#patrick ball fluff

His long legs are stretched out under the table, one arm folded behind his head, the other loosely wrapped around a paper coffee cup that has definitely gone cold. His sunglasses are slightly crooked on his nose, lashes resting heavy against his cheeks.

For once the almighty Frank Langdon looks soft.

You ease the door shut behind you, gentle, careful. The last thing you want is to wake him. He looks like he fought a war yesterday. Which, knowing this place… he probably did.

You move quietly around the counter, grabbing your own coffee, but the old machine makes that obnoxious grinding noise and-

Frank shifts and one eye cracks open, “You’re loud,” he mutters, voice rough with sleep.

You blink at him. “Good morning to you too, sunshine.”

His mouth twitches, it’s not quite a smile, but close.

You lean against the counter, studying how beat he looks. “You sleep here?”

“Power nap,” he corrects automatically.

“You were snoring.”

“I don’t snore.”

“Oh but you absolutely do.”

Now he opens both eyes, fixing you with that tired, unimpressed look he saves just for you, it’s one that should feel intimidating but never quite does.

“Do you have a clinical reason for being this annoying this early in the morning,” he asks, “or am I special?”

You grin into your coffee, “Missed you too, Langdon.”

That does something to his face. It’s small. Quick. Easy to miss if you weren’t already watching him like it was your favorite hobby.

But his shoulders drop a fraction and his voice, when he speaks again, is quieter, “You just saw me twelve hours ago.”

“Yeah,” you say softly, pushing off the counter. “Long time.”

“You look exhausted,” you murmur.

His eyes flick up to yours, “Long shift,” he says finally.

You hum, soft. Understanding. Always too understanding with him.

“C’mon,” you say gently, nodding toward the coffee machine. “I’ll make you a fresh one. The one you’re holding looks like it fought in the Civil War.”

“…You’re not funny.”

You’re already turning away, grabbing a clean cup.

“I’m hilarious. You’re just sleep-deprived.”

Behind you, there’s a quiet rustle of movement before Frank sitting up properly now, rubbing a hand down his face, “Thanks.”

You pause.

Because Frank Langdon doesn’t say thanks very often.

But you don’t make it a big deal out of it, you just glance back over your shoulder and give him a small, easy smile, “Yeah,” you say lightly. “You’re Welcome.”