#mind blind

i had originally had little notes written by daphne on her outfits, but i scrapped them because it looked too cluttered. however they were cute and important to her character so i’m just gonna write them here!

everyday: can you believe grayson still won’t take a hint despite the baby tees daphne wears?! she lives to make him blush. also those vintage von dutch jeans are her prized possession

formal: spot the dress she wears to reese’s dinner party! the rest are for blending in at nick’s unity events-- enough to avoid the press while still catching the eye of an attractive stranger.

athletic: daphne puts on these outfits to walk on the treadmill for twenty minutes then take selfies

sleep: nick and sally constantly roast daphne for her obsession with cute pjs. nick complains that the money she spends on nice pajama sets is a major drain on resources

party: daphne’s favorite clothes to wear to the underground music venues she attends every weekend. music, especially live music, is her best coping strategy. the attractive company also helps keep her mind off grayson.

swim: daphne had big ideas for a post-graduation trip with sally to turks and caicos. though the vacation fell through, she kept the outfits. 

hot weather: some remnants of her coconut girl phase, and rarely weather appropriate. 

He ushers you into the apartment. With one hand he continues to towel off his wet hair while using the other to clear papers and old takeout containers and even fresh laundry off the dining room table. “I’m sorry I kept you waiting.” He smiles in your direction, now all amusement and no exasperation, thank God. “I heard the first knock and scrambled to get dressed. If I’d known it was you, I would’ve been fine answering in a towel.”

“Damn.” You stick your bottom lip out in a pout as you place the paper bag down on the table. “Next time.”

“Absolutely.”

“Okay, so we have…” You list the various breakfast foods as you take their containers out of the paper bag. “Scrambled eggs, bacon, either chocolate chip or blueberry pancakes, not “or” in a sense of I don’t know whether it’s chocolate chip or blueberry pancakes but in a sense of you have the option of either chocolate chip OR blueberry pancakes unless you want one of each which would be fine, hashbrowns, and a smoothie that… Ah!” You pluck the smoothie from the bag and are delighted to find no pink liquid spilling over the side. “It survived the walk over! I was worried I would have to add the overworked barista to my list of arch nemises…”

“Can I ask what the occasion is,” Gray asks, “or do you have another feast to unload from the bag?”

You know the occasion but keep your mouth shut for now. And maybe forever, depending on your mood later. “I just love you,” you answer, which is not your reasoning but also no word of a lie.

“Well, I love you.” He grabs your face in his hands, presses one kiss to your forehead as well as a second and third to your cheek to be safe, and then releases you to grab the container of hashbrowns. “And this is perfect, because I finished off my last box of cereal last night and resigned myself to eating stale crackers for breakfast. Do you want to grab plates and cutlery from the kitchen?”

“On it!”

When the food has been dished out and the two of you are chatting over your plates, you take a moment to admire him. You love him all the time, of course, but there’s something special about him in the morning as he’s still getting his bearings - his accent a little thicker, his face a little puffier from being pressed into his pillow all night, and he smells like lotion and aftershave and toothpaste, three scents that drive you mad. There’s something about a man with good hygiene that activates your caveman brain - man smell good, therefore man must taste good, therefore man biteable. (Then again - would cavemen say therefore?)

“What are you thinking about?” he asks.

“Nothing I can share if you want us to get to school on time,” you say regretfully, because if you dwell on biting him any longer, you’ll get a demerit on your attendance that you really don’t need.

“Well.” He pops a forkful of pancake into his mouth and then winks at you. “Something to remember for later, then.” 

You keep your mind blissfully blank as the two of you ride to school on his bike, relishing the feeling of your arms wrapped around his waist, and then your mind blanks itself as he graces you with a long, gentle kiss before heading for the UCRT elevator. The two of you have been keeping things quiet for a while, but now that you’re in your second semester at Aeon and every single security guard in the building has caught you sneaking up to the UCRT offices to eat lunch, keeping things quiet is a little less of a necessity. You float up to class and spend the next four hours thinking about seeing him again, and when the clock strikes 12:30, you’re raring to rush up to the UCRT offices for lunch… which you also bought this morning, but hid in your backpack so as to not spoil the surprise.

“Really, Mari, if you don’t stop with all the presents, I’m going to think that something’s wrong,” Gray tells you, grinning as he unwraps his artisanal BLT. 

Nick sits beside him, kicking the leg of the table and pouting over the barren surface in front of him. “And I’m going to think you have a new favourite person,” he mutters. “Speaking of favourite people, where is Salome?”

“I don’t know,” you answer, not tearing your gaze away from Gray to glance at your brother. “Why don’t you go downstairs and look for her?”

There’s no one else in the staff room besides the three of you. With Nick gone, Grayson and you might have a little time to yourselves. Nick directs his attention towards you, looking first confused, then horrified, and then apprehensive of your thoughts before finally sighing and pushing back from his chair.

“I’ll be back in five minutes, tops.” He heads for the door. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”

“Wouldn’t dream of it!” Gray calls back, mid-chew.

Seriously, don’t desecrate the sacred ground of the staff room. Nick gives you a half-hearted glare over his shoulder as he heads out into the hallway. I could never eat in here again if I knew the two of you got all handsy on the table. Plus - I’m pretty sure it’s against the rules.

Give us five minutes.

Fine. But you owe me one of those sandwiches, because I swear I’m going to be dreaming about it for the next week. Even when Nick’s presence disappears from your mind, the mental image of a sandwich rotates around inside of it for a few seconds before disappearing as well.

With the two of you left alone, you rest your chin on the heel of your hand and watch Gray. He’s somehow even cute when he’s eating. This must be how Kent feels when he watches Annie and Cass wolf down their chicken pellets, or how parents feel when they watch their babies shovel apple sauce into their mouth, or something else that has a distinctly non-familial connotation because this is your boyfriend you’re thinking about, not someone whom it would be illegal, unethical, and flat-out disgusting to think about kissing. You watch him so long (and with so much wordless lust) that he catches you, and he pokes his cheek with a raised brow. “Do I have something on my face?”

“No.” You stand up from your chair and smile. “Just looking at you.”

He must get the memo, because he places his sandwich delicately on the wrapper and brushes his hands on his pants as you wander around the side of the table and approach him.

“This isn’t a private room at the Four Seasons,” Gray tells you, his voice low in warning and something else. “Someone could walk in at any moment.”

“The rest of the UCRT are on a field trip, are they not?”

“They are… but Nick said no funny business.” 

“How much I want you is decidedly not a laughing matter.” 

You manage to maintain a serious expression until Gray giggles, and the sound of it makes you grin.

Miraculously, there’s enough room between him and the table for you to slide onto his lap without making him move first, and you settle on his thighs while winding your arms around his neck. He takes one last nervous look at the door before inhaling through his nose and moving his hands to rest on your waist.

“Well, Miss Wiseman, you’ve got me where you want me.” He scans your face from top to bottom. “What are you going to do with me now?”

You look at him for a moment and think over all your options. You haven’t had sex yet, so that’s off the table for about a hundred reasons. Not that that’s what you would do, anyway. One of your favourite things to do with Gray is to sit with him, get close to him, touch him wherever he’ll let you, wherever you can reach. And this is the perfect place to do that. After a moment’s deliberation, you lean forward and brush a kiss to the side of his mouth - soft, slow, the slightest bit wet. He shifts in his seat, and when you pull back to move onto the next target, you notice that his eyes have fluttered shut. You press a similar kiss to the other side of his mouth. His grip on your waist gets a little tighter.

“I can’t believe you’ve talked me into this,” he chuckles.

“Believe it.” You press a kiss to the hinge of his jaw and his grip on you grows tighter to the point of pain. As soon as you register that, however, he loosens up. “You’re so handsome.” Another kiss. “And so kissable. Alllll the time.” Another kiss, this time to his Adam’s apple. “No wonder GQ wants you to cover their next issue.”

“Mari... We have a very limited amount of time and privacy.” The words sound strained and half-hearted - if the two of you were in a different location, those qualities would’ve tempted you  to take off your shirt. He groans at the mental image of that and tries to shake his head. “I’m on the clock, and you - and your brother could be back any moment.”

“I know, but…” You open your mouth and ghost your teeth over his skin. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” He takes your jaw in his hand before you can bite him the way you’ve wanted to since this morning and guides you upwards so that you’re face-to-face. “But I don’t want to get in trouble, and I certainly don’t want you getting into trouble.”

“With who?” 

“Adsila. Nick. Sohvi. Take your pick.” He kisses the tip of your nose and then pats your ass with a fond, firm hand. “Later, alright? I promise.”

“Alright.” You smile at him and climb off his lap, waiting until you’re out of his brain range to feel the full brunt of your disappointment.

No, not disappointment. Embarrassment. You can’t help it when a harsh, self-conscious blush colours your cheeks and thank whatever God is looking out for you that the door swings open again a few seconds later.

“We’re back!” Nick announces.

“And we have gossip!!!” Sally adds.

As Nick and Sally regale you with the latest of Clarence’s workplace romance, you can’t help but feel like you’re no better. He spends his afternoons drooling over the new security guard; you’ve spent your lunch break drooling over your boyfriend and trying to mess around with him in the staff room of one of the most important political institutions in America. Not to mention - you’re a 21 year old student, and he’s a 27 year old superhero. Doing what you did with him is reinforcing the age-old age-gap stereotype that you’re a silly little girl who can’t control herself and he has to teach you the ways of the world. How humiliating: you can save Chicago from domestic terrorists but still don't know how to talk yourself down from idiotic courses of action.

“Mari?” Nick gives you an odd look. Whenever Sally’s around, he’s a little too distracted to hear all of your thoughts, but it seems he tuned in at some point. “Are you alright?”

He must think this is a safe place to confront your ruminations out loud instead of inside your head. After all, there’s no one else in the room besides the three people you’re closest to in the world. Still, the last thing you want is to let anyone into your head right now, especially since you’ve spent so much of the past ten minutes thinking about your boyfriend naked. You push back from the table with a smile and grab your water bottle. “I just remembered that I have to finish an assignment for class later,” you tell them as you swing your backpack over your shoulder. “It shouldn’t take me too long, but I might find another room to finish it.”

“What assignment?” Sally asks, cocking her head. “I don’t think we have any -”

“It’s a special MIV assignment.”

“We can be quiet,” Gray suggests. “Right, everyone?”

Nick and Sally share an apprehensive look.

“Don’t worry about it.” You wave your hand at them. “I don’t want to ruin your lunch break.”

As you head for the door, Gray stands to meet you. “Am I seeing you later?” he asks, then lowers his voice to a whisper. “I believe we have some unfinished business from this morning...”

“I’m not sure,” you answer, avoiding his gaze. It doesn’t escape your notice that neither your brother nor your best friend are saying anything across the room. “I have another assignment to work on tonight I just remembered, dumbass that I am...”

You’re a terrible liar - you know that, right?

“Oh.” Gray stares at you for a moment longer before reaching out to touch your shoulder. “Well, firstly, you’re not a dumbass. You’re a genius. Secondly - text me when you finish your assignment, then, or if you want to go for a drive to clear your head. I need to repay you for the food baby you’ve given me.” He uses the hand on your shoulder to pat his stomach, which looks no different than usual. “I think we should name it Marian Jr.” 

“Yeah,” you respond, unenthusiastic, “I’ll text you.”

He’s going to want to talk to me about this, you know.

Shut up, Nick.

“Alright, well… Have a good day.” Gray presses a kiss to your cheek. “I love you.”

“Yeah, you too.”

You rush out of the room and wait until the door shuts behind you to lean against the wall and let out a sigh. Your lack of response or engagement with his joke must’ve raised alarms, but unsurprisingly, he’s nice enough - or perhaps tired enough of you - not to push it.

I can’t believe you you-tooed him. He looks like he’s been kicked with a steel-toed boot.

I’m going to kick youif you don’t leave me alone.

I don’t doubt that. A moment later: Let me know if you want to talk about it tonight.

That’s the last thing I want. But thanks, Nick.

Your mind goes blank for the third time today and you head downstairs to find someplace quiet to work.

The rest of the afternoon passes without drama. Well, external drama, at least. Your internal drama is a full-fledged Broadway production. Did you push too far? Did you embarrass yourself? Did you embarrass Gray? Does he really want to see you later, or does he feel guilty that you bought him so much food today with no idea why that he made the suggestion to see you later in order to assuage his own guilt? And how is it that after everything you’ve been through that you have the audacity to question his feelings, because questioning his feelings means you’re questioning his personal integrity, and if there’s anything more offensive than trying to fuck your boyfriend at his workplace, it’s considering for even a single second that he’s a liar. You’re lucky you didn’t have an actual assignment to work on today, because the headache you’ve developed is making it impossible to focus.

You decide to walk home without Sally, texting her that you don’t feel well (which is true) and won’t be able to go out for an after-school smoothie like usual. You hate to bail on her - especially because it’ll do nothing but raise even more red flags - but you don’t really want to see any of your loved ones right now, knowing that whichever one of them you see is going to bring up your strange behaviour in the staff room. Maybe you can talk with them about it when the embarrassment and self-consciousness aren’t battering your brain with hurricane-level force, but right now it would feel like pouring salt water in the wound.

With headphones in your ears, you manage to tune out for about fifteen minutes on your walk home, and feel a little better when you pass Kent’s yard, leaning down to say hello to Annie and Cass. The man himself, who must’ve been coming outside to let them in, hurries down from the front step when he sees you to say hello.

“How did the surprise go over?” he asks after picking up Annie so you can better scratch behind her ears. You ran into him while he was on his jog this morning, and he was almost comedically surprised to see you up and out of the house so early.

“Good,” you say. “Then bad.”

“Ah.”

“Do you ever think you’re not fit to be a person in normal human society?”

“I think you have a boyfriend you should be sharing that worry with, Hemera,” he answers, not unkindly.

“I’m aware, Nox.” You sigh. “But the boyfriend is the problem.”

He doesn’t say anything more, which is nice. It’s nice to have someone in your life who doesn’t pester you about all of your problems whenever one makes itself known. You can tell he cares, though, because he lets you pat Annie for longer than normal before allowing her to tumble out of his arms onto the grass. “Feel better soon,” he says with a real smile. Well, as real as Kent can manage. It still looks more like a grimace, but at least both sides of his mouth are turned upwards.

With puppy therapy done, you head home and make yourself a bowl of cereal, then settle down on the couch to watch TV. At six o’clock, your phone buzzes with a few texts - both Nick and Gray have gotten off work. You check Nick’s first.

Going out for dinner with Salome since SOMEONE bailed on her today, it reads. But I’ll try not to gossip about you and Gray too much, since I am worried about you. There should be some leftover pizza in the fridge for you. Love you.

Love you too, you text back, bracing yourself before opening Gray’s message.

I was wondering if it’d be alright if I dropped by on my way home from work, it reads. I don’t want to distract you from your assignment for too long, but I’d like to see you and talk about something quickly.

Quickly? you write back.

Or not quickly, if that’s what you want.

I’m fine.

You’re not. Nick told me as much.

Traitor.

I could also tell. Believe it or not, I do know how to read your mood after knowing you for half a decade.

Grayson Black, are you sassing me over text?

I’m not sassing you. I’m worried about you. Can I come over?

You chew on the inside of your cheek. Just because he comes over doesn’t mean you have to be honest with him. In fact, you have at least ten minutes to prepare a couple of well-thought-out lies. 

Yes, you tap out, then delete because it sounds too eager. Sure, you send instead. 

See you soon, Gray responds.

You head upstairs to change as soon as his message comes in. The more put-together you look, the less worried he’s going to be, and if there’s a chance of you getting out of this conversation without being honest or opening up, you’ll do anything to improve those chances. You pull on a pair of jeans, your least stained black t-shirt, and even a pair of earrings like a real put-together woman. Your mother would be proud. Soon enough, there’s a knocking on the front door, and you take one last glance in the mirror before heading downstairs to let Gray in. (Well, you’re going to do the opposite of that, but he has to enter the house first for that to happen.) 

His hair is a little messed up from his helmet, which he’s currently rolling between his hands, and he gives you a small, uneasy smile as the door creaks open. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

“Can I come in?”

“No,” you tell him. “I think we can talk right here.”

His smile falls a little. “Really?”

“No!” You grab his arm and pull him inside, smiling because you find how gullible he is to be ridiculously charming and completely irresistible, and also because it’ll help with the ruse. “Who do you think I am?”

“I don’t know…” He chuckles as he puts his helmet down in its usual spot on the front bench. “I thought… I don’t know.”

“Do you want something to drink?” You head for the kitchen and pop the fridge open. “No Arizona, but we do have Diet Coke, Dr. Pepper, Crush…”

When you turn around to take his drink order, you find him sitting on a stool and staring at you expectantly.

“Soo… that’s a no?” 

“It’s a come sit.” He pats the stool beside him.

Like hell you’re going to have a serious conversation on Nick’s uncomfortable bar stools. You tried to convince him to get ones with thicker padding, but he refused to listen, and since you’re already suffering enough as it is, you refuse to inflict even more on yourself. Not to mention that the way Gray’s looking at you suddenly makes you feel very cornered. You’re not cornered - in fact, the kitchen is the most open room in the house - but the fact that anyone walking by could see in through the window, the fact that he’s sitting between you and the doorway that leads outside, makes you shake your head. This does not feel like an even playing field. And the white tiles and white walls and bright overhead lights are only going to make your shame more noticeable. 

“Not here.” You wring your hands and then point to the doorway. “Upstairs. My room.”

He nods and stands up, but waits for you to lead the way before following.

The two of you rarely spend time in your room. Whenever he comes over, it makes sense to hang out with him and Nick at the same time, else Nick will spend the entire night pouting. When you want alone time with Gray, you usually only get that at his apartment. This means, of course, that when you open the door, the first thing he’s greeted with is a huge mess, which definitely doesn’t lessen your embarrassment, not only about the situation but also about who you are, like, as a person. You decide not to turn on your overhead light but do turn on a lamp, just to make sure that he doesn’t stub his toe.

You sit at the head of the bed against the headboard and pull your pillow into your lap. He sits at the other end and shrugs off his leather jacket. 

“Do you want to go first, or should I?” he asks after a minute of excruciating silence.

“Floor is yours, Fortitude.”

“Alright. Er… I’m just a little confused, I guess.” He runs a hand over his face. “You come over this morning with a massive breakfast - which I appreciated, by the way, both the breakfast and the visit - but moreso the visit, obviously - and, you know… flirt with me and kiss me and all of that, seemingly for no reason. And then, also for no reason, you bring me lunch. Which was really good, too, although I couldn’t really savour it because I felt sick after you left and then your brother insisted he was doing me a favour by eating the rest of it. And suddenly, despite the fact that it seemed like you really wanted to see me later and, you know, make good on all the flirting we were doing this morning, you had an assignment to work on tonight and didn’t want to go for a ride or grab dinner when you always want to go for a ride and grab dinner. And you didn’t say you love me. So. That’s me.” He gestures in your direction and clears his throat. “What about you?”

It takes you a second to answer. Mostly because you’re trying not to cry, but also because you tore open the seam of your pillowcase while he was talking and are now sitting with the realization that you’ll have to buy a new one. Eventually you place it on the bed next to you and instead occupy yourself with twiddling your thumbs in your lap. “It’s our six-month anniversary.”

He’s quiet for a moment as he does the math. You knew he would. “Isn’t our six-month anniversary on the fourteenth of next month?” 

“I don’t mean that anniversary.” Your sudden sniffle sounds pathetic to your own ears, and you try not to let it shut you down further. “It’s the six-month anniversary of the first time you kissed me.” 

He lets out what you think is a weary sigh, and you’re very glad that your thumbs are very good entertainment.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks. “I would’ve… You should’ve told me, Mari, I would’ve happily celebrated with you.”

“I didn’t want to. It’s embarrassing.” 

“How is it embarrassing?”

For many reasons. One: it was just a kiss. And sure, at the moment, it felt like a promise of something more, but you had no way of knowing whether or not that something more would come out of it after all was said and done. (It would be hard to care about his feelings for you if Reese murdered your brother, for example.) And then you had to wait until Nick wasn’t on life support to have a conversation about how long Gray’s liked you, when he realized that he likes you, what specifically he likes about you, is he really sure he likes you - no, seriously Gray, are you sure? The date of that conversation became the date of your anniversary, but so much happened in the lead-up that you wanted to commemorate, too.

Two: the amount you love Gray, in general, is embarrassing.

If you went back in time and told 18-year-old Mari that she would love him even more after getting into a relationship, she would - well, first she would pass out at the idea of her feelings being reciprocated, but after waking up, she would vehemently deny she could love him anymore than she did at that moment. But she could. And you do. You love him so much that it makes you want to swing around a lamppost like in Singin’ in the Rain. You understand musicals now - that’s how much you love him. But you’ve had five years to build up to that point, and he hasn’t. You know you love him more. And you won’t begrudge him for it, could never begrudge him for it, because part of you believes that he would’ve loved you sooner if you had done something to earn it.

“I think I love you too much,” you whisper. As if on cue, a tear falls onto your hand.

“Too much,” he repeats. “What does that mean?”

“It means that… this is what I want to do all the time. Surprise you in the morning. Buy you food. Desecrate the sacred ground of the staff room - Nick’s words, not mine. That’s how much I love you: I would be happy doing this everyday. But I can’t, because the last thing I want is to scare you off, so I thought - I thought if I had a reason, even if I didn’t share it with you, then it would be alright, and I didn’t have to feel embarrassed, I was just being a good girlfriend. And then the reason I came up with was embarrassing, too, because none of my plans ever work out unless my brother’s life hangs in the balance, I guess, and… and then I tried to desecrate the sacred ground of the -”

“It’s not that sacred,” he interjects, “I once caught Nick looking at Instagram models while fondling Adsila’s business card.”

“Ew. Really?”

“Yes. And let me tell you, it was a rough afternoon for both of us.” Gray chuckles and then takes a deep breath. “Mari. Can you look at me? 

You bite the inside of your cheek and shake your head.

“Okay. Then can I come a little closer? And hold your hand, maybe?”

You let the offer sit for a second before holding your hand out. He moves closer and grabs it, twining your fingers together.

“First of all, I want to remind you that I love you. And, if it makes you feel any better, I think I might love you too much also.” You can hear the smile in his voice like a second accent. “When I went home for Christmas this year, my mother had to pull me aside after dinner to tell me that I needed to find something else to talk about for the rest of the night.”

“Would she rather you talk about taking down a terrorist ring?”

“No, because every time I did talk about it, I ended up going on about you anyway.” He kisses the back of your hand. “Second of all: If you want to buy me breakfast every day, I’m certainly not going to complain.”

You reach out to smack his shoulder. That’s how close he’s gotten - shoulder-smacking range. Still, you don’t push him away. You’re not sure you could even if you wanted to.

“Third of all - thirdly?: you can tell me anything, no matter how embarrassing it is, and I won’t respect you - or, more importantly, love you - any less. This is your first relationship, isn’t it?”

“No, I actually had a whirlwind love affair with the cashier at Burger King.”

“I knew him upsizing your fries to large wasn’t a mistake! How could I have been so blind…”

“You should be thanking him - you’re the one who ate them.”

He grabs your other hand. “Mari… can you look at me, please?”

And how can you say no when he asks so nicely?

“I would celebrate any day spent with you,” he says, looking back and forth from one eye to the other, “because every day that I get to spend with you is a gift.” 

Your first instinct is to make a joke. Ask him if it’s a better gift than what you got him last year for Christmas, or than seeing Reese in handcuffs. Your first instinct is to deflect. And you know he understands that. He understands you, and he loves you despite it.

“Because of it,” he corrects gently. 

You lean forward and kiss him.

It feels exactly like it did six months ago. In fact, you’re in almost the same position you were at the time - sitting on the edge of the bed with your mind reeling and your heart in your hands. The only difference is that Gray is lying on his stomach, and when you move to run your hands through his hair and inadvertently tilt his head back, he sits up. 

“Can you - uh -”

“Sit on your lap?”

A smile grows on his face. “Yes,” he breathes. “That’s… even better than what I was going to suggest.”

He sits back against the wall. After you’ve climbed into his lap, he wraps his arms around you and hugs you close. You already feel much more comfortable here than you did in the staff room, which is what happens when you try to flirt while he’s at work and you’re at school. But this is your room, and your sacred ground to desecrate as you will. Gray laughs at the (literal) inside joke while you kiss him over and over and over, whatever patch of skin your lips can reach.

“Love you,” you whisper as he fumbles with the hem of your shirt. “Love you, love you, love you.”

Love you, your brain repeats as your heart clenches in your chest. Love you, love you, love you. 

“I love you more.”

“Not possible.” 

“Very possible.” He pulls your shirt off and tosses it across the room. “And happening.”

“I don’t think so.” You stick your fingers under his henley and run them up his chest. “I think if you look at the brain scans in my medical record you’d just see the word ‘GRAYSON’ over and over and over again.”

“I think you’re the only person I’ve ever met who would use medical records as a flirting tactic...” 

Before you can think of a hilarious comeback, you hear your brother downstairs.

“I’M HOOOOOOOME!”

You know the reason he’s calling out as opposed to taking a pitstop in your cranium is because he already has, and he’s probably seen one too many inappropriate thoughts about his best friend to want to linger. You climb down from Gray’s lap and clamber off the bed with a sigh, intent on finding your shirt as soon as possible. However, just as you’re starting to bend over, Gray wraps an arm around your torso and pulls you flush against his chest.

“Pack a bag,” he whispers, then kisses the space behind your ear. “I believe we have unfinished business.”