#comments appreciated

“I am going inside,” you said, staring at the hospital’s ambulance bay, watching people in scrubs and ambulances enter the building. 

“You said that about ten minutes ago,” sighed your mother. ”I’m mentally preparing.” 

“You have worked in the ER for almost three years and completed your emergency fellowship at Mercy. I think you’ll be fine.”

”They’ll expect me to know things. I’m not just a nurse and this isn’t just family medicine mother.”  Your mother sighed through the speakers of your car. 

You could picture her standing in the kitchen with one hand braced against the counter, already dressed for the day even though it was barely six thirty in the morning. There would be a cup of coffee beside her, cooling down as each minute passed. The aroma filling the kitchen. Your dad would be somewhere nearby in his robe and slippers,  pretending not to listen, newspaper in hand and his glasses sitting low on his nose. 

“You do know things,” she said, “You thrive in the hospital. It’s strange how calm you are in that place.” 

“I don’t feel so calm right now,” you say, tapping your fingers on the steering wheel. 

Your mother called away from the phone. “James, tell your daughter to get out of her car.” A deeper voice answering from somewhere in the background. 

“Get out of the car, Birdie.” You rolled your eyes, smiling despite yourself. “One of these days you’re going to have to retire that nickname.” 

“Not happening, my girl.” Your dad said with a quiet laugh. “You’ve been calling me Birdie for twenty- four years.” “And I’ll do it for another twenty-four if you’ll let me.” 

The nickname came when you were three, instead of walking like a normal child, you skipped from place to place with your arms stretched out behind you, making chirping noises and pretending you could fly like a bird. You were also convinced that the birds could talk to you. What a weird toddler.

James had watched the whole thing with the kind of adoration only a father could have. One afternoon, after chasing you through the backyard while you “flew” in crooked little circles around the maple tree, he scooped you into his arms and laughed. “I’ve got to catch my little Birdie before she flies away,” causing you to go into a fit of giggles. 

The name never disappeared. 

James Daniels had been making you laugh your entire life, or at least as much of your life as you can remember. 

He was the one who taught you how to ride a bike, placed bandaids on your scrapped knees, and was the loudest person in the crowd at every graduation ceremony. He had cried when you passed your boards, although he insisted a strong breeze had somehow entered the house and irritated both of his eyes.

The fact that James was not biologically related to you had never mattered.

There had been another man once.

Your mother had told you the truth when you were old enough to ask why your original birth certificate held a different last name. His name was Michael. He had been young, frightened, and inconsistent. He had tried to be a father for four years before deciding that signing away his rights was the best thing he could do for you.

Or the easiest.

Your mother had never said which.

James adopted you shortly after marrying her. Your last name became Daniels, and Michael became someone who existed only in a few blurred childhood memories you no longer trusted.

A man crouching to tie your shoe.

A scratchy cheek when he kissed you goodbye.

The smell of coffee.

A dark-haired figure walking through a doorway.

Sometimes you wondered whether those memories belonged to him or whether your brain had simply built a father-shaped shadow after learning one had once been there.

You did not hate him.

Hating someone required a kind of intimacy you had never shared.

You simply did not need him.

You already had a father.

“Y/N?” your mother prompted. “I’m going.” “You’re going to be wonderful.” your mother said.  “You legally have to say that.” “No, legally I have to love you. Lying is optional.”

Your dad’s voice came through again. “Call us at lunch.” “I probably won’t get lunch.” 

“Then call when you can.” “I will.”

You picked up the iced vanilla latte sitting in the cupholder and grabbed your tote bag from the passenger seat. “I love you.” “We love you too,” they answered together. You ended the call before either of them could give you another instruction. For a moment, you remained behind the wheel.

PTMC rose beyond the employee parking lot, all glass, concrete, and long rows of windows reflecting the early morning sky. You had completed clinical hours in busy emergency departments. You had worked through codes, combative patients, understaffed nights, and traumas that left blood drying in the grooves of your shoes.

You knew hospitals, but this was PTMC. The emergency department people whispered about in nursing-school clinical groups and praised during critical-care lectures. The place that received the patients other hospitals could not manage.

And this time, you would not be standing at the bedside waiting for someone else to make the final decision.

Your name would be attached to the assessment. Your orders. Your plan. Your mistakes.

You exhaled slowly and opened the car door. “Okay,” you whispered. “Let’s try to embarrass myself.”

The ambulance bay entrance opened directly into chaos.

A stretcher rushed past before you had fully crossed the threshold. Two paramedics spoke over one another as a nurse guided them toward a trauma room. A monitor alarmed somewhere beyond the central desk, followed by a voice calling for respiratory therapy.

You stepped instinctively out of the path.

“Good,” a woman said beside you. “At least you know not to stand in the doorway.”

You turned.

She wore grey scrubs with a white long sleeve beneath them, reading glasses pushed into her hair. Her expression held the specific weariness of a woman who had already solved six problems that morning and expected at least forty more.

“Dana Evans?” you guessed. “That depends. Are you Y/N Daniels?”

“Yes, that’s me” “Then I’m Dana.”

You shifted your coffee into your left hand and held out your right. Your tote bag promptly slipped from your shoulder. Dana caught the strap before it struck the floor. You stared at her hand. She stared at you.

“That’s a promising beginning,” she said. “Should I go back outside and try again?” Her mouth twitched. “No. We don’t have time.”

Dana moved through the department without appearing to rush, in a place where everyone else looked like they were participating in an evacuation. You tucked your bag beneath the desk and straightened your badge, quickly looking at the credentials following your name. 

Y/N DANIELS, APRN, FNP-C, ENP-C 

It’s amazing how much weight some letters can hold.

Dana gave you a tour of the unit. From where the supply room is, to which bathroom is the most secluded. “Trauma rooms are through there. Red pods take the sickest medical patients. Yellow is supposed to be lower acuity, although patients don’t care about color assignments. Triage is through those doors. Don’t let anyone sneak their way past you.” 

Dana pointed towards a physician sitting at a workstation. 

That’s Dr. Dennis Whitaker. First year resident.”  Whitaker looked up at the sound of his name. 

He was handsome in an unpolished sort of way, soft exhausted blue eyes, flushed cheeks, and thick brown curls that refused to stay where they belonged. There was nothing intimidating about him 

Dana motioned him over. He stood quickly, caught his foot on the leg of his chair, and recovered with only a minor loss of dignity.

“Dennis, this is Y/N Daniels, our new NP.” “Hi.” He offered you his hand. “Welcome.”

“Thank you.” “Is this your first shift?” “Yes.” His entire expression brightened. “Oh, good.”

You laughed. “Why is that good?” “I’m not the newest provider anymore.” Dana looked at him. “You’re an R1. It has been a few weeks.” Dennis shrugged, “Feels like forever in here.” 

You liked him immediately. There was something reassuring about his lack of polish. He did not perform with confidence he had not yet earned, and he did not seem ashamed of being new.

“What did you do before this?” he asked. “I did my emergency fellowship at Mercy, but I was a trauma nurse at Allegheny General before that.” you listed while smiling up at him.  “Way more experience than I had before starting here then.” 

A voice cut in from behind him.

“Whitaker still occasionally needs reminders.” A young woman approached in black scrubs, her dark hair pulled away from her face. She carried herself as though the department had been built to accommodate her.

Dennis glanced over his shoulder. “I haven’t needed a tube reminder in months.”

“I wasn’t talking about medical equipment, Huckleberry.”

You looked between them. The woman’s gaze shifted to you, swift and assessing. “New NP?”

“Y/N Daniels.” “Trinity Santos. R2.” There was pride in the title, as though she had earned every syllable. Her handshake was brief and confident.

Dana resumed walking.

Trinity followed without invitation. Dennis came too, abandoning whatever he had been doing at the workstation.

You suspected this was how the Pitt operated, people collecting into temporary groups until an emergency scattered them again.

“Mel’s an R3,” Trinity explained as you passed a physician speaking gently with an older patient. “She’s frighteningly nice, but don’t mistake that for weakness. McKay’s also an R3 and will probably talk about her lack of a love life with you.”

“Trinity,” Dana warned. “What? It’s useful information.”

“And you?” You glanced at her, “What should I know about you?”

Dennis made a small choking sound. Trinity’s eyes narrowed. You maintained an innocent expression.

After a moment, she smiled. “Very ambitious. Usually right. Occasionally underappreciated.”

“Frequently loud,” Dennis added. “Huckleberry.” “I’m only helping.”

Their bickering had the comfortable edge of familiarity. Trinity teased him because she knew exactly how far she could push; Dennis objected because that was apparently part of the routine.

A burst of laughter sounded from the opposite side of the department. Dana’s expression changed. Not quite an annoyance. Something closer to apprehension.

You followed her gaze.

A tall man in black scrubs stood beside a nurse, signing something on a tablet.

 His dark hair had fallen messily across his forehead, slightly too long around his ears, and the sharp line of his jaw only made his bright blue eyes stand out more. He was lean rather than bulky, but the sleeves of his scrub top stretched around his arms when he moved, revealing just enough muscle to be distracting.

 Even from across the department, there was something unfairly attractive about him. An effortless, slightly disheveled kind of handsome 

He looked up. His attention found you almost immediately. The smile did not disappear. It changed.

Dennis noticed. “Oh,” he murmured. Trinity followed his gaze and rolled her eyes.

“What?” you asked. “Nothing,” Dennis said quickly. “Langdon,” Trinity answered at the same time.

The man handed back the tablet and walked toward you.

There was a slight hesitation in his stride that did not match his confident expression. You probably would not have noticed if you had not spent years watching patients pretend they were less frightened than they were.

“Dana,” he greeted. “Frank.”

His eyes moved to you. “You must be the new NP.” “Is it that obvious?”

“You still look hopeful.” You laughed and offered your hand. “Y/N  Daniels.”

“Frank Langdon.”

His handshake was warm. Steady. He did not release your hand too quickly, but he did not hold it long enough to make the gesture uncomfortable.

“Welcome to the Pitt.” “Thank you.”

Trinity folded her arms. “Can you flirt somewhere that isn’t blocking the main corridor?” Frank glanced at her. “I’m welcoming a colleague.”

“You don’t smile at Whitaker like that.” Dennis looked alarmed. “Please don’t.”

Frank laughed. The sound held genuine amusement, but something vulnerable lived underneath it, almost relieved.

As though joking with coworkers was a skill he had once performed without thought and was now pleased to discover he could still do. 

It piqued your curiosity. Why is everyone somewhat acting cautious around this R4? Why is he looking like he’s anticipating some snarky comment? 

You expected arrogance from an R4. Instead, you found a man who seemed to be trying very hard to appear like he had always belonged there.

A nurse passed behind Frank without greeting him. He noticed.

The smile remained, but you saw the moment land. Then he looked back at you and it was gone.

“So,” he said, “first day?” “Yes.” 

“Nervous?” “Horribly,” you said with a chuckle. 

“Good.” You lifted an eyebrow. “That’s what Dana said.”

“We trained her well.” Dana gave him a look. Frank lowered his voice. “You’ll do fine. Nobody feels ready on the first day.”

There was no flirtation in those words. Only sincerity.

You smiled. “Thank you.”

Frank’s expression softened.

For one strangely quiet second, the chaos around you seemed to fade. 

Then a man’s voice called from behind you. “Dana, has surgery called back about bed seven?”

Everyone’s attention shifted. Dr. Michael Robinavitch approached with a chart tucked beneath one arm and reading glasses hanging from his scrub collar.

You recognized him from the hospital website.

The photograph had not captured the exhaustion around his eyes.

Or the gravity. 

Dr. Robinavitch was not particularly tall or physically imposing, but the department seemed to rearrange itself around him. Nurses intercepted him with questions. Residents watched for instructions. Even Frank straightened slightly, his earlier ease becoming careful.

“Not yet,” Dana answered. “I can page them again.”

“Page the attending directly.” His gaze moved over the group.

Dennis.

Trinity.

Frank.

Then you.

He stopped.

It was not recognition. You would have understood recognition. This was quieter and more confusing. His eyes stayed on your face as though some detail had disrupted a thought he could not afford to lose.

You suddenly became aware of everything about yourself. Your stiff new scrubs. The loose strand of dark hair near your cheek. The badge clipped crookedly to your chest.

“Robby,” Dana said, “this is Y/N Daniels. Our new nurse practitioner.” His gaze dropped to your identification.

Daniels.

The name meant nothing to him. You could see that much.

“Dr. Robinavitch.” You extended your hand. “It’s nice to meet you.” He looked down at it.

Then back at you. A brief, awkward pause passed before he accepted. His palm was warm, his grip gentler than expected.

“Robby,” he corrected. “Robby.”

Something moved across his face when you said it.  Gone before you could understand it.

He began asking you questions about your experience, and where you went to school. Obviously trying to determine if you would survive in his ER and how much he would have to supervise you. 

The questions came quickly, each one building upon the previous answer.

Frank shifted beside you. “Is this an interview?”

Robby did not look away from you. “I need to know what she can do.”

“You could also say hello.” “I did.”

“No, you told her your nickname and began an interrogation.”

You pressed your lips together to hide a smile. Robby noticed. His eyes flicked toward your mouth, then returned to your eyes.

There it was again.

That strange pause.

“Do you have a problem answering questions?” he asked. “No.”

“Good.” “You could ask whether I have any weaknesses,” you say looking up at him.

“Do you?” “Charting and authority figures with expressive eyebrows.”

Trinity choked back a laugh. Dennis stared at you as though you had just thrown yourself in front of a moving vehicle. Frank grinned.

Robby’s eyebrows lifted. You gestured toward them. “Those.”

For a moment, no one spoke.

Then the corner of Robby’s mouth moved. Barely.

“Dana will finish the tour,” he said. “You’ll start with lower-acuity patients. Present every case before ordering imaging or specialty consults.” “Understood.”

“If you don’t know something, ask.” “I will.”

“If you think you know something but aren’t completely certain, ask.” You nodded.

He glanced at Frank. “And if Langdon tells you a rule doesn’t matter, assume it matters.”

Frank placed a hand over his chest. “I’ve been back for months. How long am I going to be the cautionary tale?”

Robby’s expression changed. The humor vanished from it. “So far? Indefinitely.” The words struck more harshly than the moment deserved.

Frank’s smile remained for one extra second before slipping away.

The silence around you tightened.

Robby seemed to realize what he had done, but not quickly enough to take it back.

Frank nodded once.

“Good to know.” He turned away. “Frank,” Dana called.

“I have patients.” His response was light. He walked toward the opposite pod without looking back.

Trinity’s expression held no sympathy. If anything, something like satisfaction flickered across it. Dennis looked at the floor. You looked at Robby.

He had already closed himself off. 

“Welcome to the Pitt,” he said to you. Then he followed Dana toward the charge desk. You watched him go.

“Is it always like that?” you asked quietly. Dennis rubbed the back of his neck. “No.” 

“Yes,” Trinity said simultaneously. Dennis glanced at her. “It’s complicated.”

“It’s not that complicated.” “Huckleberry,” she warned herself before he could.

You looked toward Frank. He stood at a computer alone, his posture straight, expression composed as he opened a patient chart.

Someone passing him might have believed nothing had happened.

You knew better.

Robby had not thought about his daughter in months.

That was more often than the years before his breakdown, when he could go long stretches without allowing her to enter his mind at all.

He had become skilled at compartmentalization. Medicine rewarded it.

A patient died; another arrived.

A resident made a mistake; another needed teaching.

A memory surfaced; a pager sounded.

There was always something more urgent than regret.

Lately, regret has become less cooperative.

Robby remembered his daughter as a four-year-old.

Dark hair that never stayed in its ponytail. Brown eyes. A stubborn lower lip. The solemn way she colored, pressing crayons so hard they snapped between her fingers.

He did not know what she looked like now. Did not know where she lived. Did not know whether she attended college, married, had children, or ever wondered why her biological father had signed away the right to know her.

He had never searched. He told himself it was respect. It was mostly cowardice.

Y/N Daniels looked nothing like the woman that upheaved all his life plans at first glance. She had been fair-haired, green-eyed, and soft around the face.

Y/N’s hair was dark. Her eyes were chocolatey brown. Robby’s coloring.

The thought arrived without permission. He rejected it immediately.

Brown hair was common. Brown eyes were common. Pitt graduated hundreds of nurse practitioners and nurses. Daniels was an ordinary name.

Still, something about the woman had unsettled him.

Not her features. Her expressions.

The way she pressed her lips together before saying something she knew she should probably keep to herself. The laughter that reached her eyes before it escaped her mouth.

The slight tilt of her head when she challenged him. He had seen those things before. He simply could not remember where.

Dana appeared beside him at the central board.

“You were unnecessarily cruel.” Robby kept his attention on the patient list. “To whom?”

She stared at him. “Frank.” “He made a joke.”

“So did you. His stopped being funny first.” Robby’s jaw tightened.

“He knows the situation.” “He knows it better than anyone.”

“He needs accountability.” 

Dana scoffed, “He has accountability. He also has a tracking agreement, mandatory meetings, random testing, a recovery program, a divorce, two children he barely sees, and half an emergency department that looks through him.”

Robby finally looked at her. Dana’s expression softened only slightly.

“You don’t have to forgive him,” she said. “But you should decide whether you want him to succeed here.”

“I do.” “Then occasionally act like it.” She walked away before he could respond.

Robby looked across the department.

Frank stood alone at a workstation.

Y/N was watching him. Then she turned and caught Robby looking.

Her eyes narrowed slightly. Questioning. Disapproving. Familiar.

Robby turned back to the board.

By the final hour of your shift, your feet hurt, your iced vanilla latte, had been replaced by a Celsius that you got from the vending machine, and the careful ponytail you arrived with was barely holding itself together. 

You considered that a successful first day. You had not killed anyone. You had not cried in a supply closet. And you had only been corrected by Robby four times. Which according to Dennis, was practically a glowing performance review. 

“You should’ve seen my first shift,” he told you as the two of you stood at a workstation, finishing notes before handoff. “I’m pretty sure he corrected me four times before eight in the morning.” 

Trinity glanced up from the computer beside him. “And you were covered by like 4 different types of fluids.” “Santos!” 

You smiled down at your chart, rereading the assessment for what had to be the sixth time.

Your last patient had been a seventy-two-year-old woman with dizziness, dehydration, and a urinary tract infection. Nothing dramatic. Nothing worthy of the trauma center reputation that had made your stomach twist that morning.

Still, you had presented the case to Robby carefully. You had explained your reasoning, anticipated his questions, and already had the answers waiting when he asked them.

He had stared at you for a moment after you finished. Then he had simply nodded.

“Good plan.”

Two words.

You had spent the following twenty minutes trying not to appear embarrassingly pleased by them.

“You know you can sign that,” Trinity said. You looked at her. “I’m checking it.”

“You’ve checked it.” “I’m making sure I didn’t miss anything.” “You didn’t.”

Dennis leaned toward you. “You’ll learn that Trinity only offers reassurance when she wants access to the computer.” “I need to finish my notes, Huckleberry.”

You signed the chart and stepped aside. Trinity immediately took your place.

The department had shifted around you as evening approached. The daylight staff moved with the tired urgency of people trying to leave before one final disaster trapped them there. Nurses gave report beside open charts. Residents hurried to finish notes. Patients continued arriving as though the hospital had not already taken everything the staff had to give.

A man in dark scrubs approached the desk, travel mug in hand.

“Jack Abbot,” he introduced himself. “Night attending.” “Y/N Daniels.”

His eyes briefly scanned your badge before he smiled. “First day?” “And hopefully not my last.”

Jack looked toward Robby. “She survive you?” “Barely,” you answered before Robby could. Jack laughed. “You’ll fit in fine.”

You gathered your bag and said goodbye, but Robby stopped you before you reached the doors. “You did well today.” Your smile appeared before you could hide it. “Thank you.”

You lifted a hand in goodbye and walked through the ambulance-bay doors into the evening air. 

Robby watched until the doors closed behind you. He told himself he was evaluating a new employee. Nothing more.

But long after you had disappeared, an old memory rose with such clarity that it stole the breath from his lungs.

His daughter had been four years old, sitting on the kitchen counter while he struggled to fasten the tiny buckle on her shoe. She had been wearing a yellow dress. Her dark hair had escaped its ponytail, falling around her round cheeks as she watched him with complete seriousness.

“You’re not very good at this,” she had told him. He laughed despite himself. “I’m trying.”

Her little head tilted. Then she reached forward and pressed both hands against his cheeks, forcing him to look up at her.

“That’s okay,” she whispered. “You can try again tomorrow.”

He had promised her he would.

At twenty-three, Robby had believed tomorrow was an endless thing. There would always be another morning. Another chance to show up. Another opportunity to become the father she deserved.

Until one day, there wasn’t.

He could no longer remember what happened after that moment. Whether he finished fastening her shoe. Whether she hugged him goodbye. Whether he told her he loved her before he left.

He only remembered her smile.

Bright and sudden.

Reaching her brown eyes before it reached her mouth.

Now, staring at the doors you had disappeared through, he wondered what that little girl looked like grown. 

I think it will be really interesting to explore this new dynamic, especially because we know Robby was abandoned by his own mother. Maybe part of him believed he would never be good enough for his daughter. Maybe he convinced himself that letting her be raised by her mother’s husband would protect Y/N from ever feeling the same kind of abandonment he did. That does not make what he did right, but I think it adds another complicated layer to his choices and I am excited to dive into that. Anywho, thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed the first chapter. Hopefully, I am finally back to being active on Tumblr because I really, really want to be.

Perfect.

That was definitely the right description for them.

They must have been sent by the stars, sat in the plush cushions of a a first class train down to earth— NYC never had trains like that. Their clothes always draped over their frame like angel wings or goddess robes, their eyes captured galaxies and poured them back into the soul of everyone they met.

That’s how Leo saw Y/n.

With a laugh like wedding bells, and a heart like pixie dust.

They didn’t belong here, in the dirty sewers. They didn’t belong in his room, which he knew probably smelled faintly like pizza and rotting parchment. of course, he was too used to the smell to care but THEY didn’t belong in a place that always seemed somewhat disgusting.

They shouldn’t be around him enough to still smell like his hoodie when they returned the next day— as a matter of fact, there shouldn’t be back to back hangouts at ALL!

He shouldn’t be allowed to pat their head, or carry them over rooftops, or portal them to school, to work, to his home, their home—

They belonged up there, with all the other humans, living out a 10/10 romcom that he’d most definitely watch and laugh at.

So then, why?

..Why were their eyes on only him?

It had to be some bullshit about opposites attracting, given his cursed upbringing. A weapon of war, keeping such intimate eye contact with a masterpiece painted by the stars. He had to be dreaming. A foolish spell from some scheming yokai in the hidden city. It couldn’t be true, but… his observations had never been wrong before.

Not one soul could ever look at someone the way they looked at him and mean it platonically. The way they shied away whenever he teased them, and giggled when he pulled them into his side as a joke.. nobody just did that to someone they felt normal about.

Yes, he reciprocated those feelings, but that was natural for someone they had never met— well… unless April countrd, but still! He was a mutant, they were a human, he usually didn’t interact with those. It’s natural he was going to feel weird things, but he didn’t expect them to ever consider him in their list of possible candidates.

So what did he do? He knew he wasn’t the right option, knew they should be with someone else— so he did what he always did. He brushed it off.

At least, he thought he did.

For some reason, he found himself often in the middle of a passing glance. More than once, they had shot him a small smile, a quiet remark to one of his jokes, a hand on his shoulder that sent him straight up to heaven—Y/n! I can see your angel house from here!— and then right back down to earth again. He wasn’t the one doing it. As far as he was aware, he had stopped his advances entirely.

So why were they advancing?

They clearly didn’t understand what they were doing, they couldn’t— not the shy character he knew and loved. He had to investigate, had to find out. Had to know.

He could ask his brothers… no, the amount of unhelpful they’d be would rival Red Fox in the earlier movies. Her debut was subpar.. ugh! This was stupid! He knew they reciprocated his feelings, why did he have to be…

..Himself?

———

They looked so breath-taking in the lighting above NYC, the sunset carved contrasted panels across their face, wind tousled with their hair as the warm light made their skin glow. The whole scene was sculpture-worthy.

Why did fate tempt him, so? Sure, he wanted to wrap his fingers around their own when they complained about the cold, of COURSE he felt the urge to lean in whenever they glanced at him like that— NATURALLY he got lost in their eyes… their beautiful intricacies… perfect for them and them alone… and he shouldn’t, but he was nowhere near gods strongest soldier— it would be so simple to just…

“…Go on.” They spoke to him… oh— They spoke to him!

He shook himself out of his daze, what was he just thinking about? Whatever. The present was what mattered. “Repeat that last part? I totally spaced.” He gave a chuckle under his breath, “too lost in your eyes~”

Was that too much? Noo.. he teased everyone that way! Besides, the way they squirmed was worth it.

The giggles were unfortunately suppressed, but it gave way to an expression of soft kindness that he relished all the same. “Cmon… don’t be silly.” They nudged his shoulder, “You were clearly lost in thought, I wanna know what about!”

“Me? C’mon.. you know I’m not much of a thinker.” his eyes flicked nervously, but the bounce back was instant, “you can’t bash the truth, Amigo.” He shrugged, hands in his pockets, “I was enamored by your complexion!”

“Ay… you’re impossible…” they trailed off, their fingers idly played with each other. They sounded almost like they wanted to say more.. if he was right, they’d say it right about..

“Um…” there it is, “why.. ‘Amigo’?” Their voice was soft, uncertain. “Thats usually how you address your brothers, or.. I dunno, April!” Their eyes met his for a moment, before they left again, “You changed it recently..”

Their hand raked through their hair, “What happened to Mi vida? Amor..? ..Cariño?” They stared at the tops of the buildings below, a frown on their lips as they pouted about his platonic tone.

“Cariño—?” His brow quirked, his heart skipped, the smirk on his face grew. They… they liked when he used those? Well, he knew that already, it was obvious, but they were .. they just outright admit it! Little shy Y/n just.. That was an admission right? Right!?

His heart could have jumped out of his chest with how much he wanted to just tackle them. He was sure he had wings, like he was walking on sunshine, he felt like the luckiest turtle in the world to witness this.

“Yeah..?” His preening was obvious, but he didn’t care, “you prefer things a little more… romantique..?” They couldn’t be turned away, he wouldn’t have it. He reached for their hand, cooled from the breeze up high on the rooftops, and placed a kiss on their knuckles for emphasis on his point. He hadn’t even noticed how close he’d gotten until they locked eyes once again.

He heard their breath hitch, and he felt that familiar drop in his stomach. Just can’t stay out of the limelight, can he? He was way too close. Way too close for someone who lived in a sewer and caused the invasion, that’s for sure. Maybe a year or two ago he would have just gone for it, but he was faced with the unfortunate reality that this all needed to stop, right now. This wasn’t his story.

The good thing was, It was still in the grey area, right? Sure, he practically breathed their air, but that was fine, yeah? They can still leave this encounter as unlikely best friends that flirt… right?

“You’ve always been a softie like that, huh?” He laughed, an attempt to keep things lighthearted, “Just can’t get enough of my good looks.”

Now laugh with me— laugh and turn right back around like you always do. He pleaded internally, desperate to find a reason other than pure willpower not to kiss them. Willpower would not be enough.

“Leo..” they glanced away, (yes!) …but didn’t laugh. (shit!)

“You getting all shy on me, again?” To avoid suspicion, he should pursue, right? When he gets close enough, he’ll just tickle them and then they’ll laugh and everything will be alright again. They’ll still find their Prince Charming. He’ll still be their best friend.

…except..

“I feel like—“

They whipped around in such a blur that neither noticed at first when their lips brushed together. Like a message from the divine, like a blessing— or maybe a natural disaster.

Y/n stopped on a dime when the pieces clicked, mouth agape and eyes wide. Whatever they were going to say died in their throat with a squeak.

Leo’s entire face had dropped into one of shock, his eyes stared frozen back into their own. A chill rushed down his spine, and he heard something deep in his skull make a deafening snap. For a moment he found … he didn’t really care if they weren’t supposed to be with someone like him.

“Uh..” they cowered, still a little frozen.

“Wait..” he’d regret saying those words forever, he was sure of it.

His free hand landed at the small of their back— when did it get there?— and pulled, just a little, just a breath closer, please, don’t look away, not this time.

“What..?” They mumbled through the silence, still nervous, their pulse raced from where he still held their hand.

Their face was so red.. he’d tease them for it if he wasn’t so entranced by the way their eyes sparkled. He’d rarely been this close— occasionally he’d slip up, get caught in the moment, but it would drive him crazy every single time. The way their lips were just a breath away, their whole form stiff as they waited for what HE was going to do.

Oh lord, what WAS he going to do?

He felt their hand lightly squeeze his own where their fingers were entwined, almost like they were trying to send him some sort of message. Damn it, he wished he knew. What if they were too shy to pull away? They didn’t want this, they didn’t deserve this. He didn’t want it to happen like this— he didn’t want it to happen at all.

And then, their forehead pressed to his, and their eyes fluttered closed with a soft exhale.

His heart leapt— sweet pizza supreme in the sky, they were full of surprises today!

He couldn’t let this happen, he had only one thing that could possibly prevent the inevitable: bluffing as hard as possible.

“..Waiting for something, mi linda..?” His voice strained with restraint. He felt bad taking advantage of their shyness, but maybe—

“Dammit!” Their free hand grasped at the sash around his chest,

— OR NOT??

He didn’t even get the chance to argue before their lips smushed to his. His whole body felt like it lit on fire, his grip instinctively tightened around them like a bear trap. He took an embarrassingly long time to reciprocate, but once he did, he couldn’t help himself. There was no going back now, he broke all his rules, destroyed his own meticulous plan, wrecked everything—

And he STILL couldn’t let go??

It was like he had lost control on himself, intoxicated by that feeling of closeness. Their arms wrapped around his shoulders, and he nearly melted in his place.

What was really only a few seconds, felt like eternity, but when they parted, he found he wanted another smidge of that eternity. He stared back at them with fire in his eyes, but he still tried to play it off.

“… Impatient, are we?” He smirked, but the buzz in his skin refused to fully settle. Hey— Leo— you’re supposed to let them go, now.

“You’ve been baiting me ever since you healed..” they huffed, an attempt to be upset, but he could feel their heart racing, “I couldn’t take it anymore.”

Since he healed— damn. Maybe they were patient… or maybe he was just mean. How many times has this exact scenario happened with a different ending? He grimaced at the thought of all the times he’d leaned in just to pull away at the last second.

He had been trying to protect them, a kiss would tie them too much to him, but.. Well, it happened. He couldn’t just break their heart in good conscience now, right?

Still, he laughed, “Guilty! Guilty!” He rubbed small shapes into their skin with his thumb, “what can I say..” he tilted his head with a wink, “You’re magnetic.”

They laughed and looked away, nowhere to hide but in his shoulder, which he relished. He nudged his nose into their hair with a chuckle, happy to give them all the time they needed to show their face again.

He was floating, still a little dazed, but behind it all, there was that darkness… that feeling like he was the asteroid, and they, the beautiful earth six billion years ago or whatever Donnie said. God, HE just killed all the dinosaurs what is wrong with him! They’re the earth, He’s just a rock.. a space rock yes but—

ok, he effectively choked out that metaphor.

The point was: they weren’t his to have.

But maybe.. it was ok to let them practice on him. Get their moves in, get their shyness out. It wasn’t because he wanted to be the first, or anything…

..It was all for their sake.

…

It wasn’t about him.

—

A/n: GAH I’ve revised this enough 😭😭 I’m putting it out there! It didn’t exactly turn out how I envisioned, but that’s ok. Once again, I’ve held back LONG ENOUGH LMAO it’s been monnnthhssss 😔😔

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