#dexray

the mirror was waiting. shave first, shower second. then brush teeth. always that order. the razor glided down his jawline, clean lines that matched the ones he expected of himself in every other part of his life. the shower was hot but not too hot; he lingered only until the count hit sixty. brushing teeth, two minutes, never more, never less. every motion executed with the precision of someone who had long ago decided that if the world could not be predictable, he could be.

breakfast was simple, functional. a can of chickpeas, rinsed, poured into a ceramic bowl that had faint scratches along the inside. half a measured avocado on top, lemon juice squeezed exactly three times. black coffee, nothing added. he sat at his table, eating quietly, the taste of each bite identical to yesterday, identical to the day before that. it wasn’t joy he was chasing, it was sameness. sameness meant safe.

when he left his apartment, he noticed the same things he always did. the neighbor two doors down hadn’t collected their mail again, the box crammed with glossy flyers. the car across the street had a dent in the rear bumper that hadn’t been there last week. a stray dog was lying under the bus stop bench, its paws tucked neatly, as if it too had a system. all these things filed away in his head, details that never escaped his notice.

he drove the same route into the city, hands at ten and two, radio off. traffic was thicker than yesterday. he timed the stoplights without realizing it, counted the seconds between each green and red. outside, the sky was a washed-out gray, the kind of color that promised the day wouldn’t change into anything significant.

it was somewhere between the third light and the curve onto the highway that the thought came to him, like a pebble dropped in water, small but impossible to ignore. december second. the date held no real weight until his mind, almost against his will, made the calculation. his birthday. thirty.

the number sat strangely in him, like something he hadn’t prepared for. he didn’t feel thirty. he didn’t feel anything tied to it. there had been no buildup, no anticipation. he had gone to bed the night before exactly the same way he always did, and now, this morning, nothing was different except for the number.

he didn’t hate the thought. but he didn’t welcome it either. he let the number sit in the corner of his mind while he focused on the road, on the steady hum of the engine. there would be no cake waiting for him at the office. no card passed around with sloppy signatures. no calls. no texts. and he told himself that was fine. he preferred it that way.

still. he thought of how, last week, one of the newer agents had turned thirty. balloons taped to their desk. a box of donuts set out in the bullpen, the sweet smell cutting through the sterile air. everyone clapped, everyone laughed, everyone knew.

he had stood off to the side, hands in his pockets, watching. it wasn’t envy. not exactly. more like recognition that he wasn’t part of that rhythm, that no one would think to mark the day for him. and wasn’t that safer? cleaner?

he parked in his usual spot at the bureau garage, third level, slot nineteen. sat for a moment before cutting the engine, watching the white strip of fluorescent light buzz against the concrete. the number thirty pressed in again, heavier this time, but he shook it off. routine first. work first. the rest didn’t matter.

and if no one noticed what day it was, he told himself, then it was only proof of what he already knew. birthdays weren’t meant for him. they never had been.

he stepped out of the garage and into the morning air, cool and sharp against his face. the sky was still that same gray from the drive in, heavy clouds that looked like they might hold rain but never committed. he liked that, when the weather stayed uncertain. no sudden bursts of light, no interruptions. it made the city quieter in its own way, as if people held themselves back, waiting for something that wouldn’t come. the weather pressed itself against the glass doors before he pushed through, cold, damp, early-december air that clung to his clothes and carried the faint smell of wet concrete. the kind of gray morning that made the sky look unfinished. he catalogued it automatically. 42 degrees, wind light, drizzle hovering but not committed. predictable in its own way.

the walk from the garage to the building was short, his shoes clicking evenly against the concrete, but dex always stretched it out in his head, breaking it into steps like counting stitches in a seam. he noticed the usual things. a faint oil stain that had widened since last week, a security guard holding his coffee in the same hand every day, the way a woman’s umbrella caught slightly on the revolving door before snapping free. none of it slipped past him. every detail was catalogued, weighed, set in place.

inside, the lobby gleamed the way it always did, over-lit, over-clean, air conditioning humming too cold against the chill outside. he didn’t mind. it was the same every day, and sameness steadied him. he crossed the polished floor to the escalator. he liked the escalator, liked the way its metal teeth caught and released his steps, the rhythm exact and mechanical. he never looked at the people going up beside him, but he felt them. the shuffle of shoes, the shift of briefcases, the cough that broke at the same time the motor clicked. his hand never touched the rail, too many fingerprints, too many smudges. instead, he let his gaze sweep over the lobby below, the dark suits, the clipped conversations, the phones pressed too close to ears. all catalogued, all stored.

the office sat on the second floor, left turn out of habit more than thought. he noted the placement of people as soon as he stepped in. one agent hunched over a cup of coffee, another laughing too loud at something on their phone, the murmur of greetings thrown around without weight. his eyes skimmed everything, recording, memorizing, without ever expecting the same attention back.

at his desk, he slid into the chair with the same measured movements. monitors lit, case files stacked square, pens aligned. the order was his. the chaos belonged to everyone else.

arinori’s glance cut across the room almost before dex sat down. sharp, deliberate. it wasn’t new; it never was. he could feel the weight of it like static. arinori’s mouth tightened, his expression carrying that thin, bitter edge, resentment, suspicion, something harder underneath. dex didn’t return the look. didn’t need to. he knew the shape of it by heart.

what people called “differences” were written all over him, and arinori read them like they were flaws. arinori didn’t trust him, had never trusted him. not because of anything he’d done wrong, but because of the way he was. the way he moved, the way he watched too closely, the way he didn’t join in when others laughed over their desks. the difference wasn’t loud, but it was visible, and some people hated visible. too rigid. too precise. too quiet. dex knew the list. he’d stopped pretending he could sand those edges down. the best he could do was make himself smaller, sharper, pour everything into the work until there was no space for anything else.

so he did.

the chair pulled out the same distance. the computer monitor flicked on with the same faint delay. files stacked at a precise angle. it was safer that way, to sink himself into work, to make the edges sharper and cleaner so there was no room for the mess of other people’s feelings. he opened the case file on his desk, eyes scanning the words, sentences clicking into place like puzzle pieces. evidence, names, times. it was easier than people. clean, contained. work asked nothing but accuracy, and accuracy was the one thing he never missed.

still, under the hum of the bullpen, the thought of the date threaded itself through again. december second. thirty. he let it drift and disappear as best he could, like pushing a card back into the deck.

lunch would be the same as yesterday. it always was. he liked knowing before noon exactly what the meal would be. today it was the usual, chicken breast, brown rice, steamed vegetables, packed into containers last night, measured and portioned. he’d sit alone in the cafeteria, watch the others move in and out, conversations rising and fading around him like background noise. no surprises. that was the point.

routine steadied him. routine made the day tolerable. if the hours looked identical to the ones before, then the day would pass without breaking. that was all he needed. even on his birthday. especially on his birthday.

𖣠

by the time the clock on his monitor slid past two in the afternoon, the bullpen was shifting. the morning energy had thinned out; phones still rang, keys still clattered, but it all felt slower, heavier. agents leaned back in their chairs, rubbing at their eyes, sipping the dregs of coffee that had gone cold hours ago.

dex kept his eyes forward, but he felt it, the drag of the day, the edges of fatigue pressing in. he didn’t let it show. instead, he sharpened his focus, double-checking the numbers in a report, reading a single line three times until he was sure it wouldn’t leave his head. structure, repetition, containment.

the thought of his birthday slid back in anyway, uninvited. thirty. he didn’t want it, but it was there. he thought about how, when he was a kid, birthdays hadn’t meant balloons or cake or noise. they had meant nothing at all most years. his mother had remembered once, then forgotten the next year. or maybe it was the other way around. he couldn’t quite place it, because the memory was blurred, wrapped in static like a radio station just out of reach. he could recall her face, distracted, apologetic, as though she had misplaced something she didn’t have the energy to find. and then, days later, her hands tugging at his hair with dull scissors, muttering about how he was getting older, how his father needed him neat. that was the closest thing he ever had to a celebration.

he pressed his lips together, forcing the thought back. routine was safer. the steady rhythm of keystrokes. the predictable shape of his lunch dishes. anything but the drift of memory. the sound of laughter reached him from across the room, arinori again, talking with another agent, their heads bent close, sharing some joke dex would never ask about. he didn’t want to ask. but the sound dug at him anyway, not because he wanted to be part of it, but because it reminded him that he wasn’t.

a shadow fell across his desk, and he looked up. ray nadeem, file in hand, leaning with that easy casualness that came so naturally to him, his expression carrying the easy warmth that seemed to come to him without effort.

“got a lead,” ray said, voice low but warm, like they were sharing something just the two of them. “you’re with me. grab your gear.”

dex nodded once, already locking his computer, sliding the file he’d been working on into its proper place. he moved quickly, efficiently, but inside, something jolted at the idea of leaving the desk, breaking the rhythm of the day. stakeouts weren’t his favorite, they left too much space, too much time to think, but he didn’t argue.

they walked together down the hall, the sound of their footsteps echoing faintly off the tile. dex noticed the way ray greeted people as they passed, a nod here, a smile there, the small effortless gestures that drew others in. it was the kind of thing dex could catalog but never replicate. as he followed ray out of the bullpen, he noticed the way the other man carried himself, shoulders loose, steps unhurried. ray had a way of moving through the office like it belonged to him, like he belonged in it. dex couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt that kind of ease anywhere.

they reached the office for the debrief, a smaller, more private space tucked away from the bustle of the main floor. ray pushed the door open with a hand that moved smoothly, almost casually, but dex noticed the deliberate ease behind it. the room smelled faintly of coffee and the lingering polish of furniture, and the lighting was just bright enough to avoid shadows.

ray gestured to the chair across from him, the one with the cushion slightly compressed from frequent use. “sit,” he said, voice even but carrying a quiet authority. “hattley wanted us both on this, just a quick debrief. nothing big.” he paused, flipping open a folder with crisp, efficient movements. dex watched the way his hair caught the light when he moved his head, the strands perfectly in place, styled but effortless, like he had spent time on it, but not in a way that demanded attention.

“precision,” ray began, leaning back slightly in his chair, “is exactly what you brought to this. every detail accounted for, every variable considered. not many agents operate at that level on a first field assignment, let alone consistently for years.” dex cataloged the words carefully, noting the quiet admiration beneath the professional tone. it wasn’t praise like a teacher handing out grades, it was observation, clear, exact, and measured.

dex considered the timeline quietly. he’d joined the bureau in 2010, upgraded to field agent within the first year, special agent after his third. that placed him now in 2016, just shy of turning thirty. ray, a few years older, had been there longer, and dex had noticed glimpses of his life outside work. photos of his child tucked into the edge of his desk, the faintly worn edges of a baby blanket draped over a chair, a father’s quiet pride glimpsed in the way he spoke to colleagues.

he noted the little things. the way ray’s shirt sleeves were perfectly ironed, the faint scent of cologne that lingered just enough to be noticed without announcing itself, the slow, controlled way he sipped his coffee, placing the cup down carefully on the coaster. dex cataloged it all, the efficiency, the order, the small signs of meticulousness that mirrored his own, even if their styles were different. there was a rhythm to ray, the kind that seemed natural and unforced, and dex found himself watching without wanting to, analyzing without judgment, noting how every movement fit into an invisible pattern of control.

ray’s words brought him back. “you’ve been here long enough to know how quickly things can go sideways,” he said, leaning forward, fingers lightly tapping the folder. “and yet you didn’t miss a single step. you anticipated every move, and that’s not common, especially for someone still early in their tenure.” dex absorbed it quietly, letting the facts settle into the careful compartmentalization he preferred.

for a moment, dex’s mind drifted back to birthdays, the uncelebrated, the moments that had shaped the way he measured time. he remembered small instances, a mother who forgot, then remembered, a father who was too caught up in himself to care. the thought nudged at him softly, a quiet insistence he tried to push aside. he had no space for sentiment. not here, not now.

ray closed the folder, setting it neatly on the desk, the sound final but not loud. “you’re solid, dex. steady. don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.” the glance he gave was brief, professional, yet held a weight that dex cataloged with the same precision he did everything else.

the elevator ride was short. ray talked about the case in low tones, filling the silence without hesitation. dex listened, absorbing every detail, but his mind still caught on the quiet tug of the date. thirty. he told himself not to let it show, not to let it slip.

he thought of how the day would stretch on into night, how his birthday would slip past without anyone naming it. maybe that was safer. maybe that was how it was supposed to be. still, he wondered, just for a second, what it might feel like if someone did notice. if someone said the word.

he tightened his grip on the strap of his bag and pushed the thought down. routine, structure, work. the rest could stay buried.

outside, the air was colder now, the kind of cold that pressed against skin and clung to lungs. the sky had deepened into a heavier gray, shadows stretching longer across the street. dex noticed the way the wind tugged at the flag over the entrance, the way the leaves scattered along the curb, the sharp, metallic scent that hinted at coming rain.

ray led the way to the car, unlocking it with a flick of his wrist. dex slid into the passenger seat, his eyes catching briefly on the dashboard clock. 2:41. another number to mark the day. another reminder.

he exhaled slowly, steadying himself. work came first. the rest. the date, the memories, the ache of something unspoken, he could bury under the clean weight of his duty.

but as the car started and ray pulled them into traffic, dex found himself staring out the window, wondering how many more birthdays would pass unnoticed, how many more years would blur together until even he forgot the count.

𖣠

the streets were quiet, the sky heavy and dark above, punctuated only by the occasional streetlight that cast long, orange streaks across the asphalt. the sedan hummed steadily as it rolled along, ray behind the wheel, dex in the passenger seat. they’d been out for hours now, mostly marked by silence, the kind that wasn’t uncomfortable, but careful, filled with the unspoken rhythm of surveillance. the night pressed in, cold through the partially cracked window, the faint scent of leather and coffee lingering in the confined space.

dex had opted for his usual. dark pants, a fitted jacket over a plain shirt, shoes polished but quiet, sidearm snug in its holster at his hip. everything in place. nothing out of order. he noticed the subtle details, the tension in ray’s shoulders when he shifted slightly, the way he tapped his fingers lightly against the steering wheel, the subtle flick of his gaze toward intersections before the car arrived. small nervous tics that dex cataloged, committing them to memory for later, though he would never say a word aloud.

the hum of the engine and the occasional car passing were the only interruptions until ray cleared his throat, a low sound that caught dex off guard after so many hours of wordless observation.

“i don’t know much about you,” ray said, voice casual but direct. “and, well…i kind of want to.”

dex’s chest tightened. he wasn’t used to questions about himself that didn’t involve work. “i…i don’t know where to start,” he said finally, his voice careful, clipped. the words sounded heavier than he intended, loaded with the weight of the silence that had preceded them.

“okay,” ray said, and dex caught the faint smile in his tone, the one that made everything else in the car feel more human. “i’ll start. i grew up in new york. queens, specifically. suburbs just outside the city. my parents, both public school teachers. i went to nyu, majored in crim psych. favorite movie…that’s a hard one. probably snow white, cheesy, i know. but it’s a classic, you know? born in ’83, so thirty-three now. birthday…february twenty-third.”

dex listened, cataloging. every detail etched itself into his mind. the shape of ray’s jaw in the dashboard light, the way he leaned slightly forward as he spoke, the subtle way his hands curved over the wheel. small things about him beyond the words. the faint scent lingering in his hair, the quiet tension in his shoulders, the way he shifted when he emphasized a point, a flicker of nervous energy that contradicted the easy confidence in his voice.

dex considered what he would reveal, how much he usually kept folded tightly away, safe. the thought of speaking about himself in this way brought a flutter of unease. he ran through the catalog in his head, the details he normally tracked about others, never himself, and tried to find a point to anchor the conversation.

ray’s voice broke through again, warmer now, gentle but insistent. “alright…now let me ask you something. that’s a lot about me. your turn. when’s your birthday?”

dex’s body stiffened, the weight of the date pressing down on him all at once. he avoided eye contact, focusing on the passing streetlights, the reflections in the wet asphalt. “…today,” he admitted finally, quiet, almost a whisper.

ray’s reaction was instantaneous, a sharp inhalation, eyebrows lifting. “what? why didn’t you tell me? are you…are you doing anything for it?”

dex’s knees began to drum lightly against the edge of the dashboard, a nervous, repetitive motion. he kept his gaze fixed on the window, on the blur of light outside, refusing to meet ray’s eyes. “i…i don’t really do anything. ever,” he said, voice low, hesitant, defensive even. the words came out in fragments, awkward, like they were foreign in the air between them.

the car continued along the quiet streets, the hum of the engine steady. dex’s fingers drummed lightly against his knees in a pattern that felt grounding, necessary. the thought of celebration, of attention, made him fidget, made him shrink inward. and yet, somewhere in the steady glow of the streetlights and the proximity of ray’s presence, a part of him wondered what it might feel like if someone actually noticed.

ray’s reaction was immediate, a low chuckle mixed with something sharper, urgent. “well,” he said, tapping the steering wheel lightly with one hand, “we gotta do something. just…you and me. can’t let a birthday slip by unnoticed, can we?”

dex’s chest tightened again, a mix of surprise and unease. he wasn’t used to this. he wasn’t used to someone taking the initiative like this, someone wanting to mark a moment in a way that required thought, presence, connection. he shifted slightly, hands folded neatly in his lap, eyes flicking to the blur of streetlights outside. he remembered the subtle warmth in ray’s tone, the ease of familiarity layered over professional authority. they’d worked together for years now, and there was history, shared cases, long nights in cars like this, brief moments of conversation and observation, but nothing had ever ventured past the line of careful collaboration.

as the car hummed along the quiet streets, dex’s mind drifted. he thought back to their first meeting, six years ago now. 2010. he was just twenty-four, fresh from quantico, nervous but trying desperately not to appear that way. his third or fourth day in the new york criminal division, his first assignment in the field. he had no gray at his temples at the time, no crease in his jaw that wasn’t self-imposed by his own tension, just the intensity of someone trying to prove he belonged, trying to hold himself with an air of self-assurance, of knowing exactly who he was even when he wasn’t sure.

he remembered ray then, long hair that brushed the jawline, slightly tousled, like it had never been fussed over but it somehow worked, a quiet defiance in his style that spoke before he even opened his mouth. dex remembered the first impression. calm, kind, observant, the kind of person who didn’t need to announce themselves to occupy the space fully. they’d been assigned to read files together, prepped for their first joint stakeout, and dex had noticed how ray flipped through pages with deliberate care, eyes scanning the words, absorbing the background, the criminal history, the small biographical details they’d never hear from anyone directly.

dex had done the same, of course. learned every name, every date, every pattern. he remembered comparing notes in subtle ways, the quiet competitiveness, the way they acknowledged each other without overt confrontation. there was something about that first alignment, two precise minds, both aware, both calculating, neither entirely trusting but both capable. it had set the rhythm for everything that followed.

ray glanced over now, breaking into dex’s thoughts. “we’ve got to fix this,” he said again, softer this time. “just…something small. just us. we know enough about each other to make it count. right?”

dex’s mind cataloged the words, the curve of ray’s mouth, the slight tightening of his jaw as he spoke, the familiar hum of confidence underlined by a rare flicker of awkwardness. he nodded, almost imperceptibly, eyes returning to the street. yes. they had history. yes. they understood each other’s rhythms. yes. maybe, just maybe, this was something that could be…different.

the car rolled on, quiet except for the hum of the engine and the occasional distant sound of tires on asphalt. dex returned, in fragments, to that first impression, young, tense, precise, next to the steady, easy, meticulously observed presence of ray, and realized how far they had come, how quietly the years had built a foundation he hadn’t known he could rely on. the thought lingered, fragile but undeniable, as they moved through the night together.

𖣠

the ride back to the office was quiet, the hum of the engine filling the space between them. dex’s hands rested on his knees, still drumming a soft, nervous rhythm, though he tried to keep it contained. the streets glimmered wet under the faint drizzle that had started while they were out, and he watched the reflections shift across the asphalt, trying to anchor himself in something predictable.

ray glanced at him, the corner of his mouth lifting just slightly. “so…what do you want to do?” he asked, voice casual but carrying an undercurrent dex couldn’t ignore. the question hung in the car longer than it should have, and dex realized his stomach had tightened. he wasn’t used to this kind of openness, this kind of personal attention. it made the usual rhythm of observation feel different, off-kilter.

“i…don’t really do bars,” dex said slowly, careful with each word. “i don’t…drink. crowds aren’t…my thing. loud places…not great.” he exhaled, almost reflexively, and tried to push the tension into his hands. he had rehearsed nothing; the words came as honestly as he could manage.

ray nodded, thoughtful. “okay. we can skip the chaos. something…low key. you like movies, right?”

dex considered it, the flicker of memory. quiet theaters, empty rows, the dim glow of the screen, sound contained and predictable. “sometimes,” he said. “i…like the quiet. the focus.”

there was a pause, then ray’s voice came softer, almost conspiratorial. “alright. we can figure something else. maybe…something hands-on. not crowded, nothing too bright or loud. you’ve done any target practice recently?”

dex blinked, surprise flickering through him. the idea of an ax-throwing range, or something similar, was different, something contained, physical, precise. he could see himself measuring the angles, counting rotations, calibrating his throws, all the while in that rare kind of focus that didn’t leave him exposed. he nodded slowly, almost imperceptibly. “always,” he said.

as they drove, dex found himself noticing ray in ways that he hadn’t before, or hadn’t allowed himself to notice. the light from the dashboard glinted off his jawline, the way he held the wheel, the subtle shifts of his weight in the seat. dex cataloged it silently. the way ray’s hair fell in the perfect sweep at his neck, the slight tension in his fingers when he adjusted his grip, the calm steadiness in his posture that somehow drew attention despite the unspoken control. he wasn’t used to this, this awareness, this pull.

his chest tightened. his hands twitched. the anxiety bubbled quietly under the surface, a mix of anticipation and unease. he told himself it was just observation, just noting details. but every glance, every subtle gesture from ray, pressed against that neat, predictable shell dex built around himself.

the office came into view, lights glowing faintly in the drizzle. dex’s stomach remained knotted, a careful rhythm of nerves and focus intertwined. he realized that tonight wouldn’t just be about marking a date, it was about navigating a space he rarely allowed himself to enter, with someone who made him notice things he didn’t usually see. the car slowed, tires hissing slightly on the wet pavement, and dex exhaled, preparing to step back into the quiet structure of the office, while the uncharted territory of this evening, of this connection, pressed at the edges of his carefully ordered world.

𖣠

the office was quieter now, the bustle of the day winding down. the clock on the wall ticked steadily toward 6:15, fluorescent lights casting their familiar hum over rows of desks. dex finished logging the last of the reports he had been holding, the click of the keys sharp and precise, a small anchor against the lingering tension in his chest. the hum of printers slowed, chairs scraped less frequently, and the faint scent of coffee lingered in the air.

dex was finishing the last of his reports, sliding the folder neatly into the drawer, edges perfectly aligned. the hum of the bullpen was soft now, the end of the day settling over the office like a quiet tide.

ray appeared at the edge of the cubicle row, briefcase in hand, coat draped over one arm. “hey,” he said, voice low but warm, leaning slightly over the cubicle wall so dex could hear him without raising his voice. “you wrapping up over here? we ready to head out?”

dex looked up, nodding once, careful, measured. “yeah. just finishing these.” he gestured to the stack of files, straightening them in place before standing.

ray smiled faintly and leaned casually against the cubicle edge for a moment. “perfect. i’m about to head out myself. figured we could go together.” he glanced at dex, then shrugged, a small, easy gesture. “or…you know, get a head start if you want.”

dex shook his head, already moving to gather his things. the nerves in his chest hummed quietly, not fear exactly, but awareness, the kind that made him notice the subtle warmth in ray’s presence, the tilt of his head, the easy confidence that made the act of walking out together feel…different.

ray dropped his briefcase onto the floor with a soft thud, adjusting his coat. “alright,” he said, a hint of amusement in his tone. “let’s do this. just…keep it low-key tonight. we’ve earned it, right?”

dex nodded again, small, almost imperceptible, and followed ray toward the elevator, noting quietly the faint scent of cologne, the way ray moved with effortless control, and the small ease that seemed to radiate from him in contrast to the careful, structured rhythms dex carried with him. the office behind them faded, the quiet hum of the building fading into the background as the night stretched ahead.

dex cataloged the subtle gestures nonetheless. the way ray’s hand rested on the doorframe, the tilt of his head as he glanced down the hall, the quiet way he seemed to occupy space without forcing it.

dex followed, silent, internalizing the small details, the small rhythms of someone he had worked alongside for years and yet was only now beginning to notice more deeply. the elevator ride down was smooth, punctuated only by the soft beep of the doors closing. outside, the air was cool, carrying the faint city hum and the residual drizzle from earlier.

dex followed ray out of the elevator, the city lights stretching faintly through the windows as the evening air cooled around them. his hands were still tense at his sides, adjusting the strap of his bag, his mind cataloging every subtle movement ray made, the relaxed tilt of his shoulders, the faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, the way he moved with a quiet, effortless confidence that dex could never replicate but could notice endlessly.

“trust me,” ray said as they walked toward the car, his tone light, a quiet excitement threading through it. “i know just the spot. low-key, fun, something you’ll actually enjoy. this is perfect for you.”

dex blinked, trying to process the words. “perfect…” he repeated softly, the word feeling foreign in his mouth. he wasn’t used to someone shaping an evening around him, to someone noticing what might actually suit him instead of defaulting to the usual loud, chaotic celebrations everyone else seemed to expect.

as they walked toward the car, ray sidled closer, matching dex’s pace in a way that was both subtle and deliberate, his hand brushing briefly against the small of dex’s back as he opened the door for him. dex noticed it, he noticed the warmth, the careful timing, the quiet reassurance, and felt the smallest, most unexpected jolt of awareness ripple through him.

the rest of the walk to the car was quiet, comfortable in its own way, each step measured, each glance calculated yet tinged with the unspoken. dex focused on the night sky above, the glimmer of wet pavement below, and the way ray’s energy seemed to settle alongside his own, a quiet tether he hadn’t realized he wanted until now. the office behind them faded into memory as the night stretched out ahead, waiting for them to step into it together.

the drive was mostly quiet, punctuated only by the hum of the radio and the occasional soft comment from ray. dex noted the little things, the way ray’s hand rested lightly on the gearshift, the subtle flick of his eyes to check intersections, the careful precision in the way he handled the car. and somewhere beneath that cataloging, a tiny ripple of something else. attention, curiosity, a flicker of unease that didn’t quite belong to his normal rhythm.

when they arrived, the neon sign glowed faintly. a low-lit ax-throwing range, the kind of place that smelled faintly of wood and leather, warm and contained. ray practically bounced on the balls of his feet as he gestured toward the entrance. “look at this—exactly what i was talking about. quiet enough, contained, hands-on…perfect for you, dex. you’re going to love it.”

dex hesitated at the door, noticing the way ray’s enthusiasm seemed effortless, genuine. he adjusted his jacket, ran a hand over his wrist where the sidearm rested, and nodded slowly. “i…guess we can try it,” he said, voice measured, almost neutral. inside, the smell of polished wood and the faint echo of axes striking targets carried a promise of focus and control, something he could anchor himself in.

ray clapped his hands once, softly, but with that undercurrent of excitement that made dex notice it. “alright. let’s get you set up. i’ll show you the ropes. don’t worry—you’re going to be great at this.”

dex felt his chest tighten slightly, the familiar rhythm of nerves and focus mixing with something else, something he hadn’t named yet. he followed ray further into the room, noting the slight way his companion’s eyes flicked to the targets, the way his smile softened when he caught dex watching, the way his presence filled the space without ever demanding it. the office, the city, the quiet hum of the streets behind them, none of it mattered now. the night, this moment, was contained, precise, and entirely theirs.

dex gripped the handle of the ax, feeling the familiar weight settle naturally in his hand. he lined up, counted silently to himself, and let it fly. the ax thudded perfectly into the center of the target. he barely looked at it, already reaching for another, adjusting the angle in a motion that was precise and fluid, effortless.

ray leaned casually against the counter a few feet away, watching him. “wow,” he said softly, the word just loud enough for dex to hear. “i knew this would be perfect for you, but…you make it look easy.” his tone had that quiet, teasing lilt, the kind of subtle compliment that wasn’t a compliment and yet landed all the same.

dex didn’t respond, just reached for another ax. he spun it lightly in his hands, flipping it with careful precision before letting it arc perfectly toward the target. the blade stuck. he adjusted his stance, let it thud again. each throw was sharper, cleaner, a little more showy than the last. he could feel the energy in the room shifting, a small, taut electricity.

ray’s eyes followed every move, noting the flick of dex’s fingers, the way his jaw tightened slightly with focus, the slight smirk he allowed himself when a throw landed just right. “i see that one,” ray said softly, “and that one…oh, damn.” his voice had that quiet warmth now, teasing but not obvious, lingering just a fraction too long on the way he said dex’s name.

dex felt his chest tighten, a rhythm of nerves and pride tangled together. he had never liked attention, he avoided it, but there was something about ray watching, noticing, that made him want to push a little further. he let himself show off, spinning the ax in one hand, flipping it so it landed perfectly with a sharp thud. he even tried a trick throw, letting it rotate twice before hitting the center.

ray let out a low whistle, leaning slightly closer as if to study the motion, eyes catching the flick of dex’s wrist. “okay,” he said, voice low, teasing, “you’re ridiculous. in a good way. this…this is unfair.” there was that subtle weight behind his words, the way they hovered just long enough to make dex aware of more than just the compliment.

dex’s nerves flared faintly. his heart beat faster, fingers tightening on the handle instinctively. yet he kept going, flipping axes, landing them cleanly, the small showboating a way to anchor himself in the focus he understood. and through it all, he noticed ray, not just the words, not just the watchful eyes, but the slight smirk, the quiet amusement, the warmth in the tone that made his chest thrum in a way he hadn’t expected.

another throw, another perfect thud. dex allowed a small smirk of his own, a fraction of pride bleeding through the focus. ray clapped once softly, leaning closer again, voice just low enough for dex alone, “alright…that was impressive. but you know, i’m not sure if you’re showing off for the ax or for me.”

dex froze for a heartbeat, nerves prickling, eyes flicking to the side, then back to the target. the air between them carried that taut, careful tension, half play, half something he wasn’t ready to name. and yet, the focus didn’t leave him, he spun another ax, flipped it in his hands, and let it fly, perfectly centered, even as his awareness of ray’s gaze lingered, sharp and inescapable.

ray picked up his ax next, leaning into the stance dex had been perfecting for the past half hour. he was deliberate, focused, and…okay, good, but nowhere near dex’s effortless precision. dex watched quietly, cataloging the slight differences. the way ray’s wrist flicked a fraction early, the subtle tension in his shoulders, the way his stance shifted minutely as the ax rotated through the air. the thud when it hit the target was solid, but not perfect. dex raised an eyebrow, smirk flickering at the corner of his mouth. “not bad,” he said, voice calm, measured, “but you’ve got room for improvement.”

ray grinned, eyes sparkling with amusement. “yeah, yeah, i know. i’m here to learn from the master.” he gestured with the ax, twirling it lightly in his hand before setting it down. dex noticed how natural the motion was for ray, even if the results weren’t as sharp, confident, easy, effortless in his own way.

after a few more rounds, they left the range, heading toward a small diner-style spot nearby. the neon glowed warm against the rainy streets, the smell of grilled food and baked bread drifting outside the door.

they slid into a booth near the back, low lighting and warm wood surrounding them. dex scanned the menu quickly, settling on a simple grain bowl with roasted vegetables, quinoa, and a side of steamed greens. he liked things that were precise, clean, healthy, nothing messy, nothing that would distract from the rhythm he liked to maintain.

ray leaned back, his hair brushing his collar, fingers drumming lightly on the tabletop. “i’ll do the vegetable curry,” he said casually, voice soft but carrying that quiet ease. “no meat, obviously. hope that’s alright.” he caught dex’s glance and added with a small smile, “i’ve been eating this way a long time—kind of stuck with it.”

the waitress arrived quickly, notebook in hand, and ray spoke first, polite but relaxed, clarifying his order with careful attention to detail. dex noted the slight warmth in ray’s tone, the effortless way he made himself understood without seeming controlling. when it came to dex’s turn, he ordered quickly, voice measured, precise, barely meeting the waitress’s eyes. the subtle differences between them, the warmth of ray, the careful neutrality of dex, seemed almost tangible in the small space of the booth.

“so…” ray said, leaning back slightly, fingers tapping lightly on the tabletop. “do you want me to tell them it’s your birthday?” he asked casually, though the tone carried a soft amusement. “or…we can keep it low-key. but…do you like treats? ice cream, dessert…anything like that?”

dex hesitated, thinking. his teeth were sensitive, he didn’t usually eat sweets, and he definitely didn’t expect anyone to make a fuss for him. he shook his head lightly. “i…don’t really do dessert,” he said, voice careful, clipped.

ray’s grin widened just a little, pulling something small from his jacket pocket. dex tilted his head, uncertain, as ray produced a tiny candle and a lighter. “okay,” ray said softly, leaning forward, “but i insist on one thing. your food can have this little candle in it. you make a wish, deal?”

dex’s chest tightened, nerves stirring faintly. he stared at the small flame, the absurdity of it hitting him. the diner table, the faint hum of conversation around them, the warm glow of neon outside, cheesy, all of it. yet…he found himself complying, carefully placing the tiny candle in the corner of his plate.

as they waited, dex noticed small things about the restaurant. a rainbow flag tucked in the corner, some subtle posters along the walls, the soft hum of music he didn’t recognize. “interesting,” he murmured quietly. “i guess…a friendly place.”

ray glanced at him, eyebrows lifting slightly, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “yeah. friendly, low-key. not too crowded, nothing overwhelming. thought you’d like it.”

when the food arrived, dex carefully arranged his bowl on the table, tucking the spoon beside it. ray, still watching with that quiet amusement, reached for the tiny candle, placing it gently in dex’s grain bowl. “alright,” he said, lighting it with the small lighter he’d brought along. “make a wish. don’t cheat.”

dex’s chest tightened. he reached for the small flame, carefully leaning over it, eyes fixed, and allowed himself the tiniest exhale. he thought through the wish, silently, measured, precise. the warmth of the candlelight reflected faintly in ray’s eyes, and for a brief moment, dex let himself be entirely present, aware of the subtle tension and care in the room, this small, quiet celebration that was entirely his own.

dex closed his eyes for a moment, the small flame flickering in front of him, and allowed the quiet of the moment to settle. he thought about wishes like he thought about everything. carefully, deliberately, cataloging the possibilities. it wasn’t about grand gestures or impossible dreams. he wished for something small, something precise, something he could almost measure. a sense of ease. a night without expectation. a night where the quiet, the focus, the rhythm of doing something right could carry him through. a wish for a little more control, and maybe, just maybe, the freedom to let someone else notice him without the chaos of attention that usually followed.

when he opened his eyes, the candle burned steadily, and he let a small, almost imperceptible smile slip across his face. ray’s gaze met his for a fraction of a second, eyes soft, attentive, curious, but he said nothing. he just leaned back in his seat, letting dex’s small ritual exist without comment.

they ate slowly, the clink of silverware and soft murmur of other diners around them forming a quiet backdrop. the conversation was low, measured. ray asked about favorite movies, travel destinations, little bits of life outside the office, and dex responded carefully, voice calm, measured, occasionally letting a flicker of humor or warmth slip through. dex noticed how ray’s smile softened when he talked about things he liked, the slight way he leaned in when listening, the subtle attention that didn’t demand anything from him.

ray noticed dex, too, how he picked at his food before taking a careful bite, how he adjusted the napkin on his lap, the tiny way his fingers tapped against the bowl when he was thinking. the careful, precise way dex carried himself, even in moments of leisure, fascinated ray. there was a tension beneath dex’s movements, a barely-there nervous energy that contrasted with the skill and focus he displayed everywhere else. ray found himself lingering on those details, silently cataloging them like he would a case, appreciating dex without needing him to perform or explain.

they talked about work just enough to stay grounded, joked lightly about their stakeout earlier, and traded small personal anecdotes, nothing heavy, nothing demanding, just a rhythm that let them exist in the same space without the usual structure of the office. dex noticed the quiet patience in ray’s presence, how he allowed pauses without filling them, how his laughter was easy, unforced, and how that made dex relax more than he realized.

hours slipped by in measured, quiet time. the restaurant emptied slowly, the neon outside glowing faintly through the windows, and dex realized he hadn’t felt the usual churn of anxiety about attention or expectation. he felt…contained. safe. focused. the rhythm of the night, the quiet observation of one another, and the soft attentiveness between them had created a bubble he hadn’t known he needed.

as they finally stood to leave, dex adjusted his coat, glanced at ray, and noticed the small, careful ways he had been observing him all night, the tilt of his head, the glimmer of amusement in his eyes, the subtle satisfaction in letting dex move at his own pace. and for the first time, dex let himself register the thought. maybe someone could notice him, quietly, without chaos, and it could be enough.

they stepped out into the cool night, the hum of the city wrapping around them, and walked side by side with a rhythm that was quiet, precise, and for once, entirely shared.

the city lights blurred past the windshield as dex steered the car back toward the fbi office, the hum of the engine filling the quiet spaces between them. the night had been…different. easy, contained, something he rarely allowed himself to feel outside of work.

ray glanced at him, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “you know,” he said, voice low, casual but warm, “i think we had a pretty good night. we should do this more often. just…low-key stuff like this. you know?”

dex nodded, hands steady on the wheel, letting the thought settle quietly. “yeah,” he said softly. “i…liked it.”

ray leaned back slightly, a hand resting casually on the console between them. “so tell me,” he said, “guilty pleasures. movies, shows, whatever. don’t leave anything out.”

dex hesitated, then smirked faintly, the hint of amusement threading through his careful tone. “i…don’t know if i really have guilty pleasures.”

ray chuckled, leaning a little closer, eyes glinting. “come on. everyone does. mine? the smurfs.”

dex froze for half a heartbeat before a genuine laugh slipped out, sharp, unexpected, carried with an ease he rarely allowed anyone to hear. the sound startled him, just slightly, and he glanced at ray through the corner of his eyes, surprised that he’d let it out.

ray caught the look and raised an eyebrow, leaning in just slightly, voice soft, teasing, not quite flirting but not just neutral either. “huh,” he said, watching dex carefully. “i wasn’t expecting that. your laugh…i like it.”

dex’s chest tightened, a familiar rhythm of nerves threading through him. he cleared his throat softly, glanced back to the road, trying to anchor himself in the familiar rhythm of steering, of focusing. yet the warmth of ray’s words lingered, mixing with the quiet satisfaction of the night, the subtle attention that didn’t demand anything from him, and the small pulse of…something else he couldn’t quite name.

the rest of the drive passed in easy conversation, small anecdotes, teasing remarks, quiet reflections on the night, the stakes they’d navigated, the absurdity of the ax-throwing. dex found himself listening, noticing, cataloging. the tilt of ray’s jaw when he smiled, the soft inflection of his voice, the way he seemed to linger on the details of dex’s reactions.

by the time they pulled back into the office parking garage, the streets mostly empty, the neon fading behind them, there was a subtle shift in the air. quiet, contained, precise, like the rest of the night, but with something threaded beneath it, something dex noticed, something that made the familiar rhythm of routine feel…different. and for the first time in a long while, he didn’t immediately try to analyze it away. he just let it exist.

dex and ray sat in the car, engine idling softly, the streets quiet around them. the night had stretched, slow and easy, and dex felt the usual tightness in his chest loosen slightly.

“alright,” ray started, leaning back in his seat, fingers tapping lightly on the console. “serious question—if you could live in any movie universe, what would it be?”

dex considered it, brow furrowing slightly, then shrugged. “i…don’t know. something…structured, predictable. not…chaotic. maybe…one of those old spy movies? the quiet ones, with careful planning.”

ray laughed softly. “ah, okay. so you’d be the guy who plans everything perfectly, avoids the explosions?” he leaned closer, voice teasing just slightly. “i could see that.”

dex smirked faintly, turning his gaze to the windshield. “i…like things that make sense. predictable outcomes.”

ray glanced at the clock, then back at dex, that faint half-smile tugging at his lips. “alright…before i go—happy 30th.” he reached into his pocket and pulled out a tiny sticky note, carefully folded, with a simple doodle of a target and a tiny bullseye. “thought i’d get you something, but it was kind of last minute,” he said, holding it out.

dex took it, brow lifting slightly, and ray let his hand brush dex’s shoulder casually as he handed it over. the touch was light, fleeting, but there was a warmth and a teasing ease in it, an intimacy that made dex’s chest tighten in an unfamiliar but not unpleasant way.

ray gave a small shrug, leaning back. “alright…i should probably head out. drive safe, okay?”

dex nodded and unbuckled his seat belt and stepped out, the sticky note with the tiny bullseye doodle still rested in his hand, and for a brief moment, he allowed himself to trace the folds, the simplicity of it grounding him.

he started walking toward his own car, the echo of his footsteps bouncing softly off the concrete walls. a sound beside him drew his attention, and he glanced over. ray had slid out of the passenger side of his own car, moving with that familiar, easy precision to the driver’s side.

dex paused mid-step, suddenly aware of ray’s eyes as they met his. there was a subtle warmth there, a careful attentiveness he had always noticed but never labeled, never truly acknowledged. tonight it carried a name, or at least a hint of one. care, interest, something that threaded beneath their usual work dynamic. it made the space between them feel heavier, more electric, though they didn’t speak.

ray settled into the driver’s seat, glancing once more at dex before closing the door. his eyes lingered for a heartbeat longer than strictly necessary, a quiet, teasing acknowledgment that left dex’s chest tightening in a way he hadn’t expected.

dex watched the car start, the soft hum of the engine filling the garage, and then the taillights slip into the distance. the sound echoed faintly, and he allowed himself to notice the small hollow feeling left behind, the absence of ray’s presence, and the strange warmth it carried with it. the night had been quiet, contained, and precise, but walking back to his own car, dex realized it had also been something else entirely.

dex eased his car out of the garage and onto the quiet streets, the hum of the engine filling the spaces around him. the city lights blurred past, streaks of neon and amber reflecting in the wet asphalt, but he barely noticed. his mind was elsewhere, looping gently around the night, the small, contained moments, and the way ray had been present.

he thought about the sticky note with the tiny bullseye drawing, how absurdly small and personal it had been, yet how much it mattered. this, this night, was the only time he had ever let anyone, or himself, do anything for his birthday. thirty years, and this was the first quiet recognition of it that felt…real, unforced, uncomplicated.

dex’s fingers tightened slightly on the wheel, tracing invisible patterns on the leather, cataloging the warmth he had felt when ray touched his shoulder, the subtle attentiveness in ray’s eyes when he had handed him the note. he had always noticed things about people, cataloged them with precision, yet he rarely allowed himself to feel the weight of them. tonight was different. tonight he had felt it.

he thought about the way ray had laughed at his smurfs comment, the teasing tone in his voice, the quiet patience as dex had fumbled slightly over his words. the warmth, the humor, the presence, it all threaded together, and dex realized he had cataloged more than gestures and expressions tonight. he had cataloged care. he had cataloged connection.

he drove past familiar streets, the rhythm of the car under him grounding him as he replayed the quiet moments. the way ray had leaned slightly closer when listening, the way he had watched dex make a wish, the fleeting intensity of that glance in the garage before driving off. dex recognized it now, named it quietly in the back of his mind. attention, regard, something beyond camaraderie. something that made his chest feel simultaneously heavy and calm.

the night stretched behind him, quiet, unremarkable to anyone else, but charged in the small, precise ways dex noticed. he traced the lines of the dashboard, the hum of the tires on the asphalt, the city’s muted pulse, and let himself simply think. about ray, about the night, about the unusual softness he had allowed himself to feel.

as the familiar outline of his apartment building came into view, dex felt the last echoes of the night settle around him. the warmth in his chest lingered, subtle but insistent, threading through the careful, ordered rhythms of his life. and for the first time in a long while, he didn’t push it away. he simply let it be, as steady and contained as the hum of the engine beneath his hands.

dex climbed the familiar stairs to the third floor, each step echoing faintly in the empty hallway. the routine was ingrained. the key in the lock, door swings open with that quiet click that had always marked the end of the day. he expected the same solitude he always came home to, the predictable rhythm of his apartment waiting to embrace him. his day was usually a series of exact repetitions, each one comforting in its order, each one a small measure of control.

but tonight felt…different. the night with ray had already disrupted the usual pattern, threading warmth and quiet unpredictability into his carefully structured world.

dex’s steps echoed faintly as he walked down the long hallway of the building, the familiar sequence of turns guiding him to his apartment. straight past the fire escape, left at the stairwell, straight again, right at the landing, left down the final stretch. the dim lights overhead cast soft shadows along the walls, each step marking the rhythm he had memorized over years. he reached the door at the far end on the right, key sliding into the lock smoothly, door swinging open to the quiet, empty space that was entirely his.

he stepped inside, closing the door behind him, and for a moment let himself notice the empty apartment, the muted hum of the city through the blinds, the way the air felt ordinary yet somehow…not.

he dropped his bag by the door, unzipping it with deliberate motions, then paused to note the small residual warmth in his chest from the night. it lingered faintly, threading through the quiet apartment, brushing against the familiar smells of home. it was unusual, unsettling in a way that wasn’t unpleasant.

dex moved through the motions he had memorized for years. sliding his jacket onto the hook by the door, placing his keys in the dish, double-checking that the stove was off. everything followed the expected sequence, and yet he carried with him a small residue from the night, ray’s presence, the laughter, the sticky note, the fleeting attentiveness, the subtle warmth in the glance he had caught in the garage.

he stripped off his clothes systematically, peeling away the fabric that had been exposed to the city air, the faint grit and smell of the streets, and tossed each piece carefully into the hamper. his routine demanded it, nothing outside should touch the surfaces where he slept. the soft hum of the apartment, the faint echo of the fridge, the distant traffic, framed his movements with comforting consistency.

he headed to the bathroom, running through the familiar night routine. the shower was immediate, necessary, almost ritualistic. the warm water ran over him, washing away the outside world. each movement was precise. lather, rinse, repeat; rinse thoroughly, check the temperature, adjust slightly. the city, the night, even the subtle residue of ray’s presence, all seemed to slide away with the suds and the flow. for a moment, he lingered under the water, letting it run over his shoulders, over his arms, over his scalp, washing clean what had been outside his ordered domain.

stepping out, he toweled off with measured motions, each stroke deliberate, each fold of the towel placed carefully back on the rack. he pulled on only clean boxers, his designated sleeping attire, and moved to brush his teeth, the soft rhythm of the water and his own movements grounding him. the world outside his apartment seemed to hum quietly, uninterrupted, while he followed the practiced steps that always marked the end of the day.

dex moved to the small glass of water he always kept on the bedside table. one full glass, no less, no more, which he drank down steadily. the pill bottle waited beside it. one sleep aid, swallowed carefully with the water, each capsule counted, each movement precise.

finally, he climbed into bed, the covers pulled up exactly to the midpoint he preferred, body aligning with the pillows the way he liked, tucked to the exact angles he found comfortable. his mind drifted briefly back over the night. ray’s glance in the garage, the small sticky note, the warmth threaded through moments he had cataloged, and the quiet sense of…connection.

dex stared at the ceiling, eyes tracing the faint patterns of shadows, and allowed himself a small, private acknowledgment. tonight was not like any other. his birthday, for the first time, had been something other than empty repetition, something he hadn’t expected, something that had broken the pattern just enough to matter. and as his body relaxed into the bed, the quiet, precise hum of his apartment around him, he let himself feel it, without analysis, without cataloging, just the soft residue of a night that had shifted something imperceptibly but irrevocably.