At least let me finish it! I don't want you hurting yourself again." He says as his fingers ghost over yours, tracing over the soft lines they create. You let out a little huff, pausing briefly before placing the knife back down and turning around to face him. 

You were just as close as before, but it's different now. He has you pinned to the counter with his arms on either side of you. The same arms that work to save people's lives every day. The ones that lifts giant bails of hay whenever you both make the trip to his childhood home, all sweaty in a tight T-shirt. The very same arms that would hold you day in and day out if they could. Your eyes flick to those lean, built muscles before sweeping your hands over his biceps.

"Alright, don't blame me when you burn the house down." Just like that you give him a kiss on the cheek and duck out from under his arm. You make your way to the living room, promptly flopping on the couch and pulling out your phone to doom scroll just a little.

What you don't see is Dennis following you with his eyes with the same loose smile on his face. Then he sighs, shakes his head, and sets to work hoping to finish the dinner you started rather then proving you right about his skills.

Two weeks. It has been two weeks since you’ve seen or heard from Bruce. No good morning texts, late night calls while on patrol, or overgrown bats bleeding on your couch for two weeks. Not even a text making sure you got home okay after leaving the manor that dreadful morning. He had promised that you would see him again. He had promised that you would have a discussion about what had happened. You now, for the first time in your life, have to come to terms with a fact that many have made peace with long ago: Bruce Wayne doesn't keep his promises. 

After Bruce left that morning and you had yourself a decent cry, you made yourself scarce in the manor. Picking your clothes up from where they had been scattered around the room and getting dressed, mismatching buttons on your top in the process. The walk of shame you had through the manor, especially because you got lost multiple times, was excruciating. It took Alfred finding you in your blurry eyed, disheveled state to guide you to the front door. Alfred fetched your bag and coat, but just as you were about to leave, he spoke.

“Master Bruce has a very hard time opening up. I would argue that it may be a fatal flaw of his. However, please do not let it deter you from continuing to get to know him. I have not seen him as happy as he is with you in years.”

Those words, spoken so matter of factly, have lingered with you since.

The weeks in between then and now have been a whirlwind of work, friends, and sleep, with the constant looming anxiety of your relationship with Bruce dangling over you. Even on your busiest days, you constantly checked your texts, praying that he had said something. The people around you even started to notice, your coworkers mumbling about “young people these days and their phones” and your friends actively swiping your phone and putting it in what they lovingly called “phone jail”— a pocket on one of their persons.

Now you sit on the couch in the living room of the little apartment that you call home. The late night air threatens to take hold as many different textures envelop you. You are cocooned inside a mass of blankets with a small carton of ice cream tucked in between your legs. You will have ice cream, broken heater be damned. When Harry Met Sally plays on the television while you ignore it, opting to focus on the downward spiral you seem to be going on mentally as you reflect. You had refused to reach out first out of principle. Why should you be the one to reach out? Bruce is the one who messed up. The one that ran away. He’s a grown man; he doesn't need you to hold his hand in his apology to you. If this is what he wants, good riddance. You deserve someone better than that anyway. 

But then there is a twinge in your chest. A little part that reminds you of Alfred's words. He didn’t say it like he was trying to preserve your feelings or Bruce's image; it was just a simple observation from a third party. If what he said was true, which by now you have no reason to believe it isn't, maybe Bruce does love you the way you love him. Maybe it’s just hard for him. Is he really so happy around you that people take notice? A jitteriness finds its way into your tendons, your breathing becoming a little bit shallower.

The cold glass of your phone screen meets your fingertips before you can overthink it.

You: hey, let me know when you want to talk. miss you

There it is, an olive branch. Letting him know that you still want to be around him. That you still want him. You let out a shaky sigh as you place your phone back onto the coffee table and focus back on the movie. You notice the scent of mildew and the leftovers you had for dinner have permeated the room, brows furrowing together as you remember you need to wash these blankets. The screen bathes your living room in a synthetic glow, but your TV isn't the only source of light. The moon outside your window floods the space in its own presence. You can’t help but stare at it for a moment, big and beautiful and real, before turning your attention back towards your movie and ice cream. 

An hour or so later, you notice a shifting in the moonlight coming from your window. Out of the corner of your eye, you see a large, hulking figure make its way onto your fire escape. Before you can react, an alert buzzes your phone to life.

B <3: Open the window.

You can’t help but roll your eyes as you pause the movie and you make yourself leave the warmth of your blankets. Cold slithers through your legs as your feet slide their way across the floor. Without saying a word, you slam open the window and retreat to safety on the couch. There is a moment of quiet, seizing each other up, daring the other to speak first. 

“Could you close the window? It’s fucking freezing in here.” You mumble, not trusting your voice to go any louder in fear of it creating an avalanche. In that moment, Batman becomes Bruce. You see it in how his posture changes, how his steps are less sure as he makes his way back to the window, and how he fumbles a little when he pushes the window closed. Only after he pulls the blinds closed does he remove his cowl.

He looks… wrong. His skin is paler, his undereye darker, his face thinner, and for the first time since knowing him, he has the beginnings of a beard. He just stands there, eyes glassy and staring at you.

“So I’m assuming you showing up unannounced means you’re ready to talk.” You say.

He nods.

“Okay…”

Nothing. He says absolutely nothing. You squirm under his gaze, racking your mind for something to say.

“What's up?”

Wow. Such a wordsmith. But it seems to have done the trick, as Bruce begins to move closer. He sits next to you on the couch, now staring at the ground in front of him while fidgeting with his cowl. After a moment, he speaks.

“I missed you.”

It would have been easy to scoff at him if he didn’t sound so broken. His voice is cracky and vulnerable, that voice people get when they are on the verge of tears, exactly how you sounded when you laid your heart out for him. So instead, you find yourself being soft.

“I missed you, too.”

A beat.

“I’m sorry.” It tumbles out of his mouth like a bag of rocks, rough yet not disingenuous. He is trying.

“Okay.” Is all you can say in response.

“I ran away from my feelings, which isn’t helpful to anyone, and I hurt you in the process.” Obviously, he’s talked to Alfred about this. “ It was never my intention to hurt you, and I understand if you want us to go our separate ways. But,” There’s a but? “ I…I think I love you, too?” It’s at this moment that he lifts his gaze to meet yours again, icy blue eyes shifting ever so slightly around your face. 

Now it’s your turn to stay silent, expression as neutral as you can make it.

“I know that it's a crazy thing to say, especially after I reacted to your confession the way I did, but it’s true. I hate to admit it, but I’m scared. I’m scared of what I feel for you and how that can be used against me. But I think I’ve realized I’m even more scared of what my life looks like without you in it.” Bruce breathes one final deep breath. He has said all that he has to say; now he looks expectantly at you.

“Do you think or do you know?”

“What?”

“Do you think that you love me or do you know that you love me?”

Bruce seems taken aback, almost relieved, carding a hand through his hair and laughing with a huff.

“I don’t see what’s so funny, I think it’s a valid quest-”

Suddenly, Bruce’s hand cradles your cheek as he leans in, your nose and his centimeters from touching. He looks at you through his lashes with a soft, sincere smile tugging at his lips.

“I know I love you. I love you so much that I haven't been able to stop thinking about you since the first day I met you. I love you so much that you give me chest pains, which seems like a hazard, but I don’t care. Because I love you.”

The kiss he pulls you into is unlike any of the other kisses you two have shared. Not unsure and timid or hard and hot. There are no fireworks in this kiss; it's more like flowers covered with dew in the morning. Beautiful, delicate, natural. 

Once you both pull away, there is still a dull film of insecurity covering the both of you, so you hug him. As you cling to his shoulders, his big arms find their way to the curve of your waist, the cowl long forgotten on the floor. You breathe in the night air on his suit and hold him just a little tighter. In the crook of his neck, you ask, “Do you want to spend the night?”

“Yeah, I would like that.”

So, you both make your way to your bedroom. It may not be as grandiose or aesthetic as Bruce’s bedroom, but it is your comfortable piece of heaven. You lie down as Bruce begins removing the rest of his suit. The moonlight makes organic shapes on his body as he peels the Kevlar off his body. You think this might be the most beautiful he has ever looked, hair a mess of black on his head, and the scruff. The scruff.

“I never realized how good you’d look with a beard until now.”

Bruce chuffs as he folds his suit and places it on your nightstand, now only clad in his boxers. 

“Really? I was thinking about shaving it, but if you like it so much maybe I’ll keep it.”

You give a noncommittal hum as he lies next to you. It is only then that you realize how small your bed is. How firm it is, how loud and rickety your bedframe is. It is not, in the very least, comfortable, especially with two people in it. But that’s ok, because Bruce is here. He is here, and he loves you, and in this moment, that's all that matters. A familiar arm curls around you and pulls you close to his chest. You drift in and out of sleep for a while, just enjoying the sound of his breathing and the warmth of his body. Just as you are on the brink of sleep, you mumble out one final “I love you”. You slip into unconsciousness before he can respond, yet you still rest with the knowledge that he does, in fact, love you too.