🌻

You’d started seeing someone to help you process everything that happened—the murder you witnessed and what came after. It hadn’t been easy. Some days still felt heavier than others, like the memory was right beneath the surface waiting to pull you back under.

But slowly, in small steps, things were beginning to shift. You were learning how to sit with what happened without letting it consume you. Learning how to breathe through the fear instead of getting swallowed by it. Learning, bit by bit, how to keep moving forward.

Sammy and Nate checked in when they could, keeping you updated with whatever information they were able to find about the case. 

Tonight, you were halfway through making dinner, absentmindedly stirring something on the stove while the TV murmured softly in the background. There was a knock at your door.

You freeze.

You lower the spoon onto the counter and cross the room, wiping your hands nervously against your sweatpants before unlocking the door.

“Who is it?”

Then a familiar voice calls from the other side. “It’s Sammy.”

You unlock the door. Sammy and Nate stand on the other side, both looking more serious than usual. Sammy’s hands are shoved deep into the pockets of his jacket while Nate stands stiffly beside him, his expression unreadable.

“Hey,” Sammy says quietly.

“Hi,” you answer, your gaze flicking between them. “What’s going on?”

Sammy exchanges a quick look with Nate before speaking again. “We have an update on the case. Do you mind if we come in?”

Your chest tightens at the word case.

“Sure,” you murmur, stepping aside to let them through.

You step aside to let them in.

Neither of them says much as they walk into the house. You close the door behind them, the click of the lock suddenly sounding too loud in the quiet apartment.

The smell of dinner still lingers in the air as you trail after them into the living room. Sammy and Nate sit on the couch while you lower yourself into the chair across from them, your hands curling tightly together in your lap.

You reach for the remote and mute the TV, the soft glow from the screen flickering across the room as silence settles over all three of you.

For a moment, nobody speaks.

Then Sammy finally breaks the silence.

“We got him.”

Your breath catches. “W-what?” Your eyebrows lift in shock as you stare at them. “You found him?”

Nate nods once. “We have a suspect in custody,” he says carefully. “But we need to do a lineup.”

“A lineup?” Your voice comes out quieter than you intended.

“We need you to identify him,” Nate says. “Officially.”

The room suddenly feels colder. Your stomach twists hard enough to make you feel sick.

Sammy leans forward slightly, his voice gentler now. “You don’t have to answer right this second. We know this is a lot–”

“N-no,” you cut in quickly, shaking your head. “I want to.”

The words come out shaky, but certain.

Silence settles over the room for a brief moment. Sammy studies your face carefully, like he’s trying to make sure you really mean it.

“You’re sure?” He asks softly.

You wanted justice for the man he murdered, but also for yourself. For what he did to you. For the fear he left behind and trying to work through. 

“If you identify him,” Nate says carefully, “it gives the DA enough to move forward with charges. Your statement and the lineup become part of the case.”

He pauses, meeting your eyes directly.

“And because you’re an eyewitness to the murder itself, there’s a strong chance you’d be called to testify later on. That could be at a preliminary hearing or at trial…if it goes that far.”

Sammy’s voice softens slightly. “It doesn’t always end up in a full courtroom trial. Sometimes there’s a plea deal before that happens.”

Nate nods once. “But if it does, we don’t just put you on the stand and leave you there. We prep you for everything…what you’ll be asked, what the courtroom looks like, who will be there. You’d be guided through it step by step.”

A brief pause settles in the room again, heavier this time, but honest.

Sammy adds, “Right now, though, the lineup is the next step. That’s all you have to focus on.”

You let their words sink in. You let out a slow breath, trying to steady yourself.

“We can schedule it whenever you’re ready,” he says softly. “Tomorrow, next week… whenever.”

“No,” you say quietly, shaking your head. “I don’t want to keep waiting… could we do it tomorrow?”

Sammy nods immediately. “Okay,” she says gently. “If that’s what you want, we’ll make it happen.”

The smell hits first—sharp. .

“Oh shit.”

You rush back toward the kitchen and cut the heat on the stove. You already know it’s too late.

Sammy’s already moving, fanning the smoke. Nate steps in and reaches up, switching off the smoke detector before it can fully go off.

“Don’t worry about it,” Sammy says, still waving a hand through the air.

Nate glances at the pan, then at you. “It happens.”

You turn on the sink, letting water run over the pot as you stare at it like it personally betrayed you. The hiss of steam rises up immediately. Fading smoke and the quiet mess of what was supposed to be dinner.

“Well,” you mutter, shoulders dropping slightly, “there goes my dinner.”

Sammy tilts his head toward you. “We were actually just about to go get something to eat. You should come with us.”

Nate glances sideways at him quick, subtle. Not unkind. Just a look that says remember what we talked about. Boundaries. Lines. Don’t get too emotionally folded into it too fast.

Sammy catches it, but doesn’t backtrack. 

You blink, caught off guard more than anything, then glance back at the ruined pot once.

“…Yeah,” you say quietly. “I’d like that.I’ll just go change real quick.” You disappear down the hall, leaving the apartment quieter behind you.

Nate’s voice drops low enough that it doesn’t carry past the room. “You gotta be careful.”

Sammy glances at him. “About what?”

Nate tilts his head slightly toward the hallway. “You know what I mean. We’ve talked about this, Sammy.”

“I’m not doing anything wrong.”

“I didn’t say you were,” Nate replies evenly. 

Sammy opens his mouth to argue, but Nate cuts him off with a small shake of his head.

“You always get a little too emotionally attached to some of the people we help,” Nate says. “I’ve seen it before.”

Sammy looks down, jaw tightening slightly.

Nate studies him for a moment. “And that’s exactly why I’m saying something.”

“She’s alone, Nate. She doesn’t have anyone there for her…”

“So were a lot of people we’ve helped.”

Sammy falls quiet.

Nate sighs “You care. That’s one of the things that makes you good at this. But you can’t be the person who saves everyone, Sammy”

“I know.”

“Do you?”

Sammy doesn’t answer right away.

Finally, he rubs a hand over the back of his neck and looks toward the hallway. The conversation drops away as you step back into the room, ready to leave.

“I’m ready,” you announce with a small smile.

Sammy looks over at you, whatever had been on his mind disappearing behind an easy expression.

“Good,” he says, “Let’s go.”

—

You were laughing, your head tipped back as Sammy told another story about him and Nate had on the job. The hum of conversation and the clatter of dishes filled the diner around you, but Sammy had your full attention. He talked with his hands, getting more animated with every detail, and every time he made you laugh harder, a grin spread across his face.

Across the booth, Nate rolled his eyes and let out a quiet chuckle. For once, he stayed silent, letting Sammy have the floor. Every now and then he'd shake his head when the story became a little too exaggerated, the look on his face saying he'd heard it a hundred times before. Still, there was a fondness there as he listened.

You hadn't laughed or even smiled like this in a long time. Sitting in the worn diner booth, surrounded by the smell of coffee and greasy food, the weight you've been carrying felt a little lighter. For a little while, you were able to forget everything else and simply enjoy being here.

Suddenly, Sammy's phone started ringing.

He pulled it from his pocket and glanced at the screen.

"It's Tammi. I gotta take this." The comment seemed directed more at Nate than anyone else.

Sammy shoved his phone to his ear as he slid out of the booth. "I'll be back."

You watched him head toward the front of the diner, but he hadn't gotten very far before his voice carried back to the table.

"No, Tammi, that's not what happened!"

A beat passed.

"Because that's not what I said!"

He pushed through the front door, but even through the glass you could still see him gesturing with his free hand, clearly growing frustrated. Sammy threw his head back in exasperation. 

Your eyebrows furrowed as you watched him, concerned flickering across your face. Nate, meanwhile, didn't seem bothered in the slightest.

Tammi’s his wife, right?” you ask Nate, your thoughts drifting back to the conversation you’d had about her with Sammy in his car that night when he’d driven you around aimlessly because you couldn’t sleep.

“Yeah,” Nate sighs.

“Is it always like that?” you ask, your meaning clear, Sammy and Tammi, arguing over the phone.

"Pretty much." He leaned back in the booth, exhaling. "It burns hot for a while, then it’s like nothing ever happened. Until the next time."

Another muffled burst of Sammy's voice drifted in from outside.

"That doesn't seem healthy..." you said cautiously.

He glanced toward the window, where Sammy was still pacing with his phone pressed to his ear.

“It’s not, but Sammy loves Tammi,” Nate said quietly, watching him for a moment longer. “He puts up with a lot of shit when it comes to her.”

He hesitated, jaw tightening as he kept his eyes on Sammy.

“Sammy’s a good guy,” he continued, voice lower now. “But she just walks all over him…takes advantage. She comes up with these crazy ideas and expects him to be okay with it. Never runs anything by him, and Sammy’s always the one left cleaning up the mess.”

His expression hardened slightly, frustration slipping through.

“I just don’t get it,” Nate admitted. “He bends over backwards for her, and she—” He cut himself off, exhaling sharply. “It’s like she doesn’t even notice what it costs him.”

“I don’t particularly like her…” Nate cut himself off, as if only then realizing how much he’d said. “Sorry. I shouldn’t be airing this out. It’s not my place and this is very unprofessional.”

You met his eyes, steady and reassuring.

“Well, I don’t think any less of you or him. It’s off the record, but I get it. You’re his partner… his friend. You care about him”

“Yeah…he’s my brother. Love him to death”

A small smile tugged at your lips at that.

Nate noticed it and huffed softly, like he didn’t quite know what to do with the moment.

“It’s just…” he started again, then paused, eyes flicking back toward Sammy before returning to you. “I don’t think she treats him the way he deserves.”

“I’d be lucky to have someone like Sammy,” you said quietly.

That made Nate pause. He looked at you a little more directly this time, like he was trying to figure out whether you meant it the way it sounded. His eyebrow lifted slightly.

“Oh god…I didn’t—I–” you started quickly, words tripping over each other as you tried to backpedal, to save yourself from what you’d just said.

It came out too fast, too honest. A silly little crush on Sammy you knew wasn’t going anywhere. He was the detective on an active case you were involved in, and he was married, completely off-limits. No matter how harmless, the feeling stayed tucked away. Still, you thought he was cute, kind, funny, and easy to talk to and you liked how safe you felt around him.

Before you could dig the hole any deeper, Nate let out a quiet chuckle.

“Off the record,” he said, easing the tension with just those two words.

You manage an embarrassed smile, heat rising in your cheeks. A voice cuts in before you can respond.

“Sorry about that,” Sammy said as he slipped back into the booth, settling into his seat with an easy familiarity, completely unaware of the conversation he'd just interrupted.

“You okay?” Nate asked, giving him a quick once over.

“Yeah, I'm fine,” Sammy said, waving it off. Then he looked between the two of you. “Now, where was I?”

“We were dealing with Elmo on Hollywood Boulevard,” Nate supplied, jogging his memory.

“Oh, right!” He pointed at Nate. Anyway...” He turned back to you. “So this guy dressed as Elmo...”

—

“You’re still willing to come in tomorrow and identify the suspect in the lineup?” Nate asked. The three of you stood on your front porch, the evening air settling around you as the conversation wound down.

“Yes,” you said with a nod.

“Okay.” Nate returned the nod. “We’ll have the lineup set for around noon. If anything changes, we’ll let you know.”

“Sounds good.”

“We’ll see you tomorrow,” Nate said.

“Tomorrow,” you echoed.

“Hey, I’ll catch up in a minute,” Sammy called after him.

Nate glanced back, then gave a small nod before heading toward the car, leaving the two of you alone on the porch.

A brief silence settled between you.

“Thanks for tonight,” you said.

“Yeah, of course.” Sammy shoved his hands into his pockets. “Do you need a ride tomorrow? We can come pick you up if you need.”

You shook your head. “I’ll manage. Thanks for the offer”

The quiet lingered for a moment before his expression softened.

“How’ve you been holding up?” He asks. 

You looked down briefly, gathering your thoughts. “Okay,” you said honestly. “Those resources you gave me... I've been talking to someone. Going to the support groups, too. It's been helpful.”

Your eyes lifted back to him.“So... Thank you. For taking the time to put all that together for me.”

“Yeah, of course,” he said. “I’m really glad they’ve been helpful.”

He paused, then added more quietly, “I know none of that stuff makes things magically better overnight, but you shouldn't have to carry all of it by yourself.”

Something warm settled in your chest at that. “Well,” you said with a small smile, “it helped more than you probably realize.”

A faint smile pulled at the corner of his mouth.

“Good,” he said simply. “That's all I was hoping for…I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Goodnight, Sammy.”

“Goodnight.”

With one last nod, he turned and headed down the walkway toward Nate and the waiting car, leaving you standing on the porch.

—

You step into the police station at noon, the glass doors shutting behind you with a soft thud. The familiar buzz of phones ringing, keyboards clacking, and low conversations fills the lobby.

Behind a thick pane of security glass, the receptionist looks up from her computer. “Can I help you?”

“Hi.” Your voice comes out quieter than you intended. “I’m here to see Detective Bryant and Detective Moretta.”

“Name?”

You give it to her, watching as she types something into the computer. After a moment, she nods.

There’s a loud click before the secured door beside the desk unlocks with a buzz.

“You can head through there.” She pauses, stopping an officer on his way out. “Hey, Coop—could you bring her down to Gang and Narcotics?”

The officer slows, glancing between the two of you before giving a short nod. “Yeah, I got her.”

“She’ll be waiting for Detectives Nate and Sammy,” the woman adds. 

Cooper pushes the door open wider for you. “C’mon,” he says, motioning for you to follow.

You recognize him. Officer John Cooper.

He’d been one of the officers on patrol outside your house the night of the murder. Recognition crosses his face too. 

“Hi,” you greeted him with a small smile. 

“Hey” he replied with a nod, acknowledging you as he held the door and led the way down the hall.

Cooper glances over at you as he walks. “How’ve you been holding up?”

“I’m doing okay…”

He nods once like he expected that answer. “Been a rough few weeks.”

“Yeah.”

He guides you into the middle of the bullpen. A rowdy open room filled with desks pushed together in clusters. Phones ring constantly here, someone arguing lightly across the room about paperwork while another detective laughs at something under his breath. It feels chaotic, alive.

Near the middle, two desks sit across from each other, both buried in files, coffee cups, and scattered notes.

Sammy looks up first from his chair when Cooper approaches. Nate leaning against Sammy’s desk with a folder in his hands, turns a second later.

Both of their expressions soften immediately when they see you.

“Hey,” Sammy says, standing.

“Thank you” you turn and give Officer Cooper a smile. He nods before walking away. 

“You ready?” Sammy asks.

Your throat feels tight, but you manage a nod anyway.

“Alright,” Nate says softly, “We’ll walk you through it.”

They lead you down the hallway. The farther you get from the bullpen, the quieter everything becomes. Nate walks slightly ahead, while Sammy hangs back just enough to stay beside you. 

When your fingers start twisting nervously in your sleeves, Sammy notices immediately.

“You’re okay,” he says quietly. “There’s no rush.”

You nod again, though your stomach is twisting harder with every step.

Nate opens the door to a dim observation room. A large pane of glass stretches across the wall in front of you. Beyond it is another room. Empty except for black height lines marked against the wall and numbers taped along the floor.

Your chest tightens at the sight.

Nate steps beside the glass. “Okay. In a minute, six men are going to come in and stand on the numbers. They may have them turn, step forward, or say a few words. Standard procedure.”

“You don’t have to answer immediately,” Sammy adds. “Take your time. If you recognize someone, you tell us the number they’re standing on.”

“And if you’re not sure,” Nate says gently, “you say you’re not sure. Don’t pressure yourself into choosing somebody.”

Your eyes stay fixed on the empty lineup room. “Will they be able to see me?”

“No,” Sammy says firmly.

Nate gives a small shake of his head. “This is a one-way glass. You can see them, but they can’t see you. He won’t know where you are.”

“He won’t hear you either,” Sammy adds. “Only us.”

You exhale shakily, but the tightness in your chest eases just slightly.

Sammy gestures toward the chair closest to the window. “Sit if you want. And if this gets overwhelming at any point, we stop. Doesn’t matter if they’re halfway through the lineup. You’re in control here,”

Before you sit, he pauses, studying your expression for a second longer. “You still okay to do this?”

The question was gentle, genuine like he was giving you every opportunity to change your mind without a hint of judgment.

Your fingers tightened together nervously. After a moment, you nodded.

“Yeah.”

Sammy studied you for a second. Not fully convinced you were calm, but accepting the answer anyway.

“Okay.”

You lowered yourself into the chair, clasping your hands tightly in your lap to keep them from shaking.

Nate remained by the observation glass while Sammy stayed close by. Sammy glanced over at you one last time. When you gave him a small nod, he looked at Nate and gave a subtle okay.

Nate returned the nod, then leaned toward the intercom.

“Alright,” he said, pressing the button. “Bring them in.”

The lineup room beyond the glass still sits empty for another moment, painfully quiet. Then men file in one by one, forming a straight line before stopping and turning toward the glass.

Your breath catches. Your stomach drops. That same stare. The same shape of his face. The crooked nose you remember too clearly and then your eyes catch on the tattoo curling just above his collar.

Your eyes stay locked on the man in the lineup like you can’t force yourself to look away. Everything inside you locks up. It feels like he’s staring right at you.

“It’s- It’s three, he’s the man in the alley…” you swallow, forcing the words through. “It’s number three.”

“You’re sure it’s number three?” Nate asks, not doubting you, just making sure the detail is solid, anchored.

You nod quickly “I’m sure,” you say. “His eyes…that tattoo. It’s him–” 

Your hand lifts to your throat before you even realize it, fingers brushing against your skin like you can still feel his grip there. The memory crashes back in. 

You didn’t expect this…didn’t think seeing him on the other side of the glass would hit you like this.

“I—I can’t breathe—” you manage, voice breaking as tears spill over before you can stop them.

“Cut it, Nate,” Sammy says sharply.

Nate immediately goes to the intercom, voice low as he tells them they’ve got what they need.

“Hey—hey. Look at me. Don’t look at him. Look at me.”

Sammy steps into your line of sight, blocking the glass completely. His hands settle on your shoulders. 

You grab onto him, arms wrapping tightly around his middle. You bury your face deeper into the crook of his neck. His arms come around you just as quickly, holding you steady against him.

“It’s okay,” he says quietly. “You’re okay.”

His hand settles between your shoulder blades as your breath comes in short, uneven pulls.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs again, quieter this time. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.” 

The words give you something to focus on besides your panic. His hand never left your back, rubbing slowly. 

Behind him, Nate watches silently. Sammy can already feel Nate staring at the back of his head, probably knowing he’s going to say something about this later. Right now, Sammy doesn’t care.

“Shhh, you’re okay,” he says softly.

Your breathing starts to steady. After a moment, Sammy pulls back just enough to look down at you. 

“I’m sorry…seeing him just…Sorry…” you say, as you quickly wipe the tears from your eyes.

“Hey,” he cuts in gently. “You have nothing to apologize for. You did good.” His voice stays calm as he rubs your arms. 

“How about we get you something to drink? Fresh air, too,” Nate suggests gently.

You nod. 

“I got her,” Nate says, glancing at Sammy as he passes Sammy a file. 

Sammy hesitates for a beat, then nods once. “Yeah… okay.”

“Come on,” Nate says, a hand settling lightly on your back as he guides you toward the door and out of the room.

—

You sit on a bench in a small courtyard outside the police station, a water bottle in hand as you take slow sips.

Nate sits beside you in silence. 

“What's gonna happen now?” you ask him

“We got what we needed,” he said gently. “Your statement, the identification... that gives us what we need to move forward with the investigation.”

He glanced at you briefly, checking your reaction before continuing.

“Like we said yesterday…we’ll present the case to the DA. They’ll decide what charges to pursue, and if the case moves forward, it could eventually go to trial.”

You nodded quietly, absorbing the weight of what that meant.

“So... more waiting,” you said.

A faint, sympathetic smile crossed Nate's face.

“Unfortunately,” he replied. “A lot of it is waiting.”

You let out a quiet sigh and looked down at your hands.

“I’m going to hate that…”

Nate nodded, like he'd heard that sentiment a hundred times before. “Most people do.”

“Because when you're waiting, your brain fills in the blanks,” he continued. “You start wondering what's happening behind the scenes, whether anything's moving forward, whether it's actually going anywhere.”

You gave a small nod. “Exactly.”

“But that doesn't mean nothing's happening,” Nate said. “It just means a lot of the work is happening where you can't see it.”

“In the meantime,” he said, “keep doing what you've been doing. Sammy, mentioned you’ve been going to therapy and support groups…” 

“Just don't put your life on hold waiting for the next update,” he added gently. “We'll call when we have something. Until then, focus on you.”

“That’s easier said than done,” you said, letting out a humorless laugh.

Nate nodded, unsurprised.

“Yeah,” he admitted. “It usually is.”

Sammy approaches and stops in front of the two of you. 

“Everything okay?” he asked, tone easy but observant.

Nate gave a small nod. “Just wrapping up.”

Sammy’s eyes flicked to you a second longer, softer now. “You good?” he asked, more gently this time.

You nod and sigh “Ready to head home”

“We’ll take you home,” he said simply.

You and Nate stood, and the three of you walked out of the courtyard together, then made your way toward the car.

💜 Tag: @hobisystem @timefightrs @festinalente00 @karlawithacapitalk @madprincessinabox @mina2000alex @pascal-rascal424 @cari87 @the-reblog-desk @idfkwhyimhere4357 @blueblizzardreview @scribbles-by-cv @dulcebloodhnd @showgirlshawn @thelightnessofthebeing @huntycola @coldmuffinbanditshoe @artsymaddie @lv7867 @thedamnqueenofhell @lovehadlovelost @tedmustache

Through every exhausting hour of the night, he'd carried the image of you with him—your sleepy smile, the way his t-shirt would hang off one shoulder when you shifted beneath the blankets to make room for him.

He could almost feel it already: the warmth of the bed, the familiar weight of your head settling into the space between his shoulder and neck as if it had been made for you. Even half-asleep, your hand would find its way to his chest, your fingers tracing absent, comforting patterns against his skin.

It's all he's thinking about when he leaves the Pitt. It's all he's thinking about when he takes the fast way home, weaving through familiar streets with a tiredness settled deep in his bones. By the time he finally reaches his door and turns the key in the lock, he can almost feel it already.

It takes him a second to realise something's different.

The house isn't quiet like usual.

Jack hangs up his jacket to the sound of blaring music echoing down the hallway as a sweet smell drifts towards him. He slows when a softer voice joins in as he makes his way into the house.

It's yours.

Jack rounds the corner and leans against the doorway. From there, he can see you standing at the stove. You flip a pancake, then lift the spatula to your lips like a microphone, belting along completely unabashed.

His lips spread into a wide smile. For a moment, he doesn't say anything. He just stands there and watches.

You're swaying slightly to the music, completely unaware he's there. One of his old t-shirts hangs off one shoulder, and there's a faint dusting of flour across your cheek.

God, he loves you.

The song ends, and he finally starts clapping. "That was a nice performance," he grins. "Almost better than the nightly ones."

You let out a startled yelp, nearly launching the spatula across the kitchen. "Jesus. What the fuck, Jack?"

His laugh comes out tired but genuine as he pushes away from the doorway and crosses the room. "Sorry."

You glare at him over your shoulder. "No, you're not."

"No," he agrees.

Your glare lasts all of three seconds before he reaches you. His hands settle automatically on your waist, thumbs brushing back and forth over your shirt. The ache in his leg is still there. The headache, too. But being close to you makes both seem a little quieter.

He ducks his head, pressing a kiss to your temple.

You try to stay annoyed, but your mouth twitches. "You're home early," you mumble.

"Thank god, I was." He wraps both arms around your middle and rests his chin on your shoulder. "Would've missed the concert."

You groan.

"Encore?" he asks.

"I'm charging you for that."

"No husband discount?"

"No husband discount."

"Hm." His nose brushes your cheek, then your jaw, before he presses a lingering kiss beneath your ear. "I don't mind paying full price."

You finally turn in his arms, one hand settling against his chest. Now that you're standing face-to-face, there's no hiding how exhausted he is.

Your expression softens immediately. "Long day?"

"The longest." His forehead drops against yours. For a moment, neither of you says anything. The music continues quietly in the background while you smooth a hand through the hair at the back of his neck.

His arms tighten instinctively around your waist, and he lets more of his weight settle against you, holding you a little closer. Your hips sway gently together.

He closes his eyes. Home. This is home.

Then you gasp. "Oh, no." You twist around. "My pancake."

Smoke curls up from the pan. He watches as you rescue what is now essentially a hockey puck. You stare at it. He stares at it.

"It's a little crispy," he offers.

"It's charcoal."

"I like charcoal."

You snort. "You are such a liar." Jack grins as you point the spatula at him. "Go shower. I need to focus."

"Bossy."

"Jack."

He steals one last kiss anyway, quick and warm, then another because you smile halfway through the first one.

"Go."

"Going." His hand slides across your hip as he passes, giving you a gentle squeeze.

Behind him, he hears you start singing again before he's even reached the hallway. His smile follows him all the way to the bathroom. It isn't what he'd spent the last twelve hours imagining.