#peachglazewrites

A rock, a piece of rubble, your own foot, you don’t know what it is, but you trip on something. Your legs give out under you, rifle tumbling from your grip and clattering against the asphalt as your hands fly out to catch you. The fabric of your cargos rip as you skid, your cheek grazing and cutting on the jagged rocks beneath you.

That guttural clicking doesn’t stop, even when you do. It gets closer and closer, and you scramble on your hands and knees, reaching for your gun. Your fingers barely graze the butt of it, just one more push and you’ll have it.

But you can’t move, not any further. Not when the clicker chasing you has fallen on top of you, pinning you to the ground.

A cry rips from your throat, ragged and gasping and please somebody help—

Multiple gunshots rip through the air, so close it feels like your eardrums might explode. The weight on your back gets heavier as the clicker slumps forwards, head overgrown and expanded with fungus knocking against the back of your own skull. The final, gasping croaks sound right in your ear, hot rancid breath puffing against your cheek.

Fuck, that was so close. Too close.

You want to go home.

⸙

Medical clears you within the hour, one of the medics cleaning up the dirt and grime from your cuts and grazes. You get given a change of clothes and some pain meds to take home, and you end up throwing out your old clothes that are ripped and caked in blood the second you have the chance.

This day has felt so impossibly long. Your body aches, your cheek stings, and your head is pounding. The walk back to your apartment feels too long, the stairs too tall. You just want to be home, sit down, see--

Abby smiles at you as you walk in, looking up when she hears the latch catch on the door. It’s a small thing, soft and affectionate, the way she always greets you. “Honey, hey.”

You feel the ache leave your bones at the sight of her, hair loosely tied back, faded book in her hands. A smile of your own works its way onto your face, unable to hold it back when you’re around her.

“Hey, baby.”

She rises from the sofa, walking over to meet you at the door where you’re kicking off your muddy boots. She holds her arms out for you, hands instinctively finding your hips to pull you in.

That smile of hers falters when you turn to face her, a calloused hand coming up to gently grasp your chin. She tilts your head to the side, thumb brushing just under the graze on your cheek.

“What happened here?”

Bringing a hand up to cover her own, you pull it from your chin. “Nothing.” You bring her knuckles up to your lips, pressing a light kiss to the skin. “Fell out of the truck when we pulled in.”

Flashes of the chase, your fall, the noise of the clicker dying on top of you make you pause, breathing out a trembling breath against Abby’s knuckles. You shouldn’t lie; you know out of anyone that Abby would understand what it’s like to be out there. But you don’t want her to worry, to stress about you more than she likes to.

You look back up at her, pushing the memories of the patrol back.

The corner of Abby’s lips ticks up, just for a second, but you can see the way she’s biting the inside of her cheek. You roll your eyes. “Go ahead.”

Her lips split in a teasing grin, the hand on your hip sliding to the small of your back to pull you closer to her chest. “I didn’t even say anything.”

“You didn’t have to. I know that look.”

She chuckles, a low sound that sends a wave of goosebumps down your arms. “Can’t I find your lack of coordination even a little bit funny?”

“Nope. That’s… spousal abuse, or something.” Despite your grumbling, you let her guide your arms to wrap around her shoulders, linking behind her neck.

Abby’s eyebrows raise, eyes crinkling as she smirks at you. “Spousal, huh?”

“Shut up,” you huff, pointedly looking away. She laughs, thumbs swiping soothing arches across your back as she holds you close.

“Seriously though, you’re okay?”

You look back to her, watching her eyes track the graze on your cheek, a few scabs but mostly just rough skin. You nod, leaning in to press a reassuring kiss to her pouty lips.

“I’m okay. Just a shit end to an already shitty patrol,” you sigh, bumping your forehead against hers, eyes closing. “I want to just sit down and relax tonight, get my mind off it.”

Abby hums, pressing another soft kiss to your lips before straying to the side, gently kissing over your bruised cheek. She moves lower, warm breath fanning across your neck as she noses at and kisses the sensitive skin of your throat. You tip your head to the side, threading a hand in her hair as you pull her closer. It feels nice. Exactly what you need.

The two of you stand there, bodies gently swaying side to side as Abby kisses across every inch of skin she can see. The pounding in your head fades away, replaces by a pleasant buzz that has you clinging onto her tighter, breathing heavier.

She kisses back up to your lips, capturing yours once more before pulling away, smiling at you. “Do you want a drink?”

“A drink would be so good, right now.”

You pull her in for one last kiss before you untangle from each other, Abby breaking off to rummage in the kitchen for two glasses and a bottle of… something. You pad across the carpet and down the steps, sinking down on the sofa where Abby was sitting. The spot is still warm from where she was all curled up, book laying face down on the armrest, Frankenstein.

“Here,” Abby offers, leaning over the back of the sofa to hand you a glass. You lean up, lips pursed as you take it, smiling when Abby leans down to kiss you sweetly.

“Thanks, Abs.”

You take a sip of the amber liquid in the glass, hissing through your teeth as it burns down your throat. You hold the glass above your head when Abby comes round the side of the sofa, dropping herself onto the cushion next to you, jostling you. The liquor in her own glass threatens to splash up the side from the movement.

“Careful, babe,” you laugh, watching as she brings the vessel to her lips. She takes a much longer sip than you, and you find yourself getting warm as she licks the remnants from her lips.

Abby slings one of her arms along the top of the sofa, and you take it as an invitation to snuggle into her side, nursing your glass in your lap. Her hand comes down to rest lightly on your shoulder, thumb sweeping and massaging the tense muscles under her fingers.

A shaky sigh leaves your lips at the feeling, and you tilt you head to rest against her chest to give her more access. “Feels nice.”

Abby hums, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. “You’re real tense. Patrol that bad?”

You nuzzle further into her chest, melting under her hands. “Had to take down some infected out by the highway,” you murmur, blinking away the image of your gun just barely out of your reach. “Nothing crazy, but more eventful than usual.”

“M’sorry.”

“It’s fine.” You press a kiss to her chest. “Just glad to be home.”

You both fall into a comfortable silence; Abby taking occasional sips from her glass as she massages along your shoulders, while yours lay forgotten in your lap. You could fall asleep here, listening to the thumpthump thumpthump of her heart beneath your ear, feeling so warm and comforted and taken care of.

“You know,” Abby starts, voice low. Her heartrate picks up a bit as she swallows, running a finger along the rim of her glass. “I can think of a more effective way of getting rid of all that tension.”

Something hot simmers low in your gut as you blink your eyes open, shifting your head to look up at Abby. She’s looking away, eyes focused on her nearly empty glass.

“You propositioning me, Anderson?”

A smile curls her lips, and her beautiful blue eyes flick down to yours. It feels like the air has been punched out of your lungs as you look at her, freckled face so lovely and close to your own.

“And if I was?” She tilts her head down, the tip of her strong nose brushing against your own.

Your tongue darts out, wetting your lips as your gaze drifts down to hers, full and begging to be kissed. “Then I’d be asking why you aren’t kissing me already”

She surges forwards, the hand massaging your shoulders sliding up to cup the side of your face, pulling you to meet her in the middle. You can’t help the small moan that leaves you as she licks into your mouth, already feeling like putty under her hands from the massage and her soft lips.

You shift in your seat, pressing yourself impossibly closer as the kiss deepens, sharp huffs of breath leaving your noses as you get carried away.

You forget about the glass in your hand, still mostly full of liquor as you bring a hand up, intending to wrap it around her neck to tug her down atop of you. Instead, the alcohol sloshes up the side of the glass and spills in your lap, the cold liquid seeping into your pants.

“Shit—” you hiss, pulling away from Abby. You frown at the dark stain in your lap, the stinging smell assaulting your nose as it soaks through the fabric and wets your thigh.

Abby snorts, looking down and laughing at the wet patch. “Damn, didn’t know I affected you like th— ow!”

“Shut up,” you huff, smacking her arm. “This feels so gross.”

You reluctantly pull yourself from Abby’s arms, holding your glass out in front of you as you rise. “Pass.” You nod to her own glass, practically empty, taking it from her as she holds it out to you.

You place the glasses on the coffee table a couple of feet away, wiping your wet hand on your already wet cargos. Yuck. You’ll have to take them off.

A smirk works its way onto your face, a teasing idea wriggling at the back of your brain. You turn back to face Abby but make no move to walk back to over.

She’s made herself comfortable since you moved, arms hooked over the back of the sofa, thighs spread wide, taking up space. The sofa isn’t huge but can comfortably fit the two of you. With her spread out like that, though, there’s really only going to be one spot for you to sit; and the smirk on her face shows that she knows that.

She’s watching you intently from her spot, blue eyes raking over the lines of your body. She shifts subtly in place, hips twitching.

Neither of you say anything, sitting in charged silence as your hands drift to the hem of your shirt, fiddling with the material. Abby notices and locks right in, watches the way you thumb at the fabric, how you bunch it in your fists. Even as you pull up, dragging the fabric over your head where you can’t see her, you can feel her eyes on you. Never straying.

You drop your shirt onto the floor next to you, discarding it to reach for your hips, fiddling with the button of your damp cargos.

Abby is positively transfixed, shifting in her seat as she pulls her bottom lip between her teeth. Her eyes are boring holes into your hips, watching with bated breath as you pop the button and slowly slide the zipper down your fly. Her hands grip the back of the couch, the veins in her biceps pulsing, chest heaving with deep breaths as you shimmy the fabric down your thighs, stepping out of them when they drop around your ankles.

“Fuck,” she whispers, hooded eyes dragging up your bare legs and across your torso, pausing for a few moments on your chest. She finally meets your gaze once more, the heat behind her eyes making you throb.

“If you don’t get over here…”

You laugh softly, biting your lip as you pad your way back to her. She unhooks her arms from the back of the couch, reaching out for you the moment you’re close enough to drag you onto her wide lap.

Your arms wrap around her neck as you descend on her, lips locking, her large hands roaming. They can’t stay still, rubbing up your thighs, kneading the fat along your hips, dragging up to palm and tease at your tits. She’s devouring you whole, and you can’t do anything but thank her for it.

She pulls from your lips with a groan, placing hot, wet kisses down your jaw and throat.

“Abby—” you moan, tilting your head back to stare at the ceiling, chest heaving with your heavy breaths.

You feel her smirk against your skin, nipping teasingly as her large hands drift down, gripping your hips to roll them down against her own.

“Oh fuck,” she grunts, mouthing hotly at the swell of your chest as you grind against each other.

You need to feel her-- get your hands on her. You ball and scrunch at the back of her shirt until you can reach the hem, pulling desperately to tug it off. Abby pulls away from you for only a moment, just long enough to rip her shirt over her head and throw it behind the sofa. She’s back on you in an instant, the skin of her chest pressing against your own.

You can’t help but sigh at the feeling of her bare back under your fingers, gripping and digging your nails into the skin littered with dozens of tiny scars. Her muscles roll and shift under your hands, and you don’t think you’ll ever tire of the feeling.

“Baby—please,” you begin to whine, the slick slide of your wet underwear against your cunt as you thrust against her making you want more.

“Okay, pretty girl,” Abby shushes, kissing back up your chest and throat. One of the hands on your hips slides down, across the bare skin of your thigh, coming to settle between you to cup your damp cunt. “I’ll take care of you.”

A gasp tears through your throat, ragged breaths panting out from between your swollen lips as she rubs teasingly slow through your underwear. She has you squirming in place, nails biting the skin of her shoulders as you try oh so desperately to grind yourself down on her thick digits.

Abby just chuckles, a low teasing sound that makes you even wetter as she keeps her tortuous pace, capturing your lips to quiet your whining moans.

When it grows too much, when not even her perfect lips can keep your pleas and whines in, Abby slowly begins to sit up, using her large hands to manoeuvre you how she wants.

“Doing so good, honey,” she murmurs, rearranging you on her lap and guiding you to lay face down on the sofa, shifting so that she’s kneeling behind you.

A flutter of nerves unsettles your stomach as you rest your cheek to the cushions, the blossoming bruise on your cheek scratching along the worn fabric. You swallow them back and blink your eyes shut, a moan tumbling from your lips as Abby palms at your ass, hooking her fingers in the waistband of your underwear.

“This okay?”

You nod, responding with another soft moan as she slowly peels the fabric from your cunt, the air cooling along the wetness sticking to your thighs as the fabric falls to your knees. You feel so exposed, hips angled up like this for Abby to see-- but you can’t ignore the way you clench around nothing at the thought.

Her fingers are warm, thick as they slide through the folds of your cunt, dragging slick wetness up to your swollen clit. You jolt as she brushes over it, gasping a choked breath when she begins to rub slow, teasing circles around it.

You begin to feel breathless, like you can’t pull enough air into your lungs, but you can’t find it within you to care when her fingers feel so fucking good, and you need her to fuck you right now—

It’s like she can read your mind. You feel her shift behind you as her circles tighten, holding your hip in place as you squirm and thrust against nothing. Teasing laughs reach your ears before she finally, finally slides her fingers down where you want them.

Abby is never aggressive with you. Her movements, even when rougher than some, never mean to hurt or harm. Not once have you ever been worried or scared or fearful of your safety in the arms of this woman.

But when she presses a hand to your shoulder, drapes her body over your back to pin you to the couch as she works you open, it raises alarm bells. Loud ones.

You start to panic.

Your breathing that was already sharp and quick picks up even more, tears welling up in your eyes and blurring your vision.

“A-Abby—” You try and call out, but it comes out too close to a breathless whine for her to notice anything’s wrong.

“Abby, s-stop— Abby, red! Red!”

Abby pulls away immediately, fingers leaving you as she curses, stumbling a bit for balance as she backs right off. You can’t hold yourself up anymore, collapsing fully on the sofa, legs trembling as you begin to cry.

“Honey, can you lift your hips up f’me? Real quick, I promise,” she murmurs, voice shaky as she waits for you to reply.

You barely muster up a nod, eyes staring out ahead of you and into the room, tears falling freely and dripping off your nose as you whimper. Your legs are still shaky as you raise your hips, just enough for Abby to delicately slide your underwear back up, covering you.

She slips off the sofa behind you, leaving to grab the blanket off the bed. It’s not the softest thing in the world but is big enough to wrap the both of you up in it, so she drags it over to the sofa where you’re still laying, shuddering and trying to breathe.

“Can I touch you, baby? Just to wrap this around you. You think you can sit up for me?” She’s oh so gentle, so patient as she waits for you to give the okay.

You can’t help the whimper that leaves your lips as she touches you, hands pressed against your bare skin as she slowly sits you up. The touch is replaced by the blanket soon after, wrapped around your entire body and tucked up under your chin. Only your face peeks through, and you’re sure you look ridiculous, but you can’t find it in you to care.

It feels warm. Safe. Like you can breathe.

Abby crouches in front of you, shirt still discarded somewhere behind the sofa, careful not to crowd you. “Do you need space, or touch?”

“Space,” you stutter out, tears clinging to your lashes as you try to shake the feeling of the clicker’s disgusting breath against your cheek.

Abby’s eyes widen, only slightly, but enough to betray the fear she’s feeling as she looks at you; watches the rattling breaths leave your swollen lips as you cry in front of her. Nothing like this has happened in all the time you’ve been together. The two of you are usually so in sync, know exactly what the other needs. The only time anything other than ‘green’ has been uttered by either of you was ages ago, when Abby had to call ‘yellow’ because she got incredibly overstimulated; but that was it. ‘Red’ is new, and way more terrifying than either of you thought it would be.

“Would you like me to get you anything?” Abby asks softly, voice thick but pushing through.

You go to shake your head, to decline, but your mouth feels so dry…

“Water, please.”

“Of course, honey.”

She’s up in a flash, rummaging around in the kitchen for a clean glass, grabbing the jug from the mini-fridge you keep tucked under the counter to pour you a nice, cold cup.

She’s back before you can spiral too far down into your thoughts, offering the frosted glass for you to take. Snaking your hands out from under the blankets, your fingers lightly brush hers as you take the water, pressing it to your lips. The glass is damp and sparkling with condensation, the water nice and cold on your tongue as you swallow down the entire thing.

Abby’s ready to take the empty glass from you when you’re done, placing it down gently on the coffee table with the others.

She doesn’t try and broach what just happened, but she does make a point of sticking nearby. She settles down on the floor next to you, back pressed to the couch by your feet, careful not to touch you. It’s a kind gesture, one that you appreciate in this moment as you try and calm yourself down, focused on getting that disgusting, grimey feeling to leave your skin.

You can’t tell how much time passes, it may have been a few minutes, or maybe an hour, but it’s long enough for you to wet your lips, to call out for her.

“Abby…”

She looks up, twisting her body to check you over. Her eyes are so wide, filled to the brim with love and concern. It’s rare they’re this unguarded, even around you.

“Yeah?”

“Can you— I want you up here. Please.”

She climbs onto the sofa without another word, chest still bare as she sits by your side. She hesitates for a second, unsure of what exactly you need, but you crawl into her arms and she doesn’t need to ask anymore-- bundling you up and securing you in her lap.

The blanket is still wrapped around you, and you tug on it enough so that you can press your cheek sticky with tears to her bare skin, desperate to hear her hear that sill beats beneath her skin.

Thumpthump thumpthump thumpthump.

“Are you okay?” She asks it so quietly that you barely catch it, muffled under the sound of her heartbeat.

“Kind of,” you offer weakly, too tired to lie.

“Did I— I didn’t mean to—”

You press a ghost of a kiss to the swell of her chest, over her heart. “It wasn’t you. Not really.”

She swallows, throat clicking as her hands run soothingly up and down your back through the blanket. “Then what…?”

“Patrol,” you start, blinking as you stare off to the side of the room, the place where Abby’s makeshift bookshelf sits, overflowing. “We ran into infected. There were… so many. All trapped in a parking garage, came rushing out when we rolled the door up.  I was—” Your breath hitches, that familiar burning behind your eyes as tears blur your vision.

Abby pulls you in closer, pressing her lips to the top of your head.

“I-I was being chased by a clicker and I tripped, then it fell on top of me, and I was so scared, Abby. I thought I was going to die.”

Abby swears as her hands move along your body, calloused hand cupping your cheek with so much gentleness that it makes you want to cry for a different reason. She slowly picks your head up off her chest, thumb brushing softly under the scabs on your cheek. She’s frowning, lips downturned, and you decide then and there that you never want to see her look at you like this ever again.

“If I knew, I wouldn’t have tried to—”

“Hey, don’t do that,” you interrupt, shaking your head slightly. You sniffle, a couple of stray tears dripping from your lashes. “I didn’t tell you. I thought—I thought I could just forget it happened. It’s not your fault. You did nothing wrong, Abby.”

She’s still frowning, brows drawn together as she wipes away the tears that mar your skin, hot trails that quickly cool in the air. “I’m still sorry.” She leans in, pressing delicate kisses along your cheek, up to your forehead. “The idea of scaring you, it’s— I hate it. I’m so sorry, honey.”

A hand finds its way out of the blankets, coming up to cup her cheek, the two of you mirroring each other. Abby touches your foreheads together and you close your eyes, sitting and breathing the same air.

“I love you,” Abby whispers.

Leaning up, you press a soft kiss to her lips. “I love you too.”

“Did you want to move? Go to bed?” Abby asks, nosing gently at your cheek.

You shake your head, settling back so that you’re resting against her chest once more. “Want to stay here. Do you think… Can you read to me?”

“Yeah, of course. You want to choose something?” Her hands come back to splay against your back, smoothing out the wrinkles of the blanket.

“Could you read from your spot in Frankenstein? I just want to hear your voice, I don’t mind.”

Abby presses her lips to the top of your head. “Course, baby. Let’s shuffle a bit.”

She’s gentle with you as she moves you, shifting the two of you to lay back together on the sofa. You stay cuddled up to her chest, your legs settling between her own as she rests against the armrest, one arm slung across your waist and the other held above the two of you, Frankenstein in hand.

Abby clears her throat, wetting her lips before beginning to read aloud.

“From this day natural philosophy, and particularly chemistry, in the most comprehensive sense of the term, became nearly my sole occupation. I read with ardour those works, so full of genius and discrimination, which modern inquirers…”

Your eyes flutter closed as you lay against her chest, feeling the subtle vibrations of her low voice as she reads. It’s soothing, calming-- a reminder that Abby is here and with you.

You don’t know when you fall asleep, but when you wake up a few hours later you’re still on the sofa, Abby’s chest rising and falling with her sleeping breaths. A strong arm is slung over her eyes, the other still wrapped securely around you.

The blanket has shuffled off of you during your sleep, and you try as quietly and slowly as possible to haul it back up, draping it across the both of you. Abby stirs lightly, the arm covering her eyes coming down to wrap around you, almost as if she sensed you moving about and is trying to keep you from straying too far.

You snuggle back down atop of her, kissing her chest lightly before resting your cheek back against it—skin on skin.

Thumpthump thumpthump thumpthump.

Ellie sits propped up against her bed, legs crossed under her, guitar resting on her thigh as she picks at the strings. Joel just got her new ones yesterday, so she’s been fiddling with it all morning.

Dina has crawled out of the beanbag near her girlfriend to come bother you, kneeling on the floor next to your own.

Jesse was also invited, but got called in to work last minute. Boo.

“What’s got you so giggly over here?” Dina asks, placing a hand on your knee as she leans over, trying to take a peek at your phone.

You pull the device back to your chest, hiding the picture you just sent from her prying eyes. “Nothing,” you say far too quickly. “Just a funny post.”

“Uh huh,” she says, not even a little bit convinced. “Let me see, then.”

“What?”

“The post.” A smirk starts to form on Dina’s lips, knowing she’s got you.  “Let me see it.”

“Oh, it’s—” You shift your gaze away from hers, looking back down at your phone. “It’s gone now. Y’know. The algorithm, and stuff.”

Ellie snorts, rolling her eyes. “The algorithm? That’s the best you can do?”

“Shut up, Ellie,” you hiss, narrowing your eyes at the girl.

Dina, finding an opening, makes a grab for your phone. You yelp, twisting away from her and holding the phone high above your head, out of her grip-- but that doesn’t stop her. She pounces on you, faster than you’re expecting, straddling you on the bean bag as she wrestles you for the device.

You yell, wriggling out from underneath her and falling to the floor with a thump, Dina following and landing on top of you.

“It wasn’t even that funny! Dee, get off of me!” You screech, laughing as you grapple with each other.

“Aha!” Dina cries, prying the phone from your hands and holding it above her head, pressing a palm to your forehead to pin your down. “Now, let’s see this ‘post’, huh?” She taunts, grinning down at you.

You can do nothing but watch helplessly as she looks to your phone, eyes widening at the screen. You catch a brief glimpse of the photo in the reflection of her eyes; the angle of your body as you lay in your sheets, back slightly arched for the camera, delicate blue lace clinging to your hips and chest.

A low whistle leaves her lips.

“Shit, you look good.” Dina squints at the photo, removing her hand from your forehead to pinch at the screen, zooming in. “When did you even buy that? Where did you buy that?”

You sit up enough to snatch your phone away from her, swiping out of the picture before she can look at it any longer.

[1:18pm] Abs 🥊💥: holy shit [1:19pm] Abs 🥊💥: you weren’t lying

“Dude, are you sending nudes from my fucking house?” Ellie asks, eyebrows raised, fingers pausing on her guitar.

Heat crawls across your cheeks, tapping the screen to swipe out of the messaging app and locking your phone. “They’re not nudes. I’m wearing underwear.”

“Babe, there was so much nipple peeking through that thing,” Dina says, still sitting atop of you.

“Okay, well now I’ve gotta see. Gimme.” Ellie reaches, making grabby hands for your phone.

You groan, letting your phone drop face down onto your chest as you cover your face with your hands. “I fucking hate you two.”

“I love you too,” Dina coos, giggling and rolling off of you to lay next to you on the floor, propping herself up on her forearms.

Ellie settles back with her guitar, strumming lightly at the song she’s been working on. “Who are you even sending that shit to, anyways?’

“Is it that butch from the bar last weekend? She was so hot.”

“Hey, I’m right here?” Ellie says, waving her hand to her girlfriend. Dina blows a kiss in her direction.

The hands stay glued to your face as you swallow, throat suddenly thick. You mumble through your fingers, knowing that neither of them would be able to make out what you said. A hand wraps around your wrist, prying it from your face.

“Can’t hear you,” Dina sings, shuffling closer. Her hand slides up, interlacing her fingers with your own, squeezing. “Come on, who is it?”

You nervously look to Dina’s expectant face, behind her to Ellie who’s not looking over, but has her head tilted to make sure she catches every syllable. You turn your head up to look at the ceiling, concentrating on the glow-in-the-dark stars and planets Jesse got Ellie for her birthday last year, unable to look at your friends.

“I’m texting Abby.”

Ellie misses a chord, a slight fumble as she whips her head up to look at you. Dina’s smile shifts slightly, a hint of something sympathetic behind her eyes. She squeezes your hand gently.

“How is she?” Dina asks, watching your profile.

“She’s good. She just got hired at this new boxing studio in the city as a personal trainer. It’s a really good gig, and she enjoys it a lot.” You smile softly, fiddling and twisting one of the rings on your finger. “Pays a lot better than her old gym, too.”

“How’s Owen?” Ellie asks, voice cutting through the hazy air.

Your body tenses, anxiety curling in the pit of your stomach. You knew this was going to happen.

“I don’t know… They uh—They broke up a couple of weeks ago, so I haven’t seen him.”

Ellie scoffs, turning back to her guitar as she mutters something under her breath. You completely miss it, but Dina doesn’t.

“Ellie,” she scolds, leaning over to whack at her ankle.

Your phone buzzes against your chest, and you can’t help but be thankful for the distraction, tilting it up to peek at the preview on the lockscreen. Two text messages block the squished together faces of you, Ellie, and Dina; your and Dina’s lips pressed to either side of Ellie’s freckled cheeks. Jesse stands behind the three of you, hands pressing you and Dina closer to Ellie, grinning as the girl groans and squirms between you.

[1:25pm] Abs 🥊💥: let me come see you [1:25pm] Abs 🥊💥: we can grab food?

You can’t help the small smile that spreads to your lips, biting your cheek as you unlock your phone to reply.

[1:26pm] You: Tonight? [1:27pm] Abs 🥊💥: please 🙏

“Well, it sounds like things are going well for her,” Dina says, rolling on her side to look at you, bringing the hand still laced with yours under her cheek as she rests on it. “New job, hot girl sending her nudes in the middle of the day…”

You roll your eyes, locking your phone and letting it fall back against your chest. “They weren’t nudes.”

“The technicals on whether they’re nudes or not doesn’t matter when they’re that hot. I don’t even send Ellie pictures like that.”

“You don’t send pictures at all,” Ellie pouts.

“Els,” Dina turns to look back at her. “The last time I sent you a photo of my tits, you set it as my contact photo.”

Ellie’s pout smooths out into a knowing smirk, an amused huff leaving her as she reminisces.

Dina turns back to you, rolling her eyes. “Anyway. I guess this means that things are chill with you and Abby again?”

You shrug, fingers flexing amongst her own. “I mean, yeah? We were always chill.”

Her cheek twitches as she forces her smile, her eyes softening into something that you refuse to acknowledge as pitying. “I know,” she says, tentative. “But things were kind of… tense when her and Owen got back together last time, remember?”

You stiffen, that twisting in your gut making you feel ill. “She was just—She just had a lot going on.”

And she did. Her and Manny had to move all of a sudden, she was starting to hate her old job, her truck broke down, and Owen kept trying to reach out again after he was the one to break things off.

So much was going on in Abby’s life, and you were there to help her through it. Late night calls when she couldn’t sleep, motivational texts to get her through her day, a day off from your own job to help Abby and Manny move everything to their new place. Just like a good friend would, because that’s what you are. Good friends.

Good friends who kiss sometimes, whose nighttime calls end in whimpers and soft moans, her voice flowing through the speaker as you cum on your fingers. Good friends who fuck on the mattress on the floor of her new room while her bedframe leans against the wall unbuilt, too desperate to wait until it’s all set up.

That’s just how things are between you. You’re there for her whenever she needs you, and if sometimes that need is something more carnal, driven by lust? As long as you’re both single, you don’t see the issue.

Except she’s never single for long-- those break ups with Owen never truly sticking. Give them a week or two before he starts texting again, another few after that for Abby to text back. And each time you hope, maybe wrongly so, that she won’t do it. That she’ll realise things with Owen just aren’t meant to be, and that maybe she’d be happier with someone else; someone who gives her both the space and attention that she needs.

That she’ll realise that you’ve been here the whole time.

But she never does, and it stings when she texts you that her and Owen are back together, knowing that it’s not just a casual update, but a temporary end to your arrangement— a hiatus, waiting for when they inevitably break up once more.

So yeah, she was busy, but so were you—busy ignoring her texts and her innocent offers to hang out. You promised yourself that you would spare yourself, that you wouldn’t let yourself get hurt anymore by hoping and wishing for something that was never going to happen.

But just like Abby, it only took you a couple of weeks of texts for you to finally respond back.

And so, the cycle continues.

Dina squeezes your hand, feeling you drift off somewhere in your mind. You turn your head slightly to look at her, feeling the familiar sting of embarrassment at the look in her kind eyes.

“I know, babe. We just worry.”

You frown slightly, brows drawing together. “Why? And whose we?”

Ellie scoffs, the sound sharp over the strum of her guitar. “Nice one, Dina.”

She ignores her girlfriend, holding your gaze. “We—Ellie and I—”

“And Jesse.”

“Ellie--” Dina pinches the bridge of her nose, closing her eyes as she tries to tamp down her frustration. “We just want to make sure you’re happy. That this is what you want.” She looks to your again, words spoken soft between you. “All that you want.”

You slowly extricate your hand from hers, pushing up on your forearms to sit. “Of course it is,” you lie-- like a liar. You know neither of them believe you. “This is how it’s always been with Abby. We talk, we hang out, and when we’re single, we ‘hang out’. It’s not a big deal.”

“It’s not. Of course it isn’t. We just—”

Ellie cuts Dina off. “We hate seeing you get hurt over and over.”

You sit up even further, drawing your knees to your chest, making sure your dress falls over your knees. “I’m not— No one’s getting hurt. Abby’s really sweet to me.”

“Then why does she only text you this much when Owen isn’t around?” Ellie asks, guitar forgotten in her lap.

Embarrassment and shame twirl around each other, dancing atop that churning in your gut. Your body heats with it, blood rushing to the highs of your cheeks and the tips of your ears. “That’s not true.”

It is, and you hate that they’ve picked up on it too.

Dina sighs, sitting up with you, placing a gentle and friendly hand on your knee. “It’s okay that she does, but only if you’re okay with it. I know you…” she trails off, pressing her lips into a thin line, hesitating about going there.

That feeling inside of you bursts, lighting you on fire. You feel it down to the tips of your fingers, morphing and changing into something darker— frustration. “Know what, Dina?”

“Look, you’re an adult. You can sleep with whoever you want,” Ellie cuts in. “But you’re not dumb. You know exactly what she’s doing and you’re letting it happen. And if that’s what you get off on, then fine. But we hate seeing her use you like this—”

“Ellie, she’s not using me. I’m not being used.” You stand up, ripping yourself from Dina. “It’s just sex. We both get something out of it, and if I happen to like her company outside of that because she’s my friend, then that just makes it better.”

You stoop down, collecting your bag from next to the beanbag, shoving your phone inside.

Dina calls your name, reaching out for you. You dodge her, stepping back towards the door.

“I’ll… I’ll text you guys later, or something. I have to go.”

♡ ︎♡ ︎♡

Abby tells you to be ready around seven thirty, that she’ll grab you two some dinner before swinging around to pick you up at your place.

It gave you plenty of time to cool down before needing to get ready, crashing and taking a nap the moment you got home from Ellie’s.

You feel guilty for fighting with your friends. As much as you hate the idea of them being able to see through you, to be able to tell how you actually feel-- they’re just trying to look out for you. They love you, want the best for you.

But them knowing… Your friends seeing how infatuated you are with Abby, how you let yourself be dragged along like a dog on a leash, desperate to please and feel desired by her… It makes you feel ashamed.

So, you ignore the texts you wake up to.

[2:31pm] Deedee 😽: Hey babe. I’m sorry about this afternoon. If you’re feeling up to talking about it please let me know. [2:32pm] Deedee 😽: We can go to that bakery you like. My treat. [2:32pm] Deedee 😽: I love you. Be safe 🤍🤍🤍

[2:43pm] 🌿Els 🦕: [message unsent] [2:50pm] 🌿Els 🦕: sorry. dina said that was shit. [2:54pm] 🌿Els 🦕: be careful [2:54pm] 🌿Els 🦕: always here for u [2:55pm] 🌿Els 🦕: 💚

[3:14pm] J-Man 🐴: You’re seeing Abby again?? [3:14pm] J-Man 🐴: That’s cool… [3:17pm] J-Man 🐴: Why didn’t you tell us?

You slowly start getting ready at four, taking a long ‘everything’ shower, only hopping out once your skin is smooth, soft, and smelling of your cherry blossom body wash.

You spend way longer than necessary picking your outfit; something cute but practical for the cooler weather. You make a bit of a mess, but finally end up laying out a combination of pieces on your plush, purple blankets. A babydoll top to wear under a chunky knit cardigan, a long flowing skirt that brushes your calves. You’ve even selected cute underwear, that same blue lace set that you wore in the photo you sent Abby.

You keep your makeup simple, focusing more on your eyes than anything else. Abby described them as doe-like once, and now you make it a habit to spend a bit more time curling your lashes, lining them with a delicate wing. Some blush and a sparkly lip gloss that faintly smells like bubble-gum completes the look. Soft, feminine.

You’re painting your nails when your phone buzzes on your bedside table, interrupting the music playing through the speakers. You lean over, holding your hands out to try to avoid smudging them, glimpsing at the screen.

[7:13pm] Abs 🥊💥: picking up food now [7:14pm] Abs 🥊💥: be there soon, pretty girl ❤️

Your heart beats wildly in your chest, your bottom lip catching between your teeth as you get back to painting your nails. Thoughts of your friends and their concerns drifting from your mind the closer it gets to seven thirty.

It’ll be fine.

It always is, right?

♡ ︎♡ ︎♡

You press a manicured hand over your mouth, supressing your giggles. “He didn’t…”

Abby nods, grinning around her chewed straw. “Yeah, he did. All ‘prom-posal’ style with a big sign and everything.”

“Oh, Jordan,” you sigh. “I’ve only met Leah once and even I know she’d hate to be asked out like that.” You shake your head, reaching into the bag between you for another fry.

Abby shrugs, sucking the last of her shake from the plastic cup. “Well apparently she liked it enough to say yes, so…”

“She was always going to say yes, though,” you say, popping the salty shoestring into your mouth. “They’re obsessed with each other.”

Abby scoffs, humour in her tone, placing the empty cup off to the side. “Yeah, you can say that again.”

The two of you are sitting in the bed of Abby’s truck, shoes kicked off as you curl amongst the blanket and few pillows piled in the back, softening the metal underneath. She’d driven the two of you out to a field, some property a friend of her dad owns, parking under the open night sky. The moon was high and bright, casting a soft glow across everything it touched, giving you just enough light to see.

She looked sinfully good in your driveway when she came to pick you up; leaning against the truck in her muscle tank and utility jeans, a dark green overshirt open and rolled up to her elbows. Her dad’s dog tags from his brief stint in the military right out of high school hang around her neck, a faded friendship bracelet that matches with her best friend Mel tied around her left wrist.

She had grabbed the two of you burgers and shakes from a local diner Abby loves to visit on her cheat days—a strawberry shake for herself and a sweet vanilla one for you.

The night so far has been taken up with picking at each other’s food and catching up all the stuff you’ve forgotten or have been too busy to text about. A lot of it is just gossip, but you don’t mind. You cherish her company, and could happily sit here for hours talking about anything at all as long as she was the one with you.

“How’s the new studio treating you?” You ask, nudging her lightly. You’re still snacking on the fries in the bag, your shake and burger having long since been eaten.

“It’s good. There’s a lot more women on staff at the new place which is nice.” Abby steals a fry from between your fingers, popping it into her mouth.

“Hey!”

She smirks, shrugging and licking the salt from her fingers. You’re momentarily distracted, brain short circuiting as you watch the trail of her tongue.

You swallow, clenching your thighs together as you look back down to the bag. “Less bro-y?”

She laughs, a beautiful sound that warms you from the inside out, reaching for her own fries. “Yeah, much less bro-y.” She shoves a couple in her mouth, covering it as she speaks around her mouthful. “A couple of my clients transferred over when I moved which is good. Felt bad leaving them behind.”

“Did Yara follow? You liked her.”

Abby nods, wiping the salt off her fingers on the thigh of her pants this time. “I’m covering her sessions, actually. Paying out of pocket. She’s had to take in her brother so everything’s kind of gone tits up for her. Boxing was the only thing she does for herself, so…” She shrugs, leaning back against the truck cabin, head tilted up to look at the stars overhead.

You sit there transfixed, lips slightly parted as you look to the woman next to you. She’s gorgeous, her side profile making butterflies stir in your belly. Her nose is strong, slightly curved at the tip, crooked from it getting broken and reset over and over again. Her cheekbones are prominent and littered in freckles, a jagged scar under one eye that she tells you a different story for every time you ask. Her jawline, though strong just like the rest of her, is also surprisingly soft, slightly rounder under her chin-- one of your favourite places to kiss.

Handsome.

“You’re a good person, you know?”

The highs of Abby’s cheeks darken; you can just make out the colour under the light of the moon.  Her eyes flick down to yours. “You flattering me?”

You shift to face her more, leaning against her muscular arm. You catch the way her hazy blue eyes drift from your own, down to your chest which is pressed against her bicep, flesh peeking out from your top. Her cheeks darken even more, a delightful pink that makes her freckles more prominent.

“I’m being serious. You do stuff like this all of the time, just because you felt like it.” Abby’s eyes wander back up to your own. “You’re really kind. I love that about you.”

Something flashes across her face, so quick that you can’t make it out before she schools her expression again, a lazy smirk tugging on her lips.

“Yeah?” She tilts her head slightly, stray strands of hair that have fallen out of her braid tickling her cheeks. “You sure you’re not buttering me up?”

It’s your turn to flush now, skin prickling with heat under her gaze that bores into your own. “And what would I be buttering you up for?” Your voice is quiet, soft between you.

Her eyes roam across your face, down to your lips where you’ve drawn the bottom one between your teeth. One of her calloused hands comes up, cupping your jaw gently to swipe a thumb across your cheek. The pad of her thumb moves to press against your glossy lip, pulling it free.

“I don’t know,” she whispers, leaning in close. “You tell me.”

Her thumb swipes across the tackiness of your lip, the gloss rubbing off and onto her skin, sparkly and smelling like bubble-gum. She leans in impossibly closer, breath smelling like strawberries from her shake, nose bumping against yours softly.

You snake a hand up her broad chest, manicured fist curling into the front of her tank to pull her down, pressing your lips against her own.

You both sigh at the contact, finally feeling each other again after so long. The kiss doesn’t stay gentle, quickly devolving into hungry, messy kisses, Abby licking into your mouth to claim you.

A soft moan spills from your lips and you tug once more, pulling Abby with you as you lean back against the truck, needing to feel her weight against you. Abby obliges, never being able to say no to you when you make those pretty little noises, shifting to cage you in against the cabin of her truck. One of her arms comes up to support her weight as she slides to fit her body between your thighs that you part for her, skirt bunching up to make room.

“Missed this,” Abby groans, pulling away to kiss hotly down the side of your jaw. Her plush lips latch onto the skin of your neck, nipping and licking where your perfume is the strongest.

“Abby—” you gasp, arms wrapping around her neck, nails digging into the muscles of her shoulders as you arch into her, your head tilting back and thumping against the truck.

She hums, kissing down further to your chest, teeth grazing against the swell of your tits being pushed up by your bra. The hand on your cheek moves down, slowly pushing the sleeve of your cardigan and the strap of your top off your shoulder, giving her more skin to bite and suckle on.

You bring a hand up to thread through her hair, nails scratching against her scalp as you push your chest into her mouth. She groans, a deep rumbly sound that goes straight to your cunt.

“Been thinking about this,” you confess, hips twitching as she cups you through your top, barely hold back a whine as she pinches your hardening nipple between thumb and forefinger.

Abby chuckles, vibrations working across your skin as she palms you. “Yeah, sweetheart?” A particularly hard suck on the swell of your tit, making you moan. “What about?”

Soft pants leave your lips, your eyes fluttering closed as the warmth grows between your legs. “Fuck… Y-Your mouth—”

A grin splits Abby’s lips, eyes crinkling as she looks up at you, taking in the way your head is thrown back. “My mouth?”

You nod, swallowing hard as she drifts down, lips taking over for her fingers as she bites you through your top. You whine, high in the back of your throat, blinking your eyes open to look down at her.

She’s so unbelievably hot, big eyes smiling up at you as she teases you between her teeth, drawing those sweet noises from your throat. She’s playing you like a damn fiddle and she’s loving every second of it.

“Mmhm,” you moan, licking your lips. “Always feels so f-fucking good. Need it so bad--”

Abby breaks away from your chest, fingers taking back over the second her mouth leaves you.

“Where?” Her voice is low as she rises up, nosing along your soft skin while she moves up, up, up-- until her lips are barely brushing yours. “Here?”

She leans in, capturing your lips in a desperate kiss, all tongue and teeth and so, so wet. She pulls away far too quickly, a string of spit connecting you, hot breath fanning over your open mouth as you try to pull her back in. “This where you need it, baby?”

You do, you need her to kiss you again so fucking badly, but you know what she’s asking. So, you reluctantly shake your head, looking up into her fiery eyes. She smirks, shifting to kiss back down to your chest, burying herself in the fat of your tits, like she belongs there. She groans, hand moving down to grip your waist as she looks up at you.

“What about here?”

Your hips shift, back arching as you press her closer, feeling yourself growing wetter as she groans in appreciation. Your panties are soaked, thighs hot and sticky as you squirm beneath her.

Your head shakes, not trusting your voice right now while she’s looking up at you like this.

“Oh, I see,” she says teasingly, hand on your waist straying down, fingers dancing along your thigh to where the hem of your skirt is bunched up between you. Sparks shoot through your veins when her hand touches bare skin, thighs clamping around her hips as you feel yourself throb.

God you’re desperate.

Her touch is featherlight, grazing teasingly up under the fabric of your skirt, higher and higher until she reaches the edge of your panties, soft blue lace that tickles her fingertips.

Her strong hand, so big and warm compared to your own, cups you over the lace, ring and middle finger pressing against your weeping cunt. A shuddering gasp leaves your lips, hand in her hair tightening, the other scrunching the fabric of her tank across her back. She moans, muffled against your tits.

“This is where you need it, huh? Can feel how fucking wet you are,” she grunts, pulling away from your chest to lean up, capturing your lips once more in a desperate, hungry kiss.

You whine and keen into her mouth as she works you over, hips stuttering up to grind against her palm, your clit swelling against the friction of your soaked panties.

She pulls back, panting as the two of your catch your breath, eyes hooded as she looks down at you, black swallowing that lovely blue, tongue peaking out to lick at her swollen lips. Without another word she shifts, slowly sliding down your body, leaving hot, open-mouthed kisses in her wake. It’s sensual and so fucking hot, her hand not stilling from where she fucks you through your panties.

She kisses down your sternum, your stomach, your hip, pausing when she gets to the fabric of your skirt. She uses the hand not rubbing at your clit to move it out of the way, smoothing her big hand up your thigh to drag the fabric up, pushing it to bunch at your hips.

Your hips cant up, and Abby gets an eyeful of you for the first time. She swallows, staring down at the lace she instantly recognises from the photo you sent, the blue that sits flush and clinging to the shape of your pussy.

“Fuck, baby,” she groans, moving to rest on her stomach, swollen lips kissing and nipping at the smooth skin of your thighs. “This all f’me?”

“Yes—Abby—All for you,” you whimper, coherent thoughts already slipping from your brain.

She pushes your thighs wider as she moves up, head disappearing underneath the fabric of your skirt as she finally, finally nudges up against your cunt. Her strong nose bumps your clit as she presses against the straining fabric, inhaling deep, tongue pressing thick and flat over the soaked gusset.

You both moan simultaneously, you at the hot, cloying feeling of her tongue against your clothed cunt, her at the first taste of you through the lace.

“Oh god—” You scramble at the fabric of your skirt, tugging it up and tight in your fist to see her pressed between your legs. “T-Take them off—please, I need to feel you—”

Abby’s already got her fingers hooked in the elastic, shuffling back to peel the lingerie off your slick pussy. You bring your knees up to your chest, wrapping an arm around them as you help her slide them off your ankles, biting your lip at the way she grips your calves and manhandles you.

She balls up your panties in her fist, shoving them in the back pocket of her jeans as she settles back down. Her strong hands grip the fat of your hips, pulling you down further on the truck bed so you’re lying flat on your back. She throws one of your legs over her shoulder, the other she presses down to the bed of the truck, opening you wide for her.

“Such a pretty pussy,” she murmurs, breath hot over your cunt, wrapping a strong arm around your thigh, fingers playing lazily in your folds. You squirm beneath her, twitching your hips up towards her face.

“Abby…” you whine, looking down at her, chin touching your heaving chest as you watch, eyes wide and hazy.

She flicks hers up to meet yours, a smirk splitting her lips as she uses two fingers to part you before finally leaning in.

You throw your head back against the blanket at first contact, the flat of her tongue swiping up the entirety of your cunt, the tip lightly flicking against your swollen clit. You take a deep breath, hips twitching under her at the sensation, sharp zaps of electricity setting your nerves alight.

“Shit,” you curse under your breath, the hand gripping your skirt tightening.

Abby hums, indulging in a few more kitten licks before she’s wrapping those swollen. pouty lips around your clit, sucking the bundle into her mouth. She suckles, the lewd slurping sound making your cheeks turn bright red, the rhythmic throb punching the air from your lungs.

She releases you with a smack of her lips, flattening her tongue again to run up through your folds, briefly tonguing at your clenching hole as she passes, but always straying back to your clit, never getting tired of the way it pulses in her mouth.

“So fuckin’ sweet,” she murmurs, accent growing stronger the more pussy drunk she gets. She won’t admit it out loud, but she fucking loves being down here, drinking you up. If she had less shame, she’d beg you for it.

You push at the back of her head, pressing the heel of your foot against her back to urge her on, burying her deeper against you. She groans, messily licking up everything you give her. Drifting down, her nose nudging against your clit as she starts to fuck you with her tongue, the pulsing muscle slowly stretching your out the deeper she gets, slippery and so fucking hot.

You gasp, a choked off sound that has your toes curling as you hold her there, your hips coming up to grind against her face-- the way her nose feels against your clit making your head spin.

“Holy shit—Abs, baby—” You can hardly form a sentence, broken noises leaving your throat as you use her, fuck against her like your own personal toy. You could cum just like this, and she knows it.

Abby grunts, her shoulder dropping to the bed of the truck as a hand slips under her hips, hastily unbuttoning her jeans. A low groan, long and vibrating against your cunt leaves her lips as she sinks the hand past her boxers, shifting up onto her knees to get a better angle. You can feel the way her arm moves under your thigh, the way she rubs furiously at her clit as she fucks you on her tongue, drowning in you as you gush against her nose and mouth.

You lift your head up from the bed, blinking your hazy eyes open to look at the sight before you, the way she pulls you closer with the arm wrapped around your thigh, how deep she’s buried in your pussy as she works her own, the sounds of her wet cunt muffled through her jeans.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck—” you pant, needy sounds growing higher and higher in pitch as you watch her. You want to keep watching, want to sear the image of her fucking herself like this into your brain but your head falls back, back arching as you press up into her mouth.

“Gonna— Abby m’gonna fucking cum—”

“F-Fuck-- Yeah?” Abby groans, flicking her tongue over your sensitive clit. “Gonna cum on my fucking face, pretty girl?” She sucks your clit into her mouth, dragging her tongue over the bundle as you squeal and squirm underneath her.

You let go of your skirt, both hands coming to the back of Abby’s head as you tug on her hair, nails scratching against her scalp. You can’t tell if you’re trying to push her away or keep her there.

“I’m cumming—I’m cumming, I’m—” You mouth drops open, jaw slack as a loud moan spills from your lips. Your hips snap up, freezing in place as your thighs tremble, that coiling feeling in your gut snapping.

Abby groans, lapping hungrily at your cunt as you cum, swallowing everything you have to give her. Her hips twitch as she fucks herself, rocking against her hand as she works herself to the edge.

She’s relentless, suckling you and making borderline pornographic noises as she practically eats you alive. She pulls you closer, using that single arm wrapped around your thigh to bury herself deeper, nose coming back in grind against your throbbing clit.

That familiar feeling builds again, quicker and more intense than before.

“A-Abby you’re gonna—” Her tongue slides deep inside you, curling as she messily thrusts. “O-Oh fuck I’m gonna cum again—”

“Do it,” she murmurs, words slurring together as she fucks you, mind hazy and filled with nothing but your pussy against her face. “Need it so bad—"

Something bursts behind your eyes, white hot and all consuming. Your second orgasm shatters you, nothing but a long keening whine escaping your throat as you lock your thighs around Abby’s face, keeping her pressed so tight against your spasming cunt.

“Shit—I’m—” she gasps, a loud groan ripping from her throat as her own hips stutter, her orgasm rushing through her as she works you through your second, trapped between your thighs.

The muscles in your legs give out, thighs falling open and releasing Abby from where you were crushing her. You have to physically pull her away when it gets too much, when her tongue goes from being perfect and just what you need to overstimulating. “A-Abby… Too much…”

She parts from you with a groan, her wet cheek coated in a lewd mixture of her spit and your cum resting against your twitching thigh. She slips her hand out from her jeans, wiping her slick fingers on her inner thigh as her hips collapse down onto the truck bed.

You both lay there, catching your breath, the hand on your thigh rubbing soothing circles, your fingers gently massaging her scalp.

“That was…” You trail off, blinking your eyes open to look up at the stars. “I think you fucked the words out of me,” you giggle, smile growing as Abby laughs against your thigh, hiding her face against the flesh.

“Shit,” she sighs, laughter in her voice. “I really fucking needed that.”

You hum, raking your nails down her scalp. “Me too.”

♡ ︎♡ ︎♡

It takes you a bit to get situated again, gently cleaning each other up with the wipes you stashed deep in your bag, buttoning up jeans and pulling down skirts. Abby refuses to give you back your panties, keeping them buried in her back pocket for her to take home.

You’re sitting up against the truck cabin, back straight as Abby sits in front of you, letting you comb out and re-braid the hair that you messed up with your tugging and pulling. It’s nice, intimate, makes your heart pound wildly in your chest.

“There.” You finish tying off the end, letting the braid fall against her strong back. “You sure I wasn’t too rough?”

Abby snorts, leaning back to lay against your soft chest. You hook your chin over her shoulder, arms snaking around her middle. “Nah. You never are.”

You hum, pressing a chaste kiss to her cheek. “Just checking.”

The two of you sit there, basking in the post-orgasm glow as the sky glitters above you. The sex is always amazing, but this is your favourite part; where Abby is loose and happy, free with her affections. Where she welcomes your touches and kisses, offering them in return.

It’s so cruel of her.

A buzz from the corner of the truck bed, lower than the purr of the crickets hiding in the grass breaks the peaceful silence. You try your best to ignore it, to cling to Abby in this moment, but it buzzes again, then once more.

Abby sighs, leaning out of your grasp and over to her bag in the corner, rifling through it for her phone. She turns it on as she rests back against your chest.

“Who is it?” You ask, trying to be as casual as possible.

She sighs, locking the screen and dropping it face first onto the blanket next to you. “Owen. He’s been blowing up my phone all day.”

Your stomach drops, the taste of strawberry on your tongue souring at the mention of his name.

You can’t help but feel a bit guilty for your reaction, knowing that really, Owen isn’t that bad of a guy. You’ve met him a few times, and though it kills you to admit it, you enjoyed his company. Everyone does. He’s just… nice.

“What does he want?”

You know what he wants, what stage of the cycle you’re trapped in.

“He wants to meet up, grab coffee or something.” Her voice is even, though slightly softer than usual. She picks at one of the rips in her jeans, no longer looking at the sky.

“Oh.” You shift, clearing your throat. “Are you going to go?”

The muscles in her back tense against your chest. Her breathing stutters, just for a second, before she breaths out long and slow. Resigned.

“Yeah, probably.” Then quieter, so much so you almost don’t catch it, “I miss him.”

Your heart shrivels up in your chest, shame and embarrassment crushing you under its shared weight.

You know how this goes; it happens the same way every single time. But you usually get a bit more time than this, a few more chances to commit the feeling of her to memory before Owen convinces her to ‘meet up to talk’.

“Why?” You ask before you can stop yourself, too much emotion slipping through your voice. “Why do you keep going back to him?”

Abby just shrugs. “It’s easy. He’s… familiar. Safe.” She pauses, like she’s trying to think of things to say, reasons why it should be obvious. “My dad likes him.”

And that’s it. That’s everything she offers you, because she has nothing else to say.

She leans back, bringing a calloused hand up to cup your cheek. You subconsciously tilt into it, your body seeking out every single touch of hers that she so graciously offers you.

She leans in, lips brushing yours ever so softly. Genuine.

Final.

“Come on. Let’s get you home.”

A small smile spreads across your lips as you begin to slowly turn around in the arms, strong hands now splayed across the line of your back. The face that was buried in your shoulder blades now moves to nuzzle between your breasts, warmth blooming through your shirt and onto your skin from her deep breaths. Past a shock of pink hair, side shaved down to a fuzzy dark magenta that sticks out at all angles are broad, naked shoulders—intricate tattoos, a network of gears, pistons and rolling steam working down her back. They shift and move as she pulls you closer, scrunching the material of your sleep shirt in her fists.

Soft snores vibrate against your sternum, and you do your best to stifle your giggle at the way it tickles your skin.

Vi. She must have snuck in late last night, off lending Caitlyn a hand or getting into trouble— or both at the same time. The dismantlement of Shimmer has been a lengthy and tense process, one that requires just as much physical intimidation as reams of paperwork and Council meetings. And despite the many protests-- mostly from her own mother-- the Kiramman heir has taken it upon herself to be just as involved in both ends of the process, dragging along the Zaunite she broke out of Stillwater with paperwork that she’d rather not discuss the legitimacy of.

That same Zaunite who runs ridiculously hot despite being nearly naked, and is snoring away in the softness of your chest.

Over Vi’s head you catch sight of her chest and hand wraps, haphazardly balled up on the bedside table, a trail of her other clothes leading from the slightly ajar doorway to the bed-- her striped pants, stolen jacket, her top.

You hum softly, brushing a hand through her hair to try and tame it. Vi sighs softly, sound muffled against your chest as she melts into your arms, arms relaxing slightly around your middle. It takes a little bit more coaxing, some more petting and a few kisses to the crown of her head before she settles back down, loosening her grip on your enough for you to begin the Sisyphean task that is unravelling yourself from her arms.

You take it slow, soothing her displeased grunts with more trailing kisses as you slip from her, replacing your body with your pillow. She latches onto it, burying her face into the material and relaxing at your familiar scent, throwing a leg across your side of the bed as she sighs into the mattress.

You crawl off the end of the bed, padding your way out of the room and slipping through the ajar door, having successfully completed the morning gauntlet.

In the hallway you yawn, rubbing at your crusted eyes on your way to the bathroom; a brief pitstop to freshen up, to wash your face and wake up a bit more before making your way out to the living room. You find yourself standing in the middle of the room, blinking as you look around, brain still catching up as you try and figure out what you’re going to do with your morning.

Your stomach decides for you, rumbling softly.

Breakfast. You’re going to make breakfast.

You pad into the kitchen, humming softly as you crouch down by the fridge, the cold rush of air chilling your bare legs. There’s not a whole lot inside, reaching the dwindling end of what you managed to buy with your pay. Running through what’s left, you figure you can make some kind of omelette, still having eggs, a couple of peppers, some cheese, and a parcel of meat that you hadn’t used just yet from the butchers. It wouldn’t be the fanciest meal in the world, but it’d be better than nothing.

You grab the hem of your shirt and hold it out, using it as a makeshift basket to collect all of your ingredients to transport them over to the counter. You have to rummage around a bit to find the pan you want to use, Vi having stored it away in a different spot when she did the dishes last, but you grab it and a couple of chopping boards and get right into cooking.

You listen to the noises of the city outside as you work, chopping up your ingredients, grating the cheese, mixing up the eggs. Omelettes are quick and easy, and you have the egg mixture bubbling in the pan in a matter of minutes.

Arms sliding around your waist from behind make you jump, the spatula in your hand nearly fumbling in your grip as you gasp. A warm chuckle is muffled against your shoulder, Vi pressing herself along your back.

“What’s cookin’, good lookin’?”

You roll your eyes, hiding your smile as you lean back against her, into her arms. “You’re so annoying.”

“And you love it. I don’t see what the issue is,” she says, kissing along the exposed skin of your shoulder, the collar of your sleep shirt stretched out enough to slip down your arm, hanging loosely.

“Uh huh,” you drawl, tilting your head back to nose along her cheek. “Good morning.” You kiss just to the left of her lips, skin still warm from sleep.

Vi smiles, the scar on her top lip pinching the skin slightly, exposing a hint of teeth. She leans in, capturing your lips in a lingering kiss. “Morning, sweet thing.”

The pet-name sends a tingle down the back of your neck, a soft flush rising to your cheeks. It’s your favourite one out of the arsenal that she keeps for you, though you’d never tell her that. You’re pretty sure she knows, anyhow.

“What time did you get in last night?”

Vi shrugs, resting her cheek against your back. You bring a hand up, scratching lightly at the back of her head as she gently sways the two of you from side to side. “More like morning. I didn’t even check the time, but the sun was starting to rise when I crossed the bridge. Just wanted to get home to you and sleep.” She yawns, muffling it against your shoulder. “Your thing’s gonna burn.”

You jolt forwards, slipping out of Vi’s arms as she snickers, watching you take the lid off the pan to sprinkle the fillings into the omelette, using the spatula to carefully fold the egg over itself.

You give the cheese some time to melt, the peppers a moment to cook just a bit before shuffling the spatula under the omelette, plating it up. You place a tab of butter in the pan to oil it before turning to Vi.

Your girlfriend is leaning up against the counter, arms crossed over her chest as she looks at you. Her eyes are lowered, locked onto the flesh of your bare legs, though they flick up guiltily when you turn around.

Not that you’re much better, Vi having forgone a shirt like she usually does in the mornings; chest bare and unwrapped, modest but shiny piercings sitting pretty through each nipple. You swear she got them just to distract you, unable to help the way your eyes draw to them whenever they glint in the corner of your vision.

“Eyes are up here, babe.” She’s grinning, her embarrassed flush at getting caught ogling you still colouring her cheeks.

“You know, I think not wearing a shirt in the kitchen is a safety hazard,” you say, holding out the plate for her to take as you avert your gaze.

“Oh yeah?” She takes the plate, leaning in to press a quick kiss to your cheek in thanks. “For you or for me?”

“For all parties,” you huff, amused.

Vi barks a laugh, pressing a hand to the counter behind her before hopping up, sitting herself along the edge. She places her warm plate next to her, gently back on the counter next to her thigh.

“Not gonna eat?” You ask as you turn around, the butter sizzling away in the pan. You pour the remaining egg mixture into the pan, placing the lid back on to let It cook.

“Wanna eat with you.” She kicks her legs, heels of her bare feet thumping softly against the drawers under her. “I feel like it’s been ages since we’ve had breakfast together.”

Warmth blooms in your chest, gooey and sweet as your heart squeezes. You can’t help but turn back to look at her, finding her already looking. Her smile widens when you make eye contact, sending you a cheeky little wink that has you giggling, shyly looking back down to the pan.

Vi has always had this kind of effect on you, able to make you melt and feel like a lovesick teenager again over a single look or a couple of sweet words. It comes almost effortlessly to her, like she doesn’t even have to think about it. It catches you off guard every time, and leaves you flustered and stuttering, unable to think of how to respond and get her back.

Not that you’re unable to. You’ve had your own fair share of moments where you’ve flustered the woman, though they’re usually because of actions rather than words. The first time you bought her flowers she had accepted them and then promptly left, saying she needed a minute. You were convinced she hated them, that you overstepped, but it turned out she’d never received flowers before and had left to hide how weepy it made her.

It makes you a little bit sad sometimes, when you think too hard about how these acts of kindness and romanticism that you don’t even think twice about catch her by surprise. Like she never would have expected you to buy her new wraps when her old ones were hanging on for dear life, or make the trek over the bridge to Piltover to drop her lunch that she forgot off to her in Caitlyn’s office— as if she’d never been treated in such a way before.

You turn and lean against the counter next to the stove, the warmth of the flame heating your side. “You’re cute.”

You catch her with that, pink springing up on the highs of her cheeks. She plays it off though-- plays it off well-- grinning over at you. “Says you.”

Another roll of your eyes, playful. “Just take the compliment, babe.”

“Or what?” A scarred eyebrow raises, challenging, body leaning back to balance on her arms that are propped behind her, strong hands splayed across the counter.

Shit, she looks good. Too good. And she knows it.

You fall right into her little trap, placing the spatula down next to the stove to walk over, slipping between her legs that she opens slightly wider to fit you. Her sweatpants (or were they yours?) are slung low over her hips, a trail of deep magenta hair disappearing past the waistband. You place your hands on her clothed knees, sliding them slowly up her thighs as you look at her.

The muscles jump under your touch, and she brings one of her arms to sling over your shoulder, hand cupping the back of your neck. “So now that you’re here, what’s your plan?”

You shrug, letting her pull you closer. “Didn’t think that far.”

Vi hums, her thumb brushing up and down the sensitive skin on the side of your neck. She zeroes in on the wave of goosebumps that roll over your skin at the touch, smirk widening.

“Are you open for suggestions?”

“Just kiss me already,” you murmur, pushing yourself up to press your lips to hers.

You can feel the shit-eating grin she has as she kisses you back, using the slight height advantage she has on you to take control, thumb still rubbing almost possessively along the side of your neck.

It’s lazy, slow, perfect for a morning like this.

You slide a hand up her hip, settling on the bare skin of her waist to feel the hard muscle underneath, the pocked skin from where people have fought dirtier than her; bringing knives to fights she flies into with her fists. She never complains, though, coming out winning nearly every time.

She feels so nice under your hands, familiar and warm, the smell of your shampoo that she never admits to stealing tickling your nose as you thread a hand into her hair, something crispy and burning—

You pull away, gasping, “The omelette--!”

Vi laughs as you rush back to the pan, fumbling with the lid as you grab the spatula, using it to peek under the egg. It’s a lot darker than you wanted it be, but not totally inedible. You dump the rest of the fillings into the overcooked egg and fold it over, not letting it cook for as long as the first, but just enough to warm up the inside before removing it from the pan.

Placing your plated up omelette next to Vi’s, you can see just how much more burned it is in comparison. The edges are crispy and the egg is a dark brown, rather than the nice golden colour that spreads evenly across your first attempt. With a sigh, you pick the plate up off the counter, only to have it taken out of your hands.

“What— Vi!” You watch as she balances the plate in one hand, shuffling her legs to grab two forks from the drawer underneath her. She holds one out to you, and you take it without thinking.

“Thanks, babe. Smells so good,” she groans, digging in before you can protest.

You huff, taking the plate closest to her and holding it up to your chest, stabbing at it with the fork.

“You didn’t have to take the burnt one,” you murmur around your food, holding a polite hand up to hide your mouth.

Vi shrugs, grinning over at you in response, chewed up egg peeking through her teeth. You groan in disgust, swallowing your own mouthful with a shudder.

“You’re so gross.”

“I love you?” Vi says, wiping across her mouth with the back of her hand.

“I love you too, I guess,” you sigh, unable to hide your fond smile. “You want any sauce?”

She nods, despite her omelette already being half gone. “Yes, please.”

You manage to find some sauce all the way in the back of the fridge, something yellow and spicy that Vi had tried to make herself after eating at Jericho’s one night. She’d taken over the whole kitchen trying to perfect it, sitting you down at the table to try each batch and get feedback.

She eventually gave up and just went to Jericho himself and bought a bottle.

You stand next to Vi as you eat, the two of you basking in the ambient sounds of the morning; forks scraping against plates, the hustle and bustle of the streets below. It’s nice, domestic.

Vi stacks your plates once you’re done, placing both of the forks on the top plate and sliding them off to the side, near the sink. She gently grabs one of your arms, pulling you back between her legs, throwing her arms over your shoulders.

“Thank you for breakfast.” She sighs, content and full. You place your hands back on her thighs, rubbing soothing circles into the muscles. “I need to wife you up already.”

You laugh, squeezing her thighs. “Yeah?”

“Mmhm.” She nods, tilting her head slightly to the side, enough for her hair to fall across her face, a teasing smirk playing at her lips. “You don’t think so?”

“My Violet, I love you dearly, but I am not being proposed to in our kitchen with sauce all over your tits.”

“Sauce on my—” She looks down, bringing a hand to her bare chest to wipe it clean.

There’s nothing there though, tits sauce-free, and you can’t help the snort that leaves you when she looks back up— her brows furrowed, lips pulled into an adorable frown.

“Got ya.”

Her frown morphs into a confused blink of her wide eyes, the cogs turning in her mind before her eyes narrow, lips shifting back into her signature smirk.

“You little shit.”

She pulls you in, squishing your cheeks together as she attacks you with a flurry of kisses all over your face and shoulders, every inch of skin she can get her lips on. You squirm in her grip, the both of you laughing as she locks her legs around your hips, keeping you in place.

Her kisses begin to concentrate more on the soft line of your neck, under your jaw and over your pulse-- your laughter dying down into breathless giggles, then a sharp gasp as she latches on, playfully nipping and sucking at the skin.

“Vi,” you sigh, your hands inching up her thighs as you melt into her grip, letting yourself be pulled closer.

“Hm?” she hums, smiling against your neck as she sooths the sharp sting of a bite with her hot tongue, a shudder running through your spine.

Her hands drift down your body, thumbing the hem of your sleep shirt before inching them up underneath the fabric, smoothing across your bare back. You can feel every scar and callous on her fingers— a fighter’s hands. You can’t get enough of them.

Vi kisses back up your jaw and steals your lips, a sigh tumbling from your mouth as she kisses you deeply.

Your hands slide higher up her thighs, gripping her hips to pull her close towards you, balancing her on the edge of the counter. She presses her chest flush against your own, and the feeling of the jewellery poking through your shirt, brushing along your tits makes you gasp into the kiss.

You can’t keep your hands still, running them up and over her defined torso, tracing the lines of her abdomen and relishing in the way they shift under your touch. Vi huffs as her tongue slides across yours, wet and warm, hand clasping around the back of your neck to tilt your head exactly how she wants it. And you let her.

Your hands inch up, fingers itching the higher they get until finally, you’re brushing your thumbs over her nipples, tugging and teasing on the jewellery.

She grunts and pulls back, bumping her forehead against your own. “Fuck, babe,” she breathes, eyes fluttering closed as you press just a bit harder, palms coming up to squeeze and grope at the soft flesh.

You press a soft kiss to the corner of her lips as you drag your palms down, beginning to roll and pinch at the hardening buds between forefinger and thumb. She hisses, the sound seeping from between her teeth as you kiss her chin, then just under her jaw, until you’re pressing kisses all the way down to her chest. Blunt fingernails dig into the fat of your hip the lower you go, stopping when you’re level with her chest.

Her body tenses under you, waiting expectantly, goosebumps raising along her skin at the feeling of your breath puffing over one of her tits. A soft sound, almost a whine leaves her, and you decide to be kind and finally take pity on her, replacing your rolling fingers with the hot flat of your tongue.

Vi groans, her head falling back to stare at the ceiling as you work her over, switching between slow drags of your tongue and teasing flicks. Her arms slip from your hips, one of them helping to keep her propped up, the other holding the back of your head to keep you against her chest.

“S’good,” she sighs, back arching to press her tits up into your mouth, and you bite gently around her areola, titanium clicking against your teeth.

Wrapping your lips around the swollen bud, you suck it into your mouth, running your tongue over it as your hand keeps working on her other breast. Vi’s hips shift underneath you, twitching up along your clothed stomach. You grin, soft flesh pressed against your lips, eyes flicking up to her face.

Her head drops back down, lips parted as heavier breaths leave her, chest heaving under the attention. She blinks her eyes open, that powder blue slowly being swallowed by the black of her pupil, the ones that widen even more as she catches you watching.

“Don’t f-fucking look at me like that,” she moans, hips thrusting a bit harder now. Her foot digs into the small of her back, pulling you close to give her something more solid to grind against. “Why are you so hot?”

You chuckle, the vibrations making her bite her lip and groan. You pull off with a lewd smack, smiling up at her with faux innocence. “Says you.”

Vi huffs, amused but also slightly frustrated that you stopped. “You stealing my lines, now? Thought—fuck—thought they were annoying.” Her hips are working at a steady, low roll now, and you can feel the heat of her through her sweats, rubbing against your stomach.

You shrug, flicking gently at the bar through her skin. “You’re just too fun to tease,” you say, pinching her to prove your point. “Easy to, I’d argue.”

Her reaction is immediate, her hips pausing, back straightening. “I am not easy,” she says, looking down at you with a hint of something in her blown out eyes-- disbelief, challenge.

You laugh, kissing the underside of her jaw. “Yeah?”

“Uh, yeah—” the words die off into a groan, another pinch to her tits. “That’s not fucking fair,” she sighs, bordering on a whine, tilting her head back to give you more room to kiss at her neck.

“All’s fair in love and war, or however that goes,” you murmur, nosing along where her pulse thumps under her skin before biting down—not enough to hurt or leave a mark, but enough for her to feel. You lave over the skin afterwards, tongue hot and heavy and wet along her skin.

A groan rumbles under your lips, and you’re too distracted by the feeling to notice the hand slipping down your body, the fingers that brush over your underwear until they’re cupping your cunt through the fabric. Your body tenses, and you can’t help the way you gasp against her skin as she presses two fingers up against your clit.

“Sorry,” she says, a teasing lilt to her voice. Her fingers start swirling in light, loose circles, the friction of your underwear sending shocks right through your cunt. “You were saying?”

Your legs tremble slightly, a hand coming to grip her hip tightly as a means to steady yourself. “Now that’s unfair,” you gasp, hips rolling against her hand.

“’All’s fair in love and war’, I thought” she quips back, the circles tightening.

“Shut up—” A moan bubbles from the back of your throat, your forehead falling onto her chest. “Vi, fuck--”

“Scooch,” she murmurs, not quite commanding, chuckling as she unhooks her legs from your back.

You hesitate, not wanting to move too far from her hand, from the delicious grind she has going on your clit, but she starts to slide off the counter, so you take a step back, giving her room. Her hand continues to rub along your cunt, the other coming up to cup your jaw and you bring up into a kiss. She licks into your mouth, and you let her, hands falling to cling onto her biceps as you lean into her.

“It’s cute when you try and act all tough,” she sighs against your swollen lips, loving the way you feel as you melt against her.

Al you can do is whine, and though it’s embarrassing, and you know you’re just making yourself look more pathetic, you can’t seem to find it within you to care when she’s touching you like this. “Vi—”

She gives an amused chuckle, hand slipping away from your soaked underwear to grasp at the fat of your hip. She shushes your protests, pressing lingering kisses to your lips and cheeks as she slips behind you, using her grip on your hips to walk your forward. One of her hands slides up, across the small of your back and to the space between your shoulder blades, gently pushing you down against the counter.

“There you go,” she murmurs, rubbing your hip as your chest presses against the cold tiles, hand running up and down your spine soothingly.

You groan, melting against the counter under Vi’s strong hands, eyes fluttering closed at the feeling. She shuffles up behind you, thigh nudging your own apart, giving her room to press right up against you.

“So fucking pretty.”

Her hand massages along your hip, shifting lower and lower until it’s sliding along your front, slipping back over the fabric of your underwear to rub at your clit again. Her pace is faster, focused, hand on your back pressing you tighter against the tile as your legs tremble slightly beneath you.

She pushes a moan from your lungs, loud as it reverberates around the kitchen, hips thrusting and pushing your ass back against her. Vi grunts at the pressure, at the way the roll of your hips against her fingers starts a grind against her cunt, still pulsing from when she was rubbing herself all over your stomach.

“Want this so bad, huh?” Her fingers slip away from your clit, puffy and so sensitive, trailing up to the hem of your underwear, teasingly dipping in. “You want it, sweet thing?”

You nod against the counter, lips slightly parted, cheeks sticking to the tile. “Baby, please,” you moan, pressing your hips back insistently against hers.

Vi groans, giving in and slipping her hand past the hem. Two fingers slide themselves over either side of your swollen clit, dragging down to where you’re clenching around nothing. She gathers up the arousal there, teasingly pressing against your sopping hole for just a second, then drags it back up to your throbbing clit, playing with it teasingly before picking up her pace again.

You buck against her, a strangled gasp piercing the air, the sound mingling with the slick sounds of your pussy and she swipes over your clit. Your hands come out to grip the edge of the counter, hips grinding down against her hand. “Fuck, Vi—Need you so f-fucking bad—” you moan, growing impatient, body burning with need.

“Need what, baby?” she asks, a little breathless. Her pace doesn’t let up, but she doesn’t give you more, either.

“For fucks—” you groan, hips snapping. “Vi, baby, please… need your fingers in me—” you gasp, cheeks burning hot as you beg her—bent over the kitchen counter and desperate for her to fuck you right here, right now.

She groans, relishing in the way that you buck against her, the way that you move as she grinds her cunt up against the soft flesh of your ass. She kisses across your back, over the cloth of your shirt.

“’Course, pretty girl.”

She reluctantly peels herself off of you, removing her hand from your underwear. You whine at the loss, pushing yourself back to feel her weight back against you, but you’re just met with a breathless chuckle and a pair of hands on your hips.

Her fingers hook into the elastic of your underwear, dragging them down the thick of your thighs, pulling them away from your weeping cunt. They fall by themselves after reaching your knees, slipping to the floor to tangle around your ankles, binding them together.

Vi presses back against you immediately, calloused hands dragging up the back of your spread thighs. “Look at you,” she sighs, a moan slipping past your lips as she ghosts over your cunt, dragging a single digit through your folds. “Fuck, you’re wet.”

“Vi…” Your legs tremble as you press back for more, trying to get a better angle. “Come on, don’t tease…”

You don’t need to see her to know she’s grinning, her finger lightly dragging over you again. She presses lightly against on your clit but doesn’t move, making you jolt at the shock it sends zipping through your veins.

“Violet,” you warn, voice clipped despite the need thrumming through you, your pussy twitching under her hand. You turn back to look at her, glowering over your shoulder.

Vi shifts against you, breath hitching at the use of her full name like that, the way you glare. “Just playing, baby,” she mumbles, and instead of doing something to alleviate the ache, to put you out of your misery, she just taps her finger against your clit, like some kind of fucked up morse code.

You squirm, legs shaking as a moan is ripped from you, the hot sparks that flash through you after each touch causing something to snap, your already thin patience crumbling away.

One of your hands leave the counter, slipping between your legs to grab Vi’s wrist, dragging her hand down to where you need her. You rut against her palm, a long, gasping whine echoing in the kitchen as you thump your head back against the counter.

“Oh fuck,” Vi moans, brain short circuiting as she watches you. “Holy shit.”

“Vi, please fuck me,” you beg, holding her hand tight against you.

She blinks, eyes unfocused and hazy as the scene unfolds in front of her. She takes a shuddering breath, coming back to herself as she finally moves. She grabs your arm-- and your other one to be sure—gripping your wrists in one hand and crossing them behind your back, pressing them down against your skin to lock them in place, effectively pinning you to the counter.

“So impatient,” Vi chuckles.

The two of you have played around like this before, her using her strength to pin you down as she fucks you. You love it, bucking and squirming under her, knowing that she’s got you exactly how she wants, and all you can do is lay there and take it.

But this is… wrong. This isn’t the grip you’re used to—the slightly loose hold around your forearms, wrists free to move and grab at her for stability, or to tap her to let you go if your mouth is full. This is rougher, pinning your wrists with a bit more weight behind it, your hands unable to do anything but clench into fists.

It’s almost too strong. You can’t move.

You would never ever think that Vi would want to hurt you, that she would ever touch you in a way that wasn’t filled with adoration and love—but this feels too much like the hold she uses on people that aren’t you. When she’s pinning them down after a fight, when she’s dealing with awful people who have done awful things.

Suddenly you feel too exposed, like you’ve been caught.

The counter digs harshly into the softness of your hips, cunt on full display to the air, wrists locked behind your back, and you feel like you can’t breathe.

“V-Vi—” you stutter, breathless, so soft. Too soft. “Vi I—”

“I know, baby,” she coos—but she doesn’t. In this very rare moment, she doesn’t know.

You swallow, squirming, but she doesn’t think anything of it.

You begin to panic, breaths leaving you fast and shallow, feeling like your lungs are pressed flat and deflated against the counter, like you can’t get any air into them.

“Violet—” you say louder, more desperate, a tinge of fear in your voice. “Vi—Red—Please, red--!”

She’s off you in an instant, hands up in the air by her face, a slight tremble to them as she stumbles away. What little air you could pull into your lungs leaves in one big rush, your arms dropping away from your back to your sides. Your legs tremble beneath you, the counter the only thing keeping you up as you slump against it, still unable to catch your breath.

Things are somewhat fuzzy around the edges, slow, the darkness behind your eyelids as you blink feeling like it lasts longer and longer each time.

You vaguely hear your name muffled from behind you, hesitant and laced with fear, concern. A head of pink hair rounds to the side of the counter, where you’re facing, Vi squatting down to be in your line of vision.

“Baby? You need to breathe in real deep for me, okay?” Her eyes are wide, roaming your face, hands twitching at her sides like she wants to reach out but is thinking better of it.

It takes you a moment to register what she’s saying, to decipher it in your mind clouded with panic-- and then a few more moments to try. You take as deep of a breath as you can, sealing your lips to hold it.

“Good. You’re doing so good. Now breathe it out real slow, okay? Like this—” She lets out all of the breath in her lungs, out through slightly pursed lips as if she were blowing out a candle. She keeps those piercing eyes on your own, making sure you’re present and listening.

You nod, cheek still squished against the counter, pursing your lips and blowing out. It’s shaky, and you breathe out a bit faster than you should, but Vi just smiles, as reassuring as she can despite the clench of her heart, the fear thrumming through her veins.

“You’re perfect. Just keep going, alright?” She looks over your body, eyes flicking from point to point—the way your bare legs tremble, the underwear that pools at your feet, the clench of your hands against the counter by your side.

She cringes, gut twisting at the vulnerable position you’re in.

“Can I touch you? I just wanna get you dressed.” She watches you carefully, the way you pull in another breath, briefly nodding as you hold it.

She nods back, smile dropping the second she stands up again, slowly moving behind you. “Gonna touch your hip, okay?”

“Okay,” you manage to get out, the burning in your lungs easing just a bit.

Vi gently places a hand on your hip, stabilising you as she leans down, picking up your underwear from the floor and sliding it back up your legs. Your muscles tense the higher she gets up your thighs, and she can do nothing but mutter a series of ‘sorry, I know, I’m so sorry,’ as she settles them back on your hips. She pulls the hem of your shirt down to cover you, though it still doesn’t feel like enough.

Vi’s stepping out of her sweats before she knows it, leaving her in just her boxers. “Gonna put these on you, okay?” She crouches, scrunching up the pant leg and placing it near your foot. “Can you lift your foot for me?”

She helps you step into the sweats, hands brushing ever to lightly over your calves and hips as she pulls them up over you, covering your naked, trembling legs from the air.

“There you go. Did so well for me, baby,” she praises, rubbing soothing circles over your hip, over the fabric of the pants that she can’t even tell who they belong to.

“Vi…” you mumble, voice low, sounding so tired.

“I’ve got you,” she says, voice quiet. “Let’s get you off this counter, yeah? Can you stand?”

You shake your head, clenching and unclenching your hands around the edge of the counter. Your legs feel like jelly, like they’ll buckle underneath you if you try to rely on them to stand.

“That’s okay,” she reassures. “Can I pick you up, then?”

“Yes, please.”

Vi slowly peels you from the counter, gathering you in her arms as she lowers the two of you to the floor. She nestles you across her lap, tucking you up against her bare chest, letting you shift and press against her shoulder to bury yourself into her neck. Your breathing is steadier now, more stable, and the feeling of her bare skin against your frigid cheek helps to ground you further.

Vi’s head tilts down, lips pressing a lingering kiss to your temple. She just keeps you bundled there; strong arms wrapped around your aching limbs.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispers into your skin, kissing it again. “Are you okay?”

You nod, picking up your arms to wrap around her neck, holding yourself impossibly closer. “Yeah.”

She lets out a breath, pulling away just enough to look down at you, eyes searching what she can see of your face. “What happened, sweet girl?”

You swallow, throat thick with lingering fear and a flurry of other emotions, mind still clouded with them. It takes you a moment to find your words. “I don’t know… You grabbed my wrists and I just—It was too—I don’t know.”

“Hey, it’s okay,” Vi whispers, kissing you again. “Was I too rough?”

You can only shrug. “Kind of? Not in a way that hurt, but it was just… different. Not like how you normally hold me, but like— like I was bad. Like I did something wrong, and you caught me? I can’t explain it.”

Vi stills underneath you, muscles tensing as you speak. You peel your face away from her neck, from where you can hear the breath hitch in her throat. She’s already looking at you, blue eyes wide. She looks devastated.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t— Janna, you know I didn’t mean it, right?” She runs a hand through her hair, head thunking back against the cabinet behind her. “I’m not—I still did it. I can’t excuse that, but I would never do it on purpose. I—”

“Vi,” you murmur, one of your hands sliding from her neck to her jaw. “It’s okay.”

She swallows, the movement shifting under the skin of her neck. You try and guide her to look at you, but she resists.

“Violet.”

She stiffens, finally letting you move her head down to look at you, letting you see the way her lips are downturned, how her scarred brows are drawn tight, her nose crinkled as she holds back her emotions.

“You’re okay,” you reassure.

“I just—the idea of hurting you—”

“You didn’t hurt me,” you interrupt, shaking your head. “I promise. I just got scared.”

Her frown deepens, and you slide your other hand to cup the other side of her jaw, cradling her entire face. She relaxes down into it, letting her eyes flutter closed, the remnants of yesterday’s makeup smudging over her eyelids. You shift in her lap, bumping your forehead against her own.

You both sit there, breathing each other in, letting yourselves take a moment to calm down.

“I’m so sorry. Are you really okay?” Her voice is soft, hesitant in a way that tugs on your heart.

“I’m sure. Just wanna sit here with you. I can’t—I don’t want to move just yet.”

“Of course.”

Her eyes open, and up this close you can see everything swirling behind them, everything she’s keeping locked away-- the things she’ll think about when she can’t go to sleep tonight, mind combing through every second of the morning to find all the ways she failed you. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

She leans in to kiss your cheek, then the other, then your forehead before letting you sink back against her.

You curl yourself up into her arms, drawing your legs up a bit higher against your chest. She slides a hand down to place it on your calf, rubbing soft circles into the muscle as she holds you there. Not having to keep your legs up, you allow yourself to relax, resting your head against her chest, over her heart that you can hear still hammering away in her chest.

“Can you sing for me?”

“Sing?” She asks, blinking down at you.

“The one you hum all the time,” you supply, thinking of how it starts. “Dear friend across the river…”

Vi pauses before nodding, hesitating out of nothing but pure shyness. She never sings openly-- not purposefully, anyways. You mostly catch her humming when she’s busy, concentrating too hard to realise she’s doing it. Sometimes you’ll hear her singing when she’s trying to sleep, like she’s trying to soothe herself.

She shifts in place underneath you, clearing her throat before softly starting to sing the words, voice quiet and warm. She doesn’t look it, but she has a beautiful voice, and you’d give anything to hear it more.

You let your eyes flutter closed, allowing the words and soft vibrations in her chest to soothe you—calming as her heart rate slows to a normal pace, the song working on her as it always does.

Dear friend across the river

My hands are cold and bare

Dear friend across the river

I'll take what you can spare

I ask of you a penny

My fortune, it will be

I ask you without envy

We raise no mighty towers

Our homes are built of stone

So come across the river

And find the world below

Part I

➳ one

➳ two

➳ three

➳ four

➳ five

➳ six

➳ seven

➳ eight

➳ nine

➳ ten

➳ eleven

➳ twelve

➳ thirteen

➳ fourteen

You pull your sleep shirt back on before laying on the floor by the bed, rolling out a yoga mat to cushion yourself as you work through your morning stretches. Abby rolls onto her side, muscled bicep cushioning her head, bleary eyes watching as you shift from one leg to the other. Her hand brushes you every now and again; a touch to the knee, a path trailed down your bicep. Small reminders that you’re still there as she drifts in and out of sleep.

Abby pulls you back to her once you’re up, mat rolled and stored away, changed back into your clothes from the day before.

“Stay with me.” The words are quiet, pressed into the crook of your neck where she buries herself, slinging her arms around your waist.

You huff a small laugh, letting yourself be pulled in, limbs tangling up in her own as she breathes you in. “You know I can’t. I have work and you have training.” You press a kiss to the side of her head, the scent of her shampoo clouding you.

She grunts, the vibration against your neck tickling you. You squirm in her arms, laughing as she holds you tighter, pulling her head back to look at you with her tired eyes, sleep lingering behind them. You brush the hair back from her face before holding it gently between your hands, cradling her.

Words bubble up from within you, pressing insistently at your lips, desperate to be spoken out loud in this moment. Instead, you press your lips to her own, a lingering kiss that she welcomes with a sigh.

You lay there for a few moments, kissing languidly as you hold each other, hands caressing and brushing. When it begins to build, when her hands that were rubbing circles along your hips drift a little lower and you find that familiar heat beginning to coil in your gut, you reluctantly pull away.

“I really do have to go,” you whisper, pressing one last kiss to her swollen lips. “I’ll see you afterwards. I should finish around five, so maybe you could save me a seat in the mess hall?”

Abby huffs—not out of annoyance at you, but the fact that your job is taking you away— but still she nods, stealing one last kiss. “Sure. I’ll see you then.”

You smile, untangling yourself and grabbing the blanket, adjusting it so that it’s back up around her shoulders, just like she has done for you whenever she’s the one to leave this early. Abby’s cheeks darken under the shadows of the bunk, tips of her ears burning with the attention. She’s not used to being treated like this, like she’s something delicate, something to be taken care of and tucked in. And normally it’d make her angry, have her ripping the sheets off and scowling. But you know that you’re not doing it to be condescending, to make fun of her or pity her; but because of something that neither of you have dared to speak out loud.

And Abby trusts you enough to know this too. So, she lets you.

You kiss her cheek, smiling at the heat of her skin before finally pulling away. “See you soon.”

“Bye,” she murmurs, eyes already feeling heavy.

With that you scamper home, quickly changing and freshening up in the small amount of time that you have before you really need to be going—not having had it within you to tell her how late she was making you.

⸙

You arrive to work right on time, scrawling your name on the sign-in sheet before shuffling your way to the back of the tent. Your coat is a bit wet from the rain, the light drizzle that will no doubt pick up into pelting sheets within the hour catching you on the short walk from the stadium, so you hang it up to dry while shoving the rest of your belongings in one of the tubs under the cabinets.

Hands come out to pinch your sides as you stand back up, catching you off guard. You yelp, swearing and spinning around, scowling at the grinning face of Nora. She holds her hands up in surrender, though not at all apologetic.

“Sorry, I thought you were Mel’s trainee. My bad,” she teases, laughing as you roll your eyes at her.

Nora grips your biceps, pulling you in for a hug. “Congrats on passing your eval.”

You return the hug, laughing as she grips you tighter and rocks you side to side. “Had any doubts?”

She scoffs, pulling back to look at you. “In you? None. I don’t know if you read my report, but I basically kissed your ass the whole time.”

You did read her report, filled with examples on how you surprised and challenged her, how she’s barely had to step in at all and was basically just there due to regulation.

“Hm, I don’t recall. Maybe you have to just tell me…”

“Okay, moment’s over.” Nora shoves you gently away from her, making sure that you only stumble back half a step. “Seriously though, I’m proud of you. We all are. I think Mila cried when she heard.”

“Mila cries over everything,” you point out, retreating to the sink to wash up and disinfect.

“She does, but isn’t it good to know that she doesn’t like, secretly hate you or something?” She asks, leaning against the sink next to you as you lather up.

“Nora—” You turn on the tap, leaving behind a smear of unscented soap. “That thought literally never crossed my mind until now.” You look at her, an eyebrow raised. “Don’t you have patients to check up on?”

“Damn, you get the tick from Isaac and now you’re all business,” Nora teases, smirking as she smooths down the front of her shirt. “Fine, I’ll leave you to get ready. But, if you ever need anything today just let me know, alright? I’m gonna be in and out all day; they’ve got me split between here and the long-stay ward inside.”

You turn off the tap with your elbow, reaching for a clean rag to wipe yourself down. “No Maternity?”

“Hell no,” Nora scoffs, almost offended you’d even ask. “Pregnancy scares the fuck out of me, and I don’t get paid nearly enough to step foot in there.”

Her hand comes to your shoulder, squeezing it gently. “Anyway, I’ll see you around. Good luck today. Break a leg, or whatever.”

You laugh, turning to watch her as she leaves for the door. “Are you allowed to say that in here?”

“It’s not a church, I can say whatever I want,” Nora says, waving you off over her shoulder as she disappears around the corner.

You think you’re handling yourself well, so far.

Nobody has come in with anything life threatening yet, though there are plenty of hours left in the day for that to change. Most of your shift has been conducting the routine once-overs as patrols come rolling back in-- a couple of butterfly bandages here, some antiseptic and painkillers there.

You’ve only had to refer to your books once for someone complaining of pain in their abdomen, along the right side. Getting answers for your questions was like pulling teeth, so you resorted to walking through each symptom with them for appendicitis and kidney stones, hoping that you’d be able to find a distinction. You end up sending them home with a small bottle of pain meds small bottle of pain meds and orders to drink at least half a gallon of water a day, telling them to come back if the pain doesn’t let up or gets worse.

Nora pops in and out like she said she would, wandering close by to give you an opportunity to call on her if needed, but you don’t, and each time she walks away with a proud smile on her face.

There’s only a few hours left of your shift. You’re in the sterilisation room, it being your turn to wipe down the carts and clean various lots of medical equipment in hot, soapy water. You’re just finishing up packaging the freshly dried instruments for the autoclave when there’s a soft clearing of somebody’s throat behind you. Your head perks up, throwing a look over your shoulder to see who it is.

A familiar frame takes up the doorway that’s open just enough to peer through, one that you last saw all tucked up in bed just that morning. A heather grey shirt clings to her torso, still slightly damp from the rain outside. Her cargos are somewhat muddy at the knee, and it looks like she haphazardly wiped down her combat boots before entering the tent.

Abby smiles at you, somewhat shy as she looks around the room, taking in all the equipment that is usually hidden away from her sight. She’s got a swipe of dirt under her cheek, and her temples are still somewhat damp-- with rain or sweat you don’t know, but she looks good either way.

Your heart flutters in your chest at the sight of her, a smile coming to your lips. “I’ll be out in a second, just have to put these away.”

Abby nods, stepping back and letting the door close behind her, waiting patiently outside of the room.

You load the autoclave and close it all up, double checking before you remove your apron, hooking it by the door before you slip out.

“Hey,” Abby greets simply, standing in the middle of the quiet hallway. The sterilisation room is somewhat in the back of the winding tent, the commotion of the large front rooms where all the patients are muffled through the walls.

“Hey, yourself,” you reply, smiling. “How was training?”

“Fine. Had to do one of those multi-stage fitness tests. My quads are killing me,” she huffs, moving to lean against the wall of the tent.

You frown slightly, stepping closer. “You need me to get you anything?”

She waves you off, a small shake of her head. “I’m fine, just a lot of running. Jacinta and I were the last ones left so…” She shrugs.

“So, you overdid it.” Your arms cross against your chest, one of your eyebrows raising as you look at her.

Abby says nothing, though the corner of her mouth does tick up in a little smirk.

“Did you win at least?”

She scoffs, offended. “Of course I did. Who do you think I am?”

Laughing softly, you shake your head, resigned. “What am I gonna do with you, hm?” You hum as you lean in, closer than what could be considered purely platonic from an outsider’s perspective.

Your hand reaches out, fingers brushing over the fabric of the combat belt secured around her hips, finger hooking into one of her belt loops to tug on teasingly. Abby’s smirk widens, lazy and confident.

“Something good, I hope.”

Your bottom lip is drawn between your teeth, failing to hide the way your smile widens as you look at her, taking her in. Your eyes drag down to her own lips, the ones that you want to kiss so bad but know that you shouldn’t. Not here. And from the way Abby’s looking at you, you know she’s thinking the exact same thing.

She clears her throat, forcing herself to look away from you and down at her hands. “I got you lunch. I didn’t know what you were in the mood for, so I figured stir fry was a safe bet.”

You blink, also looking down at her hands, surprised to see a reusable container clutched in her grip. She fiddles with the lip of the lid, snapping and unsnapping one of the closures along the side.

“Abby… You didn’t have to do that,” you murmur, cheeks flushing at her thoughtfulness. Warmth blooms in your chest, heart beating a little bit faster. You look back to her, at her little smile and dirty face.

She just shrugs, offering the container out to you. “I wanted to. It’s your first day, and I was worried you’d stress yourself out so much that you’d forget to eat.”

And you did. You hadn’t thought about taking a break for lunch at all today, but now that it’s being offered to you, your stomach feels like it’s about to digest itself.

You quickly glance down the hallway, making sure that you two are alone and hidden from any prying eyes or ears before reaching up, gently grasping Abby’s chin between forefinger and thumb.

“You’re really sweet,” you sigh, leaning in as you tip her head down, just enough to press a kiss to her lips. It’s not as chaste as it should be, Abby reaching out to smooth a hand over your hip to keep you there for just a moment longer, but you still pull away long before you’d like to. “Thank you, baby.”

Abby straightens a little bit at the endearment, tips of her ears growing pink under her tan. You gently take the container from her proffered hand, stepping back to a more friendly distance.

“You’re welcome,” she replies belatedly, scratching at her jaw idly in an attempt to act casual.

Cute.

You turn the container in your hand, feeling the warmth seep right down to your aching bones.

She seems better today, better than how you found her yesterday. That seems to be the way with her, letting her emotions build until they manifest outwardly, and when she realises others are noticing, she draws them all back in. You wish she wouldn't have to do that, that she didn't feel like that was the only way to handle them, but you know it'd take a lot more than you asking for her to try to fix things.

“Hey," you start, pulling yourself from your thoughts. "I heard Jenn over the radio this morning say that it was gonna snow tomorrow. First one of the season.”

“Oh, cool.” Abby says, trying her best to keep up with the small talk. “Glad we moved training to today, then.”

“So, you’re free tomorrow?” You ask, somewhat hopeful.

Abby thinks for a moment, trying to remember her schedule. “I mean, I have a meeting with the fitness club in the morning, but I don’t think I have anything after that… Why?”

You look down to the container, suddenly feeling shy. “I was thinking maybe you’d want to come over. Watch the snow? Mel and I are on different shifts tomorrow, so I have the place to myself. But if you’d rather do something else with your day off that’s fine too—”

“I’d love to.” Her reply is immediate. Sincere.

Your shoulders relax, and you find the courage to look back up at her. “Okay. It’s a date, then.”

The two of you have spent so much time together, visiting the gym, eating meals together, spending the night at each other’s places. And while they’ve all been fun, and you cherish each moment, neither of you have bothered to label them.

You realise the second the words leave your lips that this will be the first one; the first time you will have hung out with the intentions of it being a date.

The colour comes back to Abby’s cheeks, painting the highs of them and making her freckles more prominent. She nods, clearing her throat as she looks off to the side. “A date,” she agrees, flicking her eyes back to yours, small smile playing on her lps.

⸙

Just as Jenn said on the radio yesterday, it does snow.

The mid-morning light diffuses through the flecks of white, drifting slowly to blanket the ground beneath the clouds. You drew the curtains back the second you woke up, taking a moment to just stand and watch.

It reminds you of Denver, of being woken up by your mom and taken out to the small, guarded courtyard of the QZ apartment block, standing with your head tilted back as you look up at the sky. Feeling the tickle of snow falling softly against your cheeks and settling on your lashes. Blinking your wide eyes open and spotting the armed soldiers patrolling the rooftops, black tactical gear sticking out like a sore thumb against the white and grey, so many pairs of eyes on the two of you as you play innocently in the snow.

There’s not much you miss about Denver; anything worth missing having disappeared the moment you shut the apartment door behind you, alone, boots covered in ash and soot from The Pits. You feel no homesickness, no desire to go back. It was never the QZ itself that made you feel safe or comforted, but your parents. The feeling of being loved and protected.

You would miss that feeling for so long, believing now that your mom and dad were just another layer of ash in The Pits, that you’d never get to experience it ever again. It stays that way even after joining the WLF-- getting thrown right into training with all the other new recruits, only getting a room of your own for a week before suddenly being transferred out to the Serevena. You had to relearn everything there; new people, new protocols, new places to get jumped or attacked from.

It wasn’t until you got to come home to the stadium again, when you were assigned to a new room that you began to have that feeling again-- comfort and safety and love. When you met Mel, then Owen, then everyone else.

When you met Abby.

She arrives just after ten, knocking gently on your door.

“You have a key, you know,” you laugh, grabbing her by the hand and leading her inside.

“I know. I like hearing you run to the door when I knock, though.” She drops a kiss to the top of your head, wrapping you up against her chest as you shut the door.

“I—I don’t run. I walk at a regular and calm pace,” you protest, tilting your head to glower at her despite your embarrassed stutter.

“Mmhm,” she hums as she buries her face in your neck.

“Can’t I be excited to see you? My girlfriend?”

Abby tenses behind you, and you can feel the heat radiating off of her as she buries her face deeper, hiding. You don’t why, but the word gets her all shy. She can hardly say it without looking away, flustered.

You can’t help but find it especially endearing, and reserve it for moments like this.

“I guess,” she murmurs, lips curved in a small smile at the skin of your neck.

She kisses it lightly, grazing her lips up to just behind your ear, nosing in and kissing you once more. You sigh and tilt your head to the side, letting her kiss along the sensitive skin for a few more moments before forcing yourself to pull away.

“Come on, no distracting me,” you say, smile playing on your lips. “Wanna put a CD on while I make something to drink?”

“Yeah, I can do that.”

You lean in to steal a quick kiss from her, squeezing her hand gently as you step back towards the kitchenette, reaching up on the tips of your toes to reach the higher cabinets where you keep the mugs.

You hear her shuffling around with the CD rack as you set the water to boil, dragging over the tin of powdered hot chocolate you just bought down at the markets. It cost you a pretty penny, but you doubt it’ll be as good as you’re hoping it will be.

“Holy shit,” Abby whispers, sliding a CD from the rack, one of Mel’s. “We used to play this all of the time back at base,” she says, cracking open the case to pop the disk out. “We couldn’t put anything fast or heavy on the speakers because it was ‘too distracting’ or something.” She places the disk in the CD player, the machine making soft mechanical noises as it reads the disk.

Abby flips the case over to the back, reading the track list. “All it did was make me tired.”

You chuckle, spooning the chocolate powder into the mugs. “Then why listen to it?”

Slow instrumental crackles through the speakers, a woman’s voice following soon after. It’s low, almost sultry. You get what Abby means.

“Nostalgia, I guess.”

She steps up behind you as you pour the boiled water into the mugs, using a spoon to stir it all up. Her hands come to hold your hips, pulling you back slightly to stand flush against her chest.

You feel her breath before her lips, kissing the back of your neck softly before inching higher, kissing the skin right next to the last spot. She slowly works her way along your neck and shoulder, chuckling at the small sighs that fall from your lips.

“What happened to not distracting me,” you say, leaning back against her.

“You can pull away at any time,” she murmurs, nuzzling in behind your ear.

A hand reaches up, pressing lightly to the back of her neck as you shift in her arms, enough to tilt back and capture her lips with your own.

“Save it for later, soldier,” you say, lips grazing her own, letting yourself be pulled in for one more before pulling back to finish off your drinks. “Go sit, I’ll bring these over.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Abby says, laughter bleeding through her voice as she lets you go, boots stomping across the room and down the steps.

You take a sip of the hot chocolate to test it, scrunching your nose when it takes like barely anything at all. Hot water with a bit of sugar, really. You reach under the cabinet for the bottle of whiskey you keep there, unscrewing the top to pour some into each of the mugs. Now it’ll taste like sweetened water and whiskey, but it’ll be better than nothing.

Abby’s got her boots off and lined up neatly by the steps, sitting cozy in the corner of the sofa. One of the books she keeps here, a collection of short stories by Shirley Jackson, is already open and in her hands, the nail of her thumb between her teeth as she idly chews on it.

She looks up as you approach, smiling softly and putting the book on the armrest. “Thanks, honey.”

You pass her the mug, making sure she’s got a grip on it before sitting down beside her, thighs touching as you settle in. “I was hoping they’d taste better,” you confess, bringing the mug to your lips.

You eye her as she smells her own mug before taking a sip, closing her eyes to concentrate on the flavour. She hums, shrugging. “It’s not that bad. I’ve had worse.” She holds the mug in her lap, hooking an arm over the back of the sofa. You wriggle yourself to fit snug against her side, leaning against her shoulder.

“Manny and Owen used to try and make moonshine when we were younger. It tasted so bad. I don’t know how we didn’t poison ourselves.”

You chuckle, looking down into your own mug. “He still does, you know. Owen has a whole set up in the aquarium. I still don’t think he knows what he’s doing, to be honest.”

Abby scoffs, going in for another sip. “Yeah, me neither,” she mutters.

You don’t think she’s talking about the moonshine anymore.

“I’m glad you came,” you say, trying to change the subject. “I know watching the snow isn’t the most exciting thing in the world…” you trail off, looking out the window. The snow falls steady now, already a thin blanket of white on the roofs of the buildings down below, the snow getting muddy in the paddocks and on the roads.

“It’s not boring,” she says, looking down at where you’re resting against her. “The view’s nice.”

You tilt your head to look up at her, at her soft smile that makes butterflies flutter like crazy in your gut. “Yeah,” you agree. “It is pretty nice.”

The whiskey “hot chocolate” sits warm in your bellies as you curl up on the couch, mugs empty and placed carefully on the floor next to you. The CD still plays softly in the background, the woman singing about her lover as a piano and some strings meld together in the background.

You’re leaning against the armrest, legs stretched out along the length of the sofa in front of you. One of your legs is bent, foot planted to the cushions to make room for Abby, who lays between your legs. Her back is pressed to your front, head nestled between your breasts as she holds her book up in front of her. She mutters to herself every now and again, reading a line softly under her breath if she finds it especially well written.

Your arms are slung around her neck, fingers splayed over her sternum, feeling the beat of her heart. You play idly with the tail of her braid as you look out the window, thumbing the tie that keeps it in place, the elastic long since overstretched.

“Can I undo this?” You ask, voice quiet in the room.

Abby blinks. She doesn’t startle, but you can tell she wasn’t expecting you to speak. She tilts her head up, looking at you from beneath her lashes before she nods, settling back in with her book.

“Sure.”

You kiss the top of her head, murmuring a thank you before untying the elastic, pulling it over your wrist so you don’t lose it.

You carefully undo her braid, unravelling her hair and raking your fingers through it, combing out any knots as you go along. Once it’s all out you scoop it over one of her shoulders, resting a hand there as the other sinks into the roots, massaging lightly along the back of her head; pressing and smoothing out the tension in her scalp from having her hair pulled back all the time.

A low hum escapes her throat, book falling forgotten in her lap as she tilts her head back into your hands. You can feel her melt against you, the tension she always keeps in her shoulders seeping out, her breaths drawing in a little deeper. She could fall asleep like this, and you’d let her.

One of Abby’s hands reaches up to grasp one of your own, the one resting on her shoulder. She tugs on it gently, pulling it down to rest against her chest, holding it there, thumb smoothing over the skin.

It’s soft, a tender moment, one that you don’t usually get to indulge in in the middle of the day. You’re used to having her like this in the dead of night, or first thing in the morning after you’ve woken up. Stolen moments in hallways and bleachers, knowing that you’ll have to pull away soon to go back to work, or training, or your own apartments.

You wish you knew her in a different time, when this could just be. A different world to the one you live in.

A world where she would kiss you by the door before she leaves for work, and you wouldn’t be left behind scared that that’s the last time you’ll ever see her. A time where there isn’t the threat of war, or death, or something worse around every corner. Just you and her, your friends, and worries that grow no bigger than what will be for dinner that night.

A press of lips to your knuckles pulls you back, back to her, back to the real world. You respond, a lingering kiss pressed to the crown of her head as you scratch lightly at the base of her skull.

“I love you.”

The words are soft, murmured against the top of her head. They tumble from your lips, finally prying themselves free after being swallowed down for so long.

Abby stills atop of you, thumb pausing in its path. The breath hitches in her throat, her chest stuttering with the movement.

Under your hand, her heart beats wildly against her ribcage; just like your own that she can surely hear with her head pressed so close to your chest.

You wet your lips, swallowing thickly. “You don’t have to—”

“That--" she pauses, taking a breath. "It scares me.” Abby confesses, voice small but level.

It catches you off guard, her admission. Abby Anderson doesn’t get scared. At least she doesn’t make it known, let others in on the dirty little secret. Abby Anderson is strong; she can snap the neck of a grown man twice her size with a few easy movements. She’s faced down hundreds of infected, dozens of men. She’s not Isaac’s golden child for nothing.

But then you come along, smiles and warmth, whispering three sweet words into her skin-- and suddenly she’s scared.

She’s hiding a lot behind those three words.

“Why?”

Abby doesn’t make to move away from you, staying settled against your chest, muscles stiff but still pressed against you. She turns her head to look out the window, snow falling gently to the ground.

“Scared it’ll all go away.”

It spears you right in the heart, so deep that you swear you can taste blood on the back of your tongue.

The hand tangled in her hair slides around, smoothing over her jaw to cup at her cheek. She subconsciously leans into it, ever so slightly.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

She shifts in your grip, tilting her head up to look up. You watch the way her throat moves as she swallows, the long line of her neck exposed. Her eyes are hard as they look at you, devoid of the softness they usually have when she looks at you, serious and judging. Her lips are pressed in a deep line, jaw locked tight-- not quite a scowl but not quite anything else.

This is an Abby you haven’t seen in a long time.

“You can’t promise me that.”

“I know.” Your thumb brushes her jaw, feeling the way she grinds her teeth through the flesh of her cheek. You smooth over a scar that curves under the angle of her jaw, slightly raised and almost silver in colour. “But I can promise it’ll take a hell of a lot to make me leave your side.”

You watch her face shift, her expression changing as the words take hold of her. Her brows furrow, the small wrinkle between them becoming a prominent crease as they draw together. Her lips part, just barely, an uneasy breath passing between them. She looks at you, truly looks this time, studying your face for a moment that seems like forever.

“You sound so sure.”

“Because I am,” you say, immediate and without hesitation. Emotions clog your throat as you look at her, the woman you love-- your girlfriend who’s staring up at you like the idea of that is insane to her. “I’ve never been surer about anything in my entire life.”

Her breath catches, lips parting slightly wider as her eyes run over your face; your lips, your jaw, your nose, then finally your own eyes. She searches for any hint of deception, lies with the attempt to placate and soothe— but she finds none.

“I love you, Abby.” You lean down, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I have for a really long time.”

She wets her parted lips, chapped and torn from biting. “Yeah?”

You smile, pressing another soothing kiss to her forehead. “Yeah.”

She’s quiet, in a way that would concern you if you couldn’t feel her on top of you, the way she lets herself relax minutely, her muscles shifting against your chest. She lays there, head tilted back to look at you, ear pressed against where your heart is the loudest.

“I love you too.”

You pull back, just enough to peer down at her, the smile on your lips widening. “Yeah?”

Abby nods, such a certain and steady movement, a small smile of her own twitching her lips as she hears your heart beat impossibly faster in response. “Yeah.”

The woman from the CD sings her final note, powerful and strong as it rings out from the shitty speakers on the other side of the room. The song finished and the player whirrs, having come to the final song of the disk.

Abby blinks up at you, head still tilted to look at you.

“I need you to kiss me,” she murmurs, the words rushing out from somewhere deep inside her.

The angle is slightly awkward, you have to lean over her as she presses up, neck tilted back to slot your lips together-- but it’s perfect. It feels different to all the other times you’ve kissed in a way that you find difficult to describe. It physically feels the same, but the way it makes you feel, the intention behind it... It’s like you feel more.

Abby shifts in your arms, pulling away just enough to turn around, still laying between your legs but her chest is pressed to your own. One of her hands rests behind you, balanced on the armrest as she hovers, holding herself up to be level with your face.

A hand, calloused and scarred, presses to your jaw. The touch is so familiar, so welcomed and warm as she looks at you.

There’s only been a few moments in recent memory that Abby has been able to hide her emotions from you. Even when she tries, when her gaze is hardened and she’s grinding her jaw, you can still get a sense of what she’s feeling. The moment she looks into your eyes, a small piece of her cracks and crumbles, and you get to see a sliver of the girl behind the mask.

Even when she wants you to see, when she decides to be a bit more vulnerable with you, she chooses how much. She chooses how much to show you, how much to let you see.

But as she cups your cheek and looks at you, blue staring into the deep colour of your own, you see so much. There’s a softness, a delicate shine. Her brow is lacking in tension, the small wrinkle from that frowning crease smooth. Her tan skin is flushed, the faintest pink across the bridge of her nose and up her cheeks that make the silver of her scars more prominent.

You realise you’ve seen this look before, in moments similar to this, soft and quiet in the dead of night. In the mornings when you wake up to find she’s been awake for who knows how long already, waiting for you. When she’s gently massaging the muscles in your leg after a long session in the gym, letting you know how much you’ve improved since last time. When she sees you for the first time the moment she gets back from patrol, ignoring her body’s need to sit down for moment in favour of seeing you.

It's love. Raw and unfiltered and God, does it look so beautiful on her.

You kiss her, like if you don’t then you’ll wither away. You kiss her like she is the oxygen you need to breathe. Like she can tame the bull that’s kicking at your ribs-- but she just makes it wilder.

You get lost in each other, in the feeling of her lips on yours, the way you lick into her mouth, the way she nips and pulls at your bottom lip. Hands wander, feeling and smoothing and touching. Just touching and knowing that the other is here, that you’ve got her, and she has you-- that your love is wanted and reciprocated.

Something shifts in the air. Suddenly it’s hot, crackling with energy. The brushes of her hands start to feel electric against your skin, the slide of her tongue along yours makes something low stir in your gut.

A whine builds in the back of your throat, body shifting to press more urgently up against her own, arms wrapping around her shoulders to pull her even closer. She lets herself be moved, dropping her body to cover you, lips never straying from your own.

One of her hands drifts across the line of your body, fingers brushing gently along your side and up the thigh of the leg that’s bent. She shifts the two of you down further onto the sofa cushions, gripping your thigh to give her more room, hips lowering against your own as she settles in.

You jolt at the pressure, a soft gasp tumbling from your lips at the feeling of her so hot and heavy against you. She grunts in reply, her grip shifting down to under your knee, dragging your leg up to hook over her hip, opening you wider. She nestles closer, a rumble leaving her throat as you pull your lips away, kissing down and along the softness under her chin, nipping gently and making her breath hitch.

Her head tilts back to give you more room, exposing the long line of her neck, tan skin warm and spicy under your tongue. You kiss and nip and suck, tongue working against her, addicted to the way she tastes.

You can feel every inch of her against you, body solid against your own. You can’t help the way that your hips twitch, back arching under her off the cushions, tugging on her hair to tilt her head back further, laving over where her pulse thrums beneath the skin.

She groans, the hand on your thigh tightening. Her lips part as pants into the air, looking up at the ceiling.

“Fuck, honey,” she breathes, ending on a gasp when you sink your teeth into her skin, not hard enough to harm, but enough for her to feel.

Her hips roll down against yours, the cold button on her cargos pressing like ice against the exposed skin of your stomach, clothed cunt clenching at the difference in temperature. Your grip changes on her hair, untangling your fingers to press against the back of her head instead. You kiss your way back up to her mouth, pulling her into a desperate kiss.

You encourage her hips with sharp little thrusts of your own, one of your hands straying to clutch at her waist. You hold her against you as she grinds herself down, meeting each of your thrusts with a low roll of her own hips, cunt hot through her cargos. Each brush of her against you sends friction straight to your swollen clit, underwear sticking to your pussy with your growing arousal.

“Abby…” you whimper, your breaths leaving you in pants.

She pulls away, sitting up enough to watch the way your face slackens as she works against you, biting her lip to quiet her own noises-- like she won’t be able to appreciate you with her own moans in the way.

“So pretty,” she murmurs, kissing across your cheeks, your forehead, down your jaw, finding your lips again and licking into your mouth.

You’re feeling overwhelmed, but also not at the same time. A conflicted feeling of your emotions running high, so much happening in your brain and in your heart, but nowhere to relieve it. The friction between your legs is electric, hot and sparking and so good but not enough.

There’re too many layers.

You need to feel her, see her.

You need her.

You pull back, breaths sharp and loud as you pant into each other’s mouths. The both of you make heated eye contact, communicating through this one look alone.

Something snaps, like a bowstring strung too tight.

You’re reaching down, fumbling with the button of her cargos as her fingers scratch along your stomach, hooking past the elastic of your sweats. She tugs, needy and incessant, lips crashing back against your own. You moan as you raise your hips, helping her peel the fabric from your trembling thighs and weeping cunt as you finally undo the closer of her own pants, sliding your hands underneath to drag them and her faded boxers down her hips.

It's clumsy and hurried, a mess of kicking limbs and grasping hands. Abby nearly tips off the sofa as she tries to unhook her cargos from her ankle, balancing herself on shaking legs.

You push yourself up on your forearms, eyes raking down her naked thighs as she kneels between your legs, chest heaving. She grips the hem of her shirt, pulling it up and off in one swift movement, leaving her completely bare in front of you.

She’s beautiful. Tan skin that pales the lower it goes, freckles kissing along her arms and shoulders. Her stomach is strong, toned, muscles tensing as she balances herself, balling her shirt up and dropping it somewhere next to you on the floor.

A soft line of blonde hair trails from just under her belly button to down between her legs, neatly trimmed but sticking slick to her pussy, swollen clit pink and peeking out from between her lips. Her muscled thighs are shiny with her arousal, wet just from humping you.

Her hair falls across her shoulder, slipping like a waterfall down her chest, heaving with her deep breaths. The swell of her tits distracts you momentarily, fingers twitching with the need to get your hands on them; tease her and draw those little noises from her that she just can’t hold back when you play with her.

Instead, you reach from your own shirt, pulling it up over you head in a movement less smooth than her own—but she doesn’t care. Not with how her eyes widen, how they rake over your body and take every inch of you in.

“You’re beautiful, Abby,” you murmur, warmth flooding through your veins as her chest flushes, all the up her neck.

She smiles lazily, eyes hot and fiery and oh so lovely as she looks at you. “Look who’s talking.”

You laugh, rolling your eyes playfully as you reach a hand up, grabbing an arm and pulling her back down to you, her lips already pressing in for a kiss. It’s sweet, gentle despite the thrumming in your veins, the pulse between your legs. A quiet moment amongst the noise, just you and her.

“Love you,” you murmur, quiet but reverent against her lips. She sighs, the sound shuddering her body as she melts against you.

“Love you too,” she replies, just as quiet. Private, only for you and you alone. She kisses you again, hand pressed gently to the middle of your chest, fingers brushing the skin where your heart is hammering away.

It doesn’t take long for the heat to pick back up, for those sweet kisses to turn sinful, the tension in the air between you building until it’s thick and clinging.

Abby reluctantly pulls away with one final kiss, rising to sit back on her knees before you.

She shuffles herself forward on strong thighs, wide and muscled, slotting one underneath your bent thigh, the other carefully thrown over your hip.

A loud moan is ripped from you as she lowers herself, pressing her hot cunt up against your own. Her head tilts forwards, hair falling in her face as she groans, low in her throat at the feeling. You’re trembling already, overwhelmed with how close she is, how intimate this feels. You’ve touched each other in so many ways, have experienced so much of each other’s bodies already, but this? This is something else entirely.

Abby shudders a breath, strong hands finding your thigh once more and she grips it, holding it up to her chest. It opens you up wider, and she shifts her hips in slow, rocking motions, testing and feeling.

You bite your bottom lip, muffling the whimpers that leave you, cunt clenching at the slick noises coming from between you. She huffs, a sharp breath as she works, thighs jolting each time you thrust up against her, eyes fluttering open again when she unwillingly closes them.

Abby swirls her hips, rotating them in a small circle and it’s like an electric shock, her swollen clit bumping and rubbing up against yours. You throw your head back at the feeling, a sharp gasp that shifts into a low moan tumbling from your lips, forearms twitching and threatening to give out at the feeling. Abby curses, nails digging into your thigh and then she’s doing it again, spreading her thighs wider to really grind down against you, dragging your clits together.

“Oh fuck—” she grunts, picking up a pace that has you both panting, thighs trembling.

You whine, a hand coming up to grip the back of the sofa, anchoring you in place as you thrust up against her, clenching around nothing as you fuck yourself on her cunt.

“Abby—Abs, please—” you moan, begging for something you don’t even know. You just want her, need her.

Abby’s nodding though, like she understands, shifting her grip on your leg as she brings it up higher, pressing your calf up against her shoulder. She presses her face to the muscle, feeling her hot breaths as she fucks herself, swirling her stuttering hips.

Your name falls from her lips, quiet and gasping and pleading, like a prayer.

The sounds are pornographic, wet and impossibly loud in the room. Her arousal pools and mixes with your own, coating your thighs and dripping down your pussy. It’s messy and sticky and you’re going to have to clean the fuck out of this couch later, but right now you don’t care.

The rhythm starts to get sloppy, neither of you being able to focus on keeping it up as that pressure builds deep within you, as you feel yourself crawl closer to your peak. You’re working on pure instinct, on the need to feel her fall apart, for you to chase your own release.

“Look so f-fuckin’ pretty, honey,” Abby moans, eyes hooded as she runs her gaze over your body, focusing on the clenching of your muscles, on the way your tits bounce with every thrust.

She sighs at the sight, head tipping back as she ruts down harder, breath hitching and moaning at the slick feeling. “Feels so good, fuck— wanna… wanna watch you cum like this—" Her head drops back down, eyes rolling at a particularly hard thrust.

You grip the sofa tighter, nails biting into the fabric as you groan, nodding. “Abs, c’mere—please,”

Abby drops your leg, lowering it back to the couch as she leans down, the angle making things sharper, the pressure more intense. Your eyes flutter closed, and you whine, long and loud as you rut shamelessly against her. The hand clinging to the sofa comes to her shoulder, curling around the back of her neck. You pull yourself up and her down, crashing your lips together in a hot and desperate kiss.

It's messy, so fucking messy, all tongue and teeth, the slick sounds rivalling those of your cunts. You cling to her tightly, dragging your nails down her back as she fucks you, bodies rocking against the cushions. Her chest sticks to yours, shiny with sweat and hot to the touch, muscles twitching against your own.

“Oh god,” you whimper, pulling away to hide your face in her neck, mouthing at the salty skin. “Abby—Abby—”

“I know, honey,” she grunts, hand coming back to press against the armrest, using it to stabilise herself as she thrusts, sloppy and uncontrolled. “I’m think I’m gonna fuckin’ cum—N-Need you to—” she whines, and you can feel it vibrate against your lips as she tries so hard to keep it together. “Baby, please.”

You nod, head empty, hips moving blindly against her own, wanting nothing more than to feel her fall apart on top of you, watch her cum as she fucks herself on your cunt. Sounds leave your lips like a staccato, so you shift and bite into the skin of her shoulder to muffle them, to ground yourself as you try to hold on just a bit longer, wanting to be able to pay attention when she cums.

The sharp sting, the feeling of your hot tongue against her skin is what does it for her, hips swirling desperately against yours until they snap, her head thrown back as she gasps, ragged and raw. Broken whispers of ‘fuck, fuck, fuck,’ tumble from her open mouth. She cums with her clit grinding right next to her own, clenching on nothing as she gushes all over you, your name whimpering from her lips.

Her hips keep twitching, swirling direct pressure over your clit as if it were her fingers. You breathe harshly into her skin. “I’m gonna cum—oh fuck, Abs, m’gonna fucking cum—”

One last, sharp thrust of your hips has something snapping inside you, body tensing as your eyes roll back, stuttering gasps ripping from your throat.

Abby kisses you, moving to capture your lips as you both work through it, cumming against each other. It’s almost overwhelming, how much she consumes you in this moment. All you can think, breathe, taste, and feel is Abby, Abby, Abby.

You wouldn’t change it for a thing.

She eventually pulls back, her thighs twitching with the strain, both of you gasping as the cold air hits your slick thighs and exposed pussies. She presses a kiss to your lips, then your cheek, before reaching behind her for one of the blankets draped over the back of the sofa, pulling it to cover the two of you. She settles back on her front, slowly stretching her legs out with a groan. You let out a shaky sigh, settling against the sofa cushions and wrapping your arms around her strong back, smoothing the slick skin.

Abby presses small, sweet kisses to your skin, over your chest and up your jaw, finding you lips again. The kiss is slower this time, less desperate, filled to the brim with emotion.

“I love you.” Abby says, voice quiet, slightly hoarse. It’s the first time she says it unprompted, finding the words clogging her throat and feeling compelled to say them.

“I love you too,” you say, and it’s such a relief to finally say it out loud, to not hesitate or feel like the words are forbidden. To look her in the eyes and see what it does to her, the way her eyes soften, lips parting as she lets the words soak in.

She settles back in against your chest, arms coming around you to hold you close. You trace patterns across her back, smoothing the muscles under your hands as she melts against you, like the snow as it continues to fall outside.

You lay there until you can’t anymore, thighs growing uncomfortably sticky and sweat drying salty on your skin. Abby helps you to sit up, your leg aching from all the movement on the cramped sofa—even if you weren’t the one on top.

You both tug on your underwear, covering yourself somewhat as Abby kneels at your feet, soothing your muscles under her strong hands, fingers rubbing at the tender spots to help ease some of the tension. She kisses your knee when she’s done, offering you a hand as she stands.

You let yourself be pulled up, cradling her cheek gently as you kiss her in thanks. She just smiles, soft and private, shrugging before helping you with the task of finding and untangling all your clothes.

A shower is in order, you decide. A nice warm one that will soothe your aching muscles.

Maybe you’ll take one all the way in the back of the block, where it’s hard to see around the corner, where nobody would know that you and Abby are sharing the same spray. Where you can help to wash her hair, and she can lather soap along your back.

Yeah. That’d be nice.

As far as dates go, you’d say this was a pretty good one.

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The weight of the blanket and something else, whatever had fallen on you, grounds you as you scrub at your face, blinking blearily into the light of the room.

Mel leans back up from where she’s placed two steaming mugs on your bedside table. Her gaze softens at your expression; face scrunched in sleepy confusion as you look up at her.

“What the hell was that?”

Perching herself on the end of your bed, Mel tucks her legs up to cross under her and leans forward, riffling around in the depths of your fallen covers to find whatever she dropped on you.

“Today’s the day,” she says, excitement bleeding through her words as she drags out a parcel wrapped neatly in butchers’ paper and twine, placing it back on your lap (a lot gentler this time around). Your name has been delicately written along the top in a neat cursive, the curling tails of the letter much more legible than what you’re used to reading from her.

“Mel,” you sigh, gently picking the parcel up. “You really didn’t have to.”

“As if I wasn’t going to,” she scoffs, picking a piece of lint off from your blanket. She grins at you, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “Just open it.”

Instead of doing so, you push the present gently off your lap and hold a hand out to Mel, palm up. She grabs it without question, and you lock your fingers around her wrist so that you can lean over the edge of the bed, your leg stretching and aching from disuse. Biting at your lip to ignore the pain, you pat around on the floor blindly for the cardboard box you hid under there days before.

“I didn’t wrap mine as pretty,” you say with a grunt, gripping onto the corner of the box and dragging it out into the open. You squeeze Mel’s hand and she helps to pull you back up, the both of you straining and giggling as you lift it up onto the bed. “Here, for you.”

Mel’s palm slides from your own, wrapping instead around the box as she shifts it closer to her.

“Okay, now you didn’t have to.” She turns the box around, examining the small doodles you scribbled alone the sides to try and make it less boring looking. “This is an awfully big box for a mug.”

“Shut up,” you laugh, kicking her gently with a socked foot. “Just open the damn thing.”

“Nope.” Mel lays her hands on the top of the cardboard, drumming her fingers along the surface. “You first.”

You can only say no to Mel so many times in one day, so with a dramatic sigh you relent, settling the parcel back in your lap. The twine tied in a neat bow on the top unravels with a tug of one of its tails, the rough fibres lightly scratching your fingertips as it slips from the paper. Mel had folded the wrapping in such a way that all you had to do was tug a piece of itself from a pocket along the side to undo it, much like an envelope. Your crudely drawn-on cardboard box had nothing on this show of precision from Mel, but you try not to feel so guilty about it.

In your lap, tucked into a neat little pile in the middle of the butchers’ paper were a couple of different things.

The first thing you notice is a keychain, the name ‘Owen’ shining in baby blue glittered letters against a faded backdrop of the Seattle skyline. A sharp laugh leaves your lips, a hand coming up to clap over them in embarrassment.

“Owen got that, if it wasn’t obvious,” Mel says, nodding to the keychain. She rests her chin on a propped-up hand, playfully rolling her eyes. “I told him to get any name that wasn’t your own, and he thought he’d be funny.”

“It’s kind of hilarious,” you chuckle, plucking the keychain from the pile and holding it up to the light. The back is heavily sun-faded, barely being able to make out the name of the gift shop where he got it from— but you wouldn’t give it up for anything.

“I’ll make sure thank him when I see him next.” You grin, sliding the ring of the keychain around your middle finger, keeping it safe against your palm.

The next item in your lap is a neatly folded bundle of fabric, a light blue that could almost be mistaken for grey. The keychain rattles against your hand as you pick it up, giving it a little shake to unfold the material from itself.

“No fucking way,” you laugh, breathy with disbelief.

Your fingers pinch the shoulders of a shirt a size bigger than you’d normally wear, a large cartoon whale splashing across the front with a faded speech bubble that says, “Don’t KRILL my vibe!” coming from its open, smiling mouth.

“When did you get this?” you ask, clutching the shirt to your chest, looking up at Mel.

“When you were at the aquarium. I shoved it down the leg of my pants when you went to look at the keychains.” She shrugs, a lazy smirk curling her thin lips.

“Oh my god,” you laugh, holding out the shirt again to look at the design. “This is amazing. Thank you.”

“There’s one last thing,” Mel says, hooking a finger along the collar of the shirt to tug it down just enough to peek over it. She nods down to your lap, gently taking the shirt from your hands to re-fold and drape it over her knee.

Blinking, you look back down to your lap and sure enough, a small book lay in the centre of the wrapping.

It’s just too big to fit into a pocket, but still small enough that you could keep it in a bag without taking up too much room. It almost looks like a journal, the dark brown leather of the cover closing with a sturdy button snap off to the side. It almost reminds you of Abby’s coin book in a way.

The leather is soft to the touch, even the worn and exposed corners feeling smooth against your skin.

You’re not prepared for the emotions that swell all the way up to your throat when you open the book, the way your heart does a delightful little somersault against the cage of your ribs.

What you’re holding isn’t just any book, but a photo album—one that’s filled to the brim with dozens of pictures of you and your friends.

You recognise them all from different gatherings from he (nearly) two years that you’ve known everyone; hangouts that Manny has organised, parties that Leah has thrown whenever she’s home. You’re in all of them, some with your arms slung drunkenly around your friends, others with your cast still on and people that you both do and don’t know huddled around it with a marker. Most of them are with Mel, candid shots of the two of you giggling together, one of you and Mel trapping a poor Owen on the couch at Jordan’s place, your sleeping bodies slumped on either side of him.

The last photo in the album is one that you actually remember taking; you and Mel with your cheeks pressed together as you grin into the polaroid camera’s lens, gripping onto each other like you’d float away if you didn’t.

A single tear drips off the tip of your nose and splatters onto the plastic sleeve of the album, pulling you back to the present. Pulling the sleeve of the henley over your fist, you wipe away the tear from the book, sniffling back the rest of them.

“What the fuck,” you whine, closing the leather with a creak. You look up at Mel, flushing in embarrassment as she laughs at your damp cheeks and pouting lips. “My presents suck compared to this.”

Mel leans forward, drawing you in for a hug over the gift boxes settled between you, eyes rolling at your self-deprecation. “I’m sure they’re perfect.”

The pilled fabric of her vest tickles your cheek as you pull away, scrubbing at your cheeks and nose with the sleeve of your borrowed shirt.

“Thank you. Everything was so thoughtful, I can’t—I don’t know what else to say,” you stumble, sniffling away the last of your tears. You weren’t prepared to be so caught up in your emotions this morning, your words feeling so far away from you as you try to piece together a proper thank you.

Mel’s hands rub soothingly along your upper arms, head ducking down to meet your reddened eyes. “You’re fine.” She struggles to hide the soft laughter behind her words, which only gets louder when you shove her with an embarrassed huff. “I’m just glad the album was worth it. Manny and I went through too many embarrassing party photos to fill it up.”

“Oh god,” you laugh, leaning back on your hands. “They really need to stop passing the cameras around at those things.”

“Manny really needs to stop developing all of them,” Mel counters, strands of brown hair brushing her lashes as she shakes her head. “He’s got enough blackmail on all of us to last him a lifetime.”

You both grimace at the thought, minds rushing to fill in the silence with hazy memories of drunken escapades and card games where losing comes with a price.

“Anyways, enough of that,” Mel says, slapping her hands down on the box in her lap, the sound breaking you from your thoughts. “I believe I have a mug to open?”

“What if you open it and it isn’t a mug, huh?” You tease, nudging her once more with your foot.

Mel laughs, the sound light as she slips her fingers under the folded flaps of the cardboard. “I’ll love whatever you give me, but I think there’ll be a genuine disappointment if you break our tradition.”

“Tradition?” you playfully scoff, head tilting to the side. “There’s only been one mug.”

“And how sad I’ll be when it dies before it can begin.”

Mel had no reason to worry about being mug-less this year, because of course the first thing she sees when she opens the box resting along her thighs is shiny white ceramic. It’s a little bit chipped along the handle and a coffee ring along the inside that you couldn’t scrub away, but Mel grabs for it and holds it in her hands like it’s a fine piece of china, regardless.

She takes a moment to read the faded design along the front before turning it to you, a mirthful glimmer in her eyes. A cartoon bone stares right at you, bold letters reading ‘I find that humorous’ crackling below it.

“Now this is already better than what I got you,” Mel says, the whites of her teeth showing between her smile.

“I thought it was funny, since you fixed my leg and all.” You wriggle the toes of said leg, the movement strange from within your sock.

Mel laughs, batting your leg away as she shakes her head. “Yeah, yeah, we get it. You’re hilarious.”

“I think you mean… humorous?”

A noise close to a squawk leaves your lips when Mel mock throws the mug at you, the two of you dissolving into giggles as she sets it down gently beside her, nestling it in the softness of your blankets.

The next item is the reason the box you chose was so large, the deep sage canvas bulky despite being folded in on itself.

“It’s the same size as your aquarium one,” you explain as she unfolds the duffel bag, the long over-the-shoulder strap falling into her lap. “But it’s got a waterproof pocket on the inside for your dirty clothes. That way you can separate them. I know you don’t like—”

“—when they make the rest of my stuff stink,” Mel finishes, smiling. Her fingers run gently over the worn, corded straps, fiddles with a paint-chipped zipper. “Thank you. This is really thoughtful.”

You slump a little bit in relief, meeting her kind eyes with a smile of your own. “I’m glad. You already had a bag so I was worried this would be… dumb or something,” you confess.

“Not dumb at all.” She reaches over, gently gripping your knee. “Thank you, seriously. It’ll be nice not having to wash everything twice.”

Mel starts to fold the bag back up, making to put it back into the box before you reach for her arm, stopping her.

“Wait—there’s one last thing. It should be at the bottom.”

She pauses, arching an eyebrow at you. “You really didn’t have to—”

“This one isn’t for you,” you interrupt, letting go of her arm to take the duffel from her. “I mean, it is, but not? You’ll see.”

“If this is something weird that Owen convinced you to get…” Mel starts, scepticism bleeding through her tone-- though she interrupts herself this time, a soft gasp, barely a breath halting the rest of her thoughts.

She reaches an arm into the box, fingers brushing delicately over the puddle tied together with ribbon that sits alone right at the bottom.

“I didn’t know what colour to get, so I chose purple since it’s your favourite. I think it’s a pretty neutral colour too—but not boring like brown or white or something.”

Mel’s quite as she scoops the little bundle out of the box, thumbing the knitted material of the impossibly small beanie, gloves, and booties—the perfect size for a newborn.

“I got something that they could grow into, so that they don’t become useless right after you bring them home. I don’t know much about babies, but I know they grow pretty fast, and for the amount I paid for them I want to make sure they get worn at least twice,” you joke, trying to hide the slight tremble of nervousness that rattles you from the inside out.

It’s been almost a week since Mel came to you about the pregnancy, a very long couple of days brimmed with anxiety. Since the dinner, Mel’s gone and had not one, but two different blood tests just to make sure that she truly was pregnant. Sure enough, her hCG levels came back indicative of a pregnancy, and she was just as nervous telling you the second time round.

It was early stages, maybe only a month she said, so you were really uncertain on whether or not getting her something for the baby would be okay. But you couldn’t stop looking at the bundles when you spotted them the day before, tucked between the scarves and gloves as you were picking up the last of your ordered gifts.

You were hoping maybe Mel would wait a bit longer to exchange gifts, give you a few more days to let things settle before you gave them to her, but you should have known she’d be too eager.

You tug thoughtlessly at the corner of your blanket as Mel stares, the slight rustle of your bouncing leg and the thump of boots outside your door a lot louder in the silence. Mel sniffles suddenly, a shaking hand coming up to swipe at her cheeks. Another tear falls from her lashes when she looks up at you, her bottom lip shiny and wobbling.

“Mel,” you breathe, pushing the boxes in your way to the side, ignoring as they thump onto the floor to you wrap your arms around your friend.

She melts into your grip, resting her forehead against your shoulder while she sniffles, a shaky breath shuddering from her lips.

“Thank you,” she whispers, hands still cupping the tiny clothing in her lap. “This is—Thanks.”

Kissing the side of her head you pull back, just enough to look at her. “I didn’t overstep?”

“No, just… This is real.” Mel looks up at you. “This is happening.”

“And I’m right here with you.” You smile at her, reassuring and loving. “And so will everyone else. You take care of so many people, and now it’s their turn to take care of you. If you let them,” you tease, jostling her gently.

Her brows relax as she laughs, looking back down at the knitted clothing in her lap.

“I still think I would have been disappointed if I didn’t get a mug.”

A laugh leaves you, sharp and loud as you draw Mel back in, crushing her to your chest.

“Noted.”

⸙

The back of your calves are warm with friction, your tote bag hitting against them as you walk, hands clasped behind your back in a nervous stance. The parcels wrapped in glossy magazine pages rustle from inside the tote, a soft fwish fwish noise following you down the residential halls. It was still cold in the building despite it being well into the day, and you nestle your face further into the folds of your scarf, breathing hotly against the material to warm up your bitten lips.

You’d spent the rest of that morning with Mel, drinking your quickly cooling coffees and finding the perfect hiding spot for the gifted baby clothes-- not that anyone who came over had a habit of rifling through your things, but you both knew that if you started getting too comfortable with the secret, that something would slip way before you wanted it to.

Mel left for work right before lunch, leaving you with just under twelve hours of free time before you would have to drag yourself down to the tents. It put you in a tricky spot; enough time to be bored and feel lazy if you laid around, but not enough to fully immerse yourself in a task—not like you would be able to on a full day off.

Getting more sleep was off the menu, the warm pull of it having completely escaped you by that point despite the cold. Caffeine and serotonin thrummed through your veins in a chaotic dance, and you were much to wired to shut your eyes again.

You could work out, having fallen a little behind in the past few days, but you figured that your motivational issues (the lack of your gymrat girlfriend keeping you accountable) wouldn’t have disappeared overnight. You’d also rather not tire yourself out for no reason right before a long shift. You’re calling it a favour to your future self.

It was while you were picking up after the morning, doing your stretches, washing a few dishes and putting away some laundry that you settled on an idea-- the collection of parcels taking up a quarter of your underwear draw looking up at you and your armful of rolled socks.

You already did one gift exchange today. Why not keep going?

That was the idea anyways. So far, you’d had no luck.

Turns out that Owen is out on patrol right now, and when you swung by the tents to see if Nora was looking at a break anytime soon, you found her covered in blood, magnifier pulled down over a soldier’s leg as she slowly pulled pieces of shrapnel from their torn-up flesh.

The mess hall held no results either, only Mr Alverez eating by himself with no idea of where his son was. You did however get a wonderfully embarrassing story from the man about Manny while they were still living in Mexico, one that you couldn’t wait to bring up the next time he decided to tease you, so it wasn’t all bad.

Your steps slow as you reach your destination, the plaque reading 203 lightly lifting at the corner from where it’s stuck next to the wooden door. Your toes curl in your boots, fidgeting as you come to a stop just outside, the welcome mat stiff under your feet from years of stomping mud into the fibres.

You feel nervous standing here. It feels… wrong. You’re not used to associating Abby’s place with anxiety, but this isn’t the first time you’ve been here this week, and each time your knocks have gone unanswered.

Usually when Abby does this, starts feeling too much all at once and makes herself difficult to find, you still end up seeing her. She won’t come knocking on your door, but she’ll make the effort to see you-- a passing glance, an indulgent kiss, a moment to hold you if she’s really missing you. It’s like she can’t help but seek you out, to find the comfort that she’s too proud (or scared) to ask you for. But at least she did. There was still a part of her that let her do so, allowed her that ‘weakness’.

This time she hasn’t. You still see her, but never in her usual spots with the usual people. Instead of the gym, you see her talking to a group of people you don’t recognise near the ammo supply room, standing in a tight circle with their heads pressed close together. Instead of sitting at your table in the mess hall, you spot her storming from the garage, lips twisted in a scowl.

Not once has she come to see you, let her fingers brush discreetly against yours as you pass in a hallway, finding her arm wrapping around your waist as she pulls you into a dark corner.

It’s been a week, and that little feeling you’ve had-- that gut-flipping nausea you felt when Abby explained everything that night, told you about Joel Miller-- has been steadily growing as each day drags by. It’s what made you finally crack; gave you that little push to ignore the part of your brain that says you’re being too much by trying to find her when she clearly wants to be left alone.

Because you love Abby. You trust her to come to you if she was truly hurting, but something about how she’s been acting this week feels more serious than any of the other times. Dangerous, somehow. Like she’s walling herself off, stumbling into a place that she shouldn’t be alone in.

The tote bag swings by your side as you drop your arms, flexing your fingers on your free hand. You take a hesitant step forward, hand coming up in a fist, resting it gently against the wood. A breath, a chance to turn back that you don’t take, then finally a knock on the door.

You wait, tilting an ear to try and hear for anything on the other side.

Silence.

Your grip on the tote bag tightens, the seams of the handles digging into your palm.

You decide to knock again, one more time before you turn back around and go home. Maybe you’ll catch one of them at dinner, or wait until Owen gets back and enlist him to wrangle everyone up for you.

A low sigh sounds from the other side of the door, followed by the clatter of something dropping onto a table. You move back from the door as boots stomp along the floor, the lock flicking just as you’ve stepped off the mat.

“You have keys—”

The words die on her tongue as she peers through the parting of the door, eyes widening slightly as she takes in your form-- clearly expecting Manny instead.

You blink up at her, both hands coming back to the handles of your bag to fiddle with the fabric, finally standing before your girlfriend for the first time in a week.

Abby’s hair is loose, a lazy braid that hangs over her shoulder. It’s enough to keep a majority of her hair back, but that doesn’t stop the shorter strands that frame her face from coming undone and brushing her cheeks no matter how many times she tries to tuck them away. A pencil is wedged behind her ear; the tip roughly shaved down with a blade rather than a sharpener— probably her knife that she never packs on patrol. Despite her boots, her clothing looks more comfortable than her usual day wear, her cargos swapped for a pair of sweats and her henley a bit looser on her frame.

Your fingers twitch as you drink her in, eyes roaming from freckle to scar along the tanned skin of her face. Her eyes are tired, the most tired you’ve ever seen them, deep bags weighing them down. You want to hold her face, kiss them away.

Abby’s face softens, the hard line of her expression shifting the longer you look at her, like just being near your warmth is enough to pull her in-- like she’s coming back to earth, or waking up from a long dream.

“Hi,” you greet, almost shy.

“Hey.” She doesn’t say much else, body moving to lean against the door, feet shifting in place.

There’s a tension building the longer you two stand there, words unsaid in the air between you. It feels weird, uncertain. You realise with a start that it feels awkward.

“I—”

“What—”

You clamp your lips shut, cutting yourself off as Abby starts speaking at the same time. It’s quiet for a moment, but the second you look at her and make eye contact, you can’t help the small laugh that tumbles from your lips.

It’s infectious, and soon Abby is chuckling too, a soft flush rising to the tops of her cheeks as she rests her head on the doorframe.

“You go first,” she offers, the corners of her mouth turned up in a tired smile.

You clear your throat, buying you a few more seconds to compose yourself.

“I missed you,” you confess, voice soft in the hall.

Emotions flick over Abby’s face, so quick that it’s difficult to place them all. Her shoulders roll forwards slightly, slumping in on herself just enough for you to notice, tilting her head more towards you where it rests on the door.

“I missed you too,” she sighs, eyes closing. “I know it doesn’t seem like it. I’ve just…” her eyes open, though she’s looking anywhere but you. “I’ve been busy.”

“Busy, or just needing space?”

Abby stiffens, shifts her weight onto her other foot. She slides her gaze back to you, only able to look you in the eyes for a few seconds before looking away again-- at the floor this time.

“Bit of both,” she admits, voice tight.

“Did you… still want space?” You ask, words stilted. You’d give it to her if she asked you for it. You’d give her the stars and the moon-- but finally being here, talking to her after a week of nothing makes you want to be selfish, has you secretly wishing she’d say otherwise.

She doesn’t answer right away, instead moving to look back into the room, her face disappearing behind the door for a few moments.

“No?” Her voice is muffled, but you can clearly hear how unsure she sounds. “I mean, yes but—” she cuts herself off, coming back to knock her forehead against the doorframe with a sigh. “I am busy. Isaac’s got me running around doing a whole bunch of shit right now.” She shifts in the doorway, opening it slightly wider to fit more of her body through.

She reaches an arm out, fingers tentatively brushing against the back of one of your closed hands. You don’t even think, letting go of the tote bag to turn your palm to hers, a wave of tingles rushing along your skin as her thick fingers slide between your own.

“But you’re here, and I think I might go crazy if you just turn around and leave right now.”

You squeeze her hand as you pull it up to your chest, pressing the cold back of her hand against your breast. The skin warms at the contact. “I won’t.”

Abby can’t look away as you lean down, pressing a lingering kiss to the joint of her thumb that overlaps your own. A barely audible sigh leaves her, body shifting to lean more on the ajar door. Her fingers twitch in your grasp, tightening just a fraction as her eyes flick up to catch your own.

“Good.”

Abby’s hand tugs at yours as she steps back from the door and further into the room, guiding you to follow. You do so blindly, watching the way her hair shifts across her neck as she turns away from you, clutching to you still, navigating deeper into the room.

You slip from her for just a moment, making sure to shut and lock the door behind you both. You use this moment to unravel your scarf from your neck and drape it on the TV cabinet, so you don’t forget it later.

Abby’s by the coffee table her and Manny keep in the centre of the room when you turn back to face her, crouched low as she gathers the mess strewn across it into a rough pile of notepads and manilla folders, pens and markers.

“What’s all this?” You set the tote bag down on a clear patch of the table, careful not to crush anything important underneath it.

A map that dangles halfway off the surface gets haphazardly folded in half and shoved under everything else, too quick for you to see anything other than a mess of routes to somewhere highlighted in different coloured pens.

“Stuff for Isaac,” Abby mumbles, catching a pen that rolls off the table before it can hit the floor, placing on the very top of the pile. “Planning some wider patrols. Scars are getting brave.” She pushes herself up from her squat, hands bracing against her knees.

You step around the table to meet her, reaching up to pluck the pencil from behind her ear, holding it out to her. “Is that even your job?”

Abby shrugs, half-hearted and dismissive, fingers brushing yours as she takes the pencil from you. “What Isaac says, goes.” She tosses the pencil back onto the table, watching it as it clatters against a marker and stops rolling.

Her eyes drift back to you as you step closer, placing the hand hovering between you lightly on her sternum. Your thumb shifts along her shirt, rubbing soothing arcs along the fabric.

“As long as you’re okay with that.” Your hand pauses, fingers curling into the fabric. “He needs you. Don’t let him take you for granted.”

A sigh; a resigned sound. “I know.”

Abby shifts her gaze to the floor, and you can’t help but track the way she draws her bottom lip between her teeth, worrying at the skin. Your thumb twitches, wanting nothing more than to replace her teeth with it, tug on it gently and remind her not to do that.

She’s drawing you in before you can, hands sliding around your waist to press against your back, enveloping you in her arms. Her head dips just enough to hide her face away against your neck, where you can feel her jaw working as she continues to chew anxiously on her lip.

Your own arms curl around her, slinging them across her shoulders as you hold her closer to your chest. A hand buries itself in her hair, your blunt nails scratching lightly at the scalp under her loose braid. A sigh of hot air puffs over your neck and down the back of your shirt, the exhaustion seeping from Abby as she slumps into your hold.

It feels like home.

“I really did miss you,” she confesses, her murmur loud and clear from her spot buried against your neck.

“I know,” you whisper back, reassuring her with a nice long scratch from behind her ear to the base of her skull. Abby shivers. “I missed you too.”

She swallows, feeling the bob of her throat against you. “I didn’t mean to check out.”

“I know, Abs.”

Abby draws back slightly, just enough to look at you. The hand in her hair slips to cup at her jaw, grazing your thumb over the tops of her cheek where the bags under her eyes sit.

“You’re too patient,” she says, her head tilting into your touch without realising.

“I’m a medic,” you chuckle, pinching the fat of her cheek gently between thumb and forefinger. “I kind of have to be.”

One of Abby’s hands leaves your back to cover your own on her jaw, shifting it to press a kiss to your palm, eyes closing as she holds you there. Her brows furrow, lips brushing the sensitive skin as she speaks. “Not what I meant.”

It’s your turn to sigh. “I don’t love not being able to see you,” you start, moving your free hand to cup the other side of her jaw. “And I do wish you’d talk to me sometimes. That you’ll come see me and tell me what’s going on…” Her eyes flutter open, clear blue settling on your own.

You tuck away the glimmer of guilt that passes across her face to bring up later.

“But I also get that this is how you work.” Your hand slides up, thumb reaching across to smooth out the creases between her brows, slow strokes up from the bridge of her nose. “You need patience. You need trust.” Leaning in, you press a lingering kiss to her warm cheek. She smells like old paper, wood shavings, a spiciness that is distinctly Abby. “And I do. I love you. Sometimes I just need contact, a check in to make sure you’re not working yourself down to the bone.”

You don’t tell her how much she worries you sometimes. How she only ever buries herself in work like this when she’s struggling, when there are things she’s trying everything not to think about. You don’t tell her how much you hate that she feels the need to hide it all from you, like she’s going to scare you away or taint you with its touch.

And maybe you should practice what you preach, tell her what’s going on—but Abby is complicated. She’s stubborn, scared to feel too much, a professional when it comes to keeping people at arm’s length—exactly where she wants them. You weren’t lying when you said she needs patience. She needs people to trust that she knows what she’s doing, let her do what she needs to and face the consequences herself. Having someone in her ear telling her she’s wrong the whole time just sets her back.

It’s why Abby trusts Manny so much and why (as you’ve come to realise) her and Owen butt heads. Manny let’s her do what she needs to do, chooses the right times to sit her down and express his worries-- let’s her feel like she’s in control of the situation so that she doesn’t shut it down. Owen can’t ever seem to understand why Abby won’t listen to him when he grills her on her actions.

So, you trust her. You have more patience for her than you have for a lot of people.

You just hope that she doesn’t take that for granted.

Abby blinks at you, eyelashes kissing the tops of her cheeks as she just… stares. You’re close enough to see the subtle ring of brown around her pupil, the one that gives way to your favourite shade of blue.

It strikes you all of a sudden, the way that she’s looking at you. All week she’s been steely and focused, jaw clenched and shoulders tense right up to her ears. Her brow has softened under your touch now, skin flush with the heat of your hands and the closeness of your body. The shadows under her eyes are still there, probably won’t go away for a while, but an impossible tiredness gives way to adoration.

“I love you.”

You’ll never get tired of hearing those words. Not from her.

“I love you, too.” You can’t help the way you smile as you say it, cheeks flushing as you press back in, placing another kiss along her cheek.

Her hand leaves the one on her face, calloused fingers brushing the sensitive skin of the back of your neck as she pulls you in once more. Her lips, swollen from her anxious chewing, slot against yours like they were made for it.

The kiss is slow, sweet, unhurried. You almost forget to close your eyes, so caught up in how pretty she looks in this moment. Her face feels so warm in your hands, the soft line of her chin curving along your palms.

She’s wonderful, and you’ve missed her so much.

You both pull away with a shaky breath, hearts thumping away where your chests are pressed together. Abby settles her forehead against yours, the wisps of hair free from her braid tickling the sides of your face, your nose scrunching at the feeling.

She chuckles, thumb swiping in soothing arches along the back of your neck. “Cute.”

“Flatterer,” you huff, leaning back in for another kiss.

Abby hums against your lips, the tension in her shoulders practically melting away.

“Not that I don’t love that you’re here,” she says between breaths, unable to keep herself away from you for long, pulling you back in for another kiss. “But did you need anything? Or were you just coming to visit?”

“Oh--!” You pull away from Abby’s grip, hands slipping from her cheeks and landing on her shoulders. “I have something for you.”

“For me?” She asks unsure, watching as you detangle yourself from her grip and retreat back to the table.

“Mmhm,” you hum, crouching down next to your tote bag to rifle through it. Abby’s gift sits all the way at the bottom, covered by Nora’s. “For Not-Christmas.”

“Not-Christmas?”

You stand up with her present, leaving the others to sit in the bag. “It’s a thing I do with Mel. I don’t exactly celebrate Christmas but she likes to get me things, so we just exchange gifts before or after the holiday.” You shrug, making your way back over to Abby, reaching for one of her hands. “I wanted to include you this year.”

Her fingers tangle with your own and you tug gently, silently asking her to follow as you slip past her and to the steps.

“Honey, you really didn’t have to,” she says, boots thumping on the carpet behind you.

“I know.” You flash her a smile over your shoulder, carefully hopping off the final step and onto your good leg. “But I wanted to. You deserve it.”

Your arm pulls slightly as Abby pauses, hesitating on one of the steps. You turn to look at her, just in time to catch that same guilty look from earlier. It’s only for a second, a brief glimpse before she’s smiling softly at you, though it doesn’t quite meet her eyes.

“Thank you.”

She gives your hand a squeeze and starts walking again, catching up with you at the bottom of the steps.

You continue to lead her over to her bed, holding her gift against your chest as you turn and sit yourself down on the mattress. Her covers are neat, blankets folded over at the top and pillows recently fluffed. You almost feel bad for wrinkling the sheets.

Abby clearly doesn’t mind, dropping down onto the mattress next to you with enough force to make you bounce in place.

“Abby!” You yelp, gripping onto her hand tighter as you try to get back your balance. Her answering chuckle does little to help, not as much as the hand she presses to your shoulder to help steady you.

“Why do you feel the need to do that every single time?” You ask with an annoyed little huff when the mattress settles, the dip in the centre making you slump against her side.

“Because I know it bugs you.” She shrugs, resting an arm behind her so that you slip closer, thighs touching.

“You bug me.”

“Maybe,” she agrees, tilting her face down closer to yours. You can feel her hot breath puff over your lips, the tingle of her gaze as she flicks it from your eyes, down to your mouth. “But you love me more.”

Your tongue peeks out to wet your lips, a sharp breath of your own leaving you at her proximity. She knows she has this effect on you, and you find yourself wishing you were back in a time when she had no clue, that way she’d stop using it against you.

She’s laser focused, finding herself leaning closer as you shift against her, eyes fluttering in anticipation for your kiss.

You press two fingers to the middle of her forehead, pushing her away. “Just open your present.”

You press a hand over your mouth to muffle the laugh that threatens to leave you, finding the way Abby blinks down at you, confusion written all over her furrowed brows and parted lips hilariously cute. She gets incredibly embarrassed and huffy when you say so, but you can’t get over how puppy-like she is sometimes.

A little wolf pup.

“Come on,” you urge, leaning in to place a kiss under her jaw as you place the present in her lap. “I want to watch you open it.”

Abby hums, the sound low and rumbly at the feeling of your lips against her skin. She’s watching you as you pull away-- your eyes, bright with expectancy, visibly softening something within her.

“Okay, okay,” she chuckles, teeth tugging at her bottom lip to keep her smile from growing bigger than her usual smirk.

She shuffles the two of you around, moving her arm from where it’s resting on the mattress behind you so that it’s free for her to use. You let yourself slump back against her, curling your arms around her bicep to snuggle right up. The solid muscle shifts under your cheek where you’ve rested your head, your warm breaths puffing over the fabric of her henley.

A buzz of anticipation builds just below your skin, watching with rapt attention as Abby finally picks up the parcel in her lap. She turns it around in her hands, admiring the collage of magazine pages you used to wrap it. You tried your best at making them somewhat aesthetically pleasing; keeping the articles about fad diets and Hollywood romances tucked away for somebody else to use and cutting off the particularly waterlogged edges. You didn’t have a lot of options, the best pages already ripped from the spine, but you made do.

“You got pretty creative, huh?” Abby chuckles, flipping the parcel onto its front so that her blunt nails can pick at the medical tape you’d used to stick it all together— a stroke of genius on your part, you think. It ends up being a bit of a mess, the glossy paper separating and sticking to the tape, ripping long lines across the rest of the makeshift wrapping, but Abby makes quick work of it.

“You lucked out,” you say, reaching out to catch the bundle of items as they slip from the wrapping and fall into her lap. “I had to put Mel’s in a carboard box, so I tried drawing on it to make it look nicer… It just ended up looking like a cardboard box I badly drew on.”

A snort of a laugh leaves her, hands busy with balling up the paper to throw in a high arch over the stair banister and into the kitchen. You crane your head to watch the ball fly across the room, hit the corner of the bin and bounce out, rolling to the floor with a soft rustle.

“Nice throw,” you snicker, pressing a chaste kiss to her bicep at her replying hmph.

“Can’t be good at everything, I guess,” she pretends to grumble, unable to hide her pleased smirk at making you giggle.

Finally, Abby’s attention focuses on her lap. You draw your hand back to curl around her bicep, squeezing at the muscle as you look between her face and the gifts, watching for her reaction as excitement and nerves bubble around in your stomach.

A soft ‘oh’ leaves her parted lips, slightly swollen and rounded as she stares. It’s not much, just two books and something knitted and soft, but you can see the exact moment she recognises each item— those eyes that are always the first to give her away widening with something close to wonder.

The first thing she reaches out for is the beanie. It’s fairly plain, a silky knit of dark blue wool that leans closer to grey than purple. You paid a pretty penny for it, because of course you fell in love with the fancy skein of wool instead of the plethora of beanies that were already made. But now that it’s in Abby’s hands, a soft little hum leaving her as she runs her fingers over the ridges of the knit, you feel absolutely certain that you made the right choice.

“I was debating on whether or not to add a pompom, but didn’t want to be the reason you got bullied,” you say, muffling your laugh into her sleeve.

Abby scoffs, turning the beanie around in her hands before ducking her head to put it on. “As if I’d let them.” She turns to you, fiddling with the sides to make sure they cover the tips of her ears. “How do I look?”

“Perfect.” You grin, reaching up to tuck a few flyaways up under the knitted band. “That colour looks beautiful on you.”

Abby can’t help but look away, lips pursed and cheeks warming under your gaze. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” you hum pleasantly, making sure to brush your fingers across a flushed cheek before dropping your hand back to her arm.

You nod to the two books in her lap, one more recognisable than the other. “You should look at the top one, first.”

Abby follows your direction, keeping her beanie on as she picks up the next item-- a hardcover book, also plain in appearance. It’s a neutral grey, the cotton fabric that’s been stretched over the cover in surprisingly good condition. There’s no title, just a small black stamp of an open book centred near the top.

A black elastic band keeps the book bound, Abby’s nimble fingers untucking it to be able to flip through the pages. They’re all blank… kind of.

“It’s a reading journal,” you explain, watching the pages flick by. “Whenever you finish a book, you fill out a page. It has a spot for all the book details, like the name and the author, then you use the rest of it to write your thoughts.”

Abby pauses on one of said pages, reading the prompts along the top; book name, author, date started/finished, and rating.

“It’s even got a little pocket at the back where you can keep notes and extra bookmarks.” You look up at her, watching for her reaction. “Do you… like it?”

“I didn’t know this kind of thing existed,” she says, flipping to the back to look at the pocket. “I used to just write down the name of each book I’ve read in the back of my gym notebook, since I didn’t know where else to do that.” She closes the journal, the spine crackling pleasantly as she snaps the elastic back into place.

“But I do now.” She flashes you a warm smile, her eyes doing that thing you love where they crinkle in the corners. “This is perfect. Thank you, honey.”

You let out a relieved exhale, pressing in closer along her side. Your hook an ankle around one of her own, knees knocking gently together. “Good. I’m glad.”

She takes this moment to lean down, placing a loving kiss to the middle of your forehead, then another to your cheek before settling back in for her last gift— tucking the reading journal under her thigh.

A copy of Lord of the Flies sits in the middle of her lap. The cover is different to the one available in the library, this one a striking red and black with a bent upper corner. The spine is cracked in a dozen different places, though they just serve as reminders of all the people who have read this book before you.

Abby’s smile is fond, fingers running over the embossed title across the cover. “I don’t have this one yet.”

“I know. You read the library copy.”

She peers down at you; head cocked to the side. “How did you know that?”

“You were reading it when I found you that night in the library.” Your fingers squeeze gently at her arm, a warmth rising up the back of your neck to the tips of your ears. “When I asked you to come sleep in my room the first time.”

Maybe she wouldn’t remember, and a part of you worries about what she might think about the fact that you did. You should have stuck with something simpler, like new hand wraps or some of that dried fruit she eats like its candy.

“Holy shit. I was, wasn’t I?” It’s soft, breathy, a little laughter tumbling off the end from something close to disbelief. She looks back to the book, thumbing the corner to flip through the pages idly. “I can’t believe you remembered—”

She pauses, words dying off on the tip of her tongue as she watches the pages flick by—a little slower now. Annotations decorate each page, passages underlined or circled in ballpoint pen, the blue ink varying in colour the further along the book goes as your pen eventually ran out and you’d been forced to switch to another. In the margins of the page held notes. Sometimes they were long, detailed thoughts on impactful scenes or thoughtful lines, while others were simple little frowny faces or strings of exclamation points at particularly sad or distressing scenes.

“Is this you?” Abby asks, eyes running across a double paged spread that held more notes than usual. You’d obviously had a lot to say. “Are these yours?”

You nod, almost shy as you keep yourself tucked into her side. “It took me all week, and I doubt my thoughts will be as in depth as your own… but I know you liked hearing me talk about The Road. I thought this might be nice.” You chance a look at her, watching her side profile as she flips to random pages to read your annotations. “When you reread the book, you’ll get to hear my thoughts in in real-time. It’ll be like we’re reading it together, even if I’m not physically there.”

Abby’s quiet, the only noise coming from her being the click of her throat as she swallows, almost like she’s pushing something back. She lets the book fold back over, the crinkled front cover staring up at her from her lap as she blinks. That same flicker of something gives way on her face, an almost sombre look that she schools just as quickly as it came.

You feel it start in your chest; a flutter of anxiety that makes it feel like your heart is skipping every other beat.

It hasn’t been lost on you how… weird Abby’s been since you got here. She’s obviously had a busy week-- you don’t doubt that for a second-- but there’s something about the way she’s been acting that makes you feel like something else might be bothering her. Something beyond the tiredness that’s seeped into her bones.

You just wish she’d talk to you.

“Abs?” You detangle yourself from her side, placing a hesitant hand on her cheek to tilt her face towards you. She lets you. “Are you okay? Did you—”

Your words are muffled, practically shoved back into your mouth as Abby swoops in, catching you off guard with a sudden kiss.

The book lays forgotten in her lap, one of her hands finding its way home on your waist, thumbs digging into her favourite spot along the fat of your hips. The other slides up the expanse of your back, cradling the back of your head as she kisses you senseless.

You’re gripping onto the front of her henley when she pulls back, only far enough to press your foreheads together. She looks a bit silly from this angle, as much as you probably do to her, but you can’t find it within you to care when your lips are tingling like this and you’re trying to catch your breath.

“Sorry,” she murmurs on a shaky exhale, the hand on your waist kneading into your flesh. “I just— I love you.”

It’s hushed; reverent and sweet.

You pull her back in.

The both of you fall back on the bed, Abby guiding you so that your head rests gently on her pillow. She’s quick to move the book from where it’s trapped between you, lightly tossing it behind her on the mattress so she can shuffle closer, hands smoothing down to grab at your thighs. Your arms come to wrap around her neck, legs spreading wide enough for her warm body to fit between.

“Thank you,” she mumbles into the kiss, shifting to trail her lips over your jaw, up across your temples and back down again. She’s insistent and loving, letting just enough of her bodyweight press you into the mattress so you feel her.

Your face scrunches as she bombards you with quick pecks all across your face, nose scrunching as she unintentionally tickles you with the drag of her lips and the flutter of her eyelashes. Abby hums pleasantly at your responding giggle, cracking her eyes open to peek at you— the way you bite at your bottom lip to quell your lovesick smile.

“So, it was okay?” You ask, slightly out of breath. You bring one of your legs up to wrap around her hip, Abby’s hand gripping at your thigh to keep you there.

“More than okay.” She draws back, taking in how you look as you lay back against her sheets, cheeks warm and eyes half-lidded. “I loved it. All of it.”

Your fingers weave through the hair at the back of her neck, idly playing with the curling baby hairs. “Good. I was worried you’d be offended about me writing in a book.”

Abby chuckles, dipping down to nuzzle her face against your neck. Your arms tighten around her, tilting your head to the side to give her more room.

“Never.” A kiss to the juncture of your neck sends a tiny jolt of what feels like electricity zipping under your skin. “Not unless it was a library book.”

The laugh that leaves you is louder than you mean it to be, and you press your face into the pillow to muffle it. You feel Abby’s hum against your throat before a light nip at the skin, barely a tug between her teeth. You cling onto her just a bit tighter.

“What’s so funny?” she asks, pressing a soothing kiss to the faintest hint of a mark she left. “Why’re you laughing at me?”

“I’m not laughing at you. I’m…” You pause, thinking it over. “Okay, I’m laughing at you, but--!”

Abby lifts herself up, hands sliding from your thighs and up under your top, settling in along your waist. Under any other circumstance you’d probably be clenching your thighs together, looking up at her with pleading eyes or a dare to continue. This isn’t one of those times.

This is a threat.

“Abigail, don’t you dare!” Your hands scramble for her own, body already tense in expectation. “You didn’t even let me finish what I was gonna say!”

Her grin is positively wolfish, no longer a pouting little puppy. You don’t know which you prefer.

“How could you possibly make what you said any better?” Her braid falls across her shoulder as she tilts her head, the tail of her braid brushing across your chest. Her fingers twitch along your skin, making you gasp.

“I was going to tell you how cute you are,” you say, trying to worm your fingers between her own. You think you have her, but then your hands are being pressed into the mattress next to you and you realise that you’re truly stuck now.

“I didn’t realise that was a punishable offence,” you huff, eyes rolling playfully.

Abby looks you over, your body unwillingly flushing under her scrutinising gaze. “Hm. I don’t know…” She’s smirking as she says it, a dangerous glint in her eyes. She’s really got you caged in now, trapping you under her weight. “I think you were just making fun of me.”

“You wanna know what I think?” You lift your head up off the pillow, tipping your chin up in a way that you hope looks defiant. “I just think you like showing off how strong you are.”

The corner of Abby’s mouth twitches, that shit-eating grin faltering for an almost imperceptible moment.

“Yeah?” she asks, lowering more of herself against you, pinning your hips between the bed and her own. “You sure about that?”

“Mmhm,” you hum, wetting you lips as she leans closer. “I think you love watching me squirm under you.” You emphasise your point by shifting your hips, trying to wriggle free from out under her.

But you can’t, and the way Abby’s pupils dilate at your failed attempt tells you all you need to know.

“That—You don’t—” Her skin flushes underneath the collar of her shirt, the colour creeping up the freckled skin of her neck. You want to bite it.

“Shut up,” she finally gets out, rolling off of you and to the side.

Laughter leaves you in a triumphant giggle, rolling to follow her so that you’re facing one another. She’s got her face shoved between the two pillows, beanie bunching up and nearly slipping off the top of her head.

“Poor baby,” you coo, curling an arm around her to rub at her broad back. “Did I embarrass you?”

She bats you away as you laugh, her responding grunt muffled into the mattress. “Leave me alone.”

Abby only grumbles when you kiss her shoulder, a hopeless sound that just prolongs your giggles into the fabric of her shirt.

Feeling like you’ve tortured her enough you roll onto your back once more, stretching your limbs out like a cat in the sun. Abby’s bed is infinitely comfier than your own, her mattress the perfect kind of firm that doesn’t feel like you’re sleeping on the floor, but keeps your back from feeling like it’s being bent out of shape. It could also be because her pillows smell like her shampoo and the fact that you’ve only slept in it while tangled up in her arms… but who’s to say.

You roll your head to the side, stretching out the tender muscles in your neck as you do so. It’s a dreary day today, clouds and a steady drizzle of rain washing everything in tones of grey. It’s kind of nice, the drum of rain against the roof a hypnotic sound. Now that you’re cuddled up beside Abby, it’s almost enough to send you drifting off back to sleep.

But you stay strong, knowing that it’s much too late now to nap, your window of opportunity long gone.

You shuffle up a little bit, leaning across to the bedside table to turn the lamp on, knowing it’ll be harder to sleep if the room is brighter. Fumbling around for the switch, you accidently knock a few things out of place with your elbow, only making it worse by trying to save it. A particularly uncoordinated move on your half sends things tumbling to the carpet.

“Shit—” you hiss, slipping off the bunk to kneel on the floor, hoping to god that the canteen that just fell had its lid screwed on properly (it did, thankfully).

“You okay?” Abby’s up in an instant, shuffling to the edge of the bed to peer down at you. “What happened?”

“I knocked half your nightstand to the floor,” you mumble apologetically, laying on your stomach to reach underneath the bed for the things that slid under. “Sorry, baby.”

She chuckles, letting herself relax on the mattress now that she knows you aren’t hurt. “You’re fine. Come back up, I’ll fix it later.”

“In a second, I think I just lost your Dad under the bed.”

Abby barks out a laugh, though it’s muffled from sticking your head under the bunk. You’re reaching out blindly, patting around storage boxes and even more books to try and find the picture frame.

Finally, your hand brushes against the wooden stand on the back of the frame, the folded prongs that keep it all together cold against your palm.

“Sorry, Mr Anderson,” you say as you shuffle out from under the bunk, pulling the picture with you. Sitting back on your knees you flip it around, checking for any cracks in the glass. “Didn’t mean to send you flying—”

It takes you longer than it probably should have to notice, too distracted by your sweaty palms and racing heart at possibly damaging one of the only physical memories of Abby’s father she has left right in front of her.

But the picture in this frame isn’t Jerry Anderson. It’s not even the same frame.

“What’s…”

The photo in the thin gold frame is one you don’t recognise, though you certainly know the people captured in it.

You and Abby sit next to each other on Manny’s bed, enough distance between the two of you for one more person, though no one fills that gap. You’ve got your feet tucked up under you, talking animatedly about something that you can’t remember, hands out of focus as you wave them around to emphasise your point. You’re drunk, clearly at some kind of party (maybe Manny’s birthday?), but you’re having fun.

Abby rests back on one arm next to you, muscle tank rising up just enough to show off the band of her boxer briefs, her muscled legs hanging off of the bed. She’s got a beer halfway up to her lips, arm hanging midair as she listens to you.

But it’s not the setting that sticks out to you, or the lack of memory of this particular moment. It’s the way Abby looks at you.

This was clearly a little while ago, a couple of months at the latest—yet the way Abby’s mouth ticks up at the side, her eyes hooded as she looks at you, so enraptured by whatever drunken ramble you’re on? You recognise this expression. It may be more subtle than you’re used to, especially lately, but you know this look intimately.

It’s love.

“That’s…” Abby clears her throat, finding it difficult to talk through her embarrassment. “Manny gave me that the other day.”

You manage to tear yourself away from the photo, catching Abby’s eyes for a second before she looks away.

“He said it was his ‘I told you so’ moment. Kept it from me until I talked to him about you.”

“You told him about us?” Your soft smile bleeds into your tone, clear enough for anyone to hear. You’re honestly a little surprised, though if she was going to tell anyone, it was always going to be Manny.

She nods, still refusing to look at you. You don’t push it, knowing you’d have to choose between her being open or looking you in the face right now, and you know which one you’d choose a million times over.

“He already knew, but it was… it was nice saying it out loud,” she confesses, although a little embarrassed. “He was just happy he could rub it in my face that he knew before me.” She scoffs, resting her chin on her folded arms. “Pendejo.”

You look back down at the photo, drawing a finger lightly along the edge of the frame. Was she really looking at you like this the whole time? Did you just trick yourself into not seeing it?

“Why was it hiding under the bed?”

Abby stiffens, eyes hesitantly sliding over to where you’re still sitting on the floor, picture frame held in your lap.

You made the question sound more accusatory than you meant it. You go to correct yourself, but Abby beats you to the punch.

“… I was saving it.”

“Saving it?” You ask, brows furrowing slightly in confusion. “For when?”

Her already flushed cheeks a fraction more, the smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose more prominent with the colour.

“For later. An anniversary or something.” She tries to say it like it’s not a big deal, though the way she looks everywhere but your face says otherwise.

Warmth blooms in your chest, vines of it creeping from the top of your head, all the way down to your toes. It tingles, almost like a pleasant hum underneath your skin. It’s hard to describe what love feels like, but you’d say this is pretty close.

You gently place the frame on the bedside table, careful not to place it too close to the edge where you might accidently knock it again. You’re already so close to the bunk, so with a small shuffle you reach the edge, hands finding their place on either side of Abby’s jaw.

She lets you tilt her face up, knowing that she won’t be able to dodge eye contact when you’re sitting this close from one another.

“You are so unbelievably sweet.” Your thumbs brush across both of her cheeks in tandem, the palm of your cool hands soaking up the warmth. You lean in, watching her eyes flutter closed as you press a lingering kiss to her waiting lips.

“Did you want me to forget I saw it?” You ask as you pull away, still holding her head up. “I can shove it back under the bed and will promise to act super surprised when you give it to me.”

The corners of Abby’s lips tick up, a huff of a laugh leaving her. “No, it’s okay.” She looks to the nightstand, then back to you. “I think Not-Christmas is a pretty okay time to give it to you, too.”

You grin, feeling lovestruck and incredibly sappy, leaning back in to steal another kiss.

“I love you,” you murmur between kisses, rising up slightly higher on your knees as Abby sits up more, trying to pull you closer.

“I love you, too.” Larger hands than your own grab at the fat of your hips, fingers digging softly into the flesh. “Now get up here before I lose my mind.”

You laugh, a breathy giggle that trails off into a whine as Abby uses the opportunity to lick into your mouth.

“Abby,” you sigh sweetly, taking far too long between words as you give in to the feeling of her tongue sliding across yours. “I have—I’m working tonight,” you eventually get out, arms looping around her neck as she strays from your lips.

She leaves a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses up the side of your neck, teasing at your pulse point for a moment before continuing up to your ear. Her teeth playfully tug at the lobe, drawing a sharp gasp from you.

“Then we’ll just have to be quick,” she whispers, before gripping you by the backs of the thighs and hauling you up onto the bed with her.

You’d tease her about it being another excuse to show off her strength, but there are much more pressing matters to attend to.

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⁺˚⋆｡°✩ 𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝 ✩°｡⋆˚⁺

Your eyes roll as you turn to the surgical cart next to you, setting up the sutures. “Sure thing, Malcom.”

Wheeling the table over to the bedside, you grab the curved needle and sterile thread, sitting on a stool next to his bedside to get a good angle on him. You grunt and stretch your left leg out stiffly under the cot, trying to release some of the tension in the muscle.

“You know, they should give you one of those punch cards for coming in so often. Visit us five times and you get a treat on the sixth.”

He squints at you, wincing and cursing when you push the needle through his swollen skin.

“Yeah? And when’s that lesson on bedside manner comin’?”

Mel laughs from the back room, washing and disinfecting her hands. “Oh, this is as good as it gets.”

Flashing a grumbling Malcom a smile, you continue your stitching, doing a row of smaller ones that you need to cut off and tie after each knot.

You’re getting the hang of it, though tying all the small knots with the forceps was your weakest point. You were much better at doing running stitches, but for a wound like Malcom’s on such a mobile part of his body, these were the best option.  You’d obviously improved enough though, or else Mel wouldn’t have let you do them mostly unsupervised.

She’s a good teacher, Mel. You were hoping when Isaac approved your request to move to the medical centre that he would assign you to her. It only made sense. Not only was she one of the best here at the Stadium, but the two of you were already familiar with each other.

You share one of the Stadium apartments, have done for just over a year and a half. As far as roommates went, Mel was amazing. She’s friendly, respectful of your space, quiet. It was hard not to become friends with her. You spent late nights talking, would join her and her group of friends for meals. It was nice.

And then you got injured. Well, a bit more than injured—you fucked up your leg pretty bad. Mel was on call when you were dragged in and helped you as much as she could. She’s incredibly talented. Quick hands and quicker thinking. She had your broken leg splinted up and healing in no time.

Until you fucked it up again, leaving your leg to fuse itself in a weird spot. You can walk, sometimes even run for a bit if it’s a good day, but you’d be biting back the pain and severely regretting it afterwards. On a bad day? It’s a struggle to even stand for more than a couple of hours.

Now you have a limp that won’t go away, and your position as one of WLF’s many grunts taken away from you.

“We need soldiers, not bait. Next time you come asking me for your rank back, make sure you’re not shaking from your walk down the hall.”

Yeah.

Mel was the one to suggest becoming a medic. You’d spent enough time around Mel to pick up a thing or two, and those ten weeks in and out of the medical tent made you pretty familiar with the goings on. She even offered to be your supervisor, taking you under her wing to teach you all she knew.

You clip the final suture, placing the forceps and scissors back onto the metal tray next to you.

“Okay, I think we’re done. Mel,” you call over your shoulder, “Can you check this for me?”

Mel looks up from the chart she’s scribbling on, tucking it under her arm to come and lean over your shoulder.

“Nice work. You lost a bit of tension in the middle, but not too much that it wont hold.” She reaches over, ghosting over the segment in question. She brings her hand to rest on your shoulder. “Otherwise, they’re perfect. I think you’ve officially gotten the hang of it.”

You beam up at her, chest puffing in pride. It’s been good knowing that you’re good at more than combat. A relief. You don’t know what you would have done if this didn’t work out.

You’d rather not think about it.

Malcom shifts on the cot, twisting his body to look down at his stitches. He reaches a hand down to touch them, but you slap them away before he can.

“Touch them and I’ll put a cone on you like a dog.”

Malcom grins, laughing and rubbing at the red slap mark on his hand.

“You flirtin’ with me, doc?”

“Gross. Get out of here, Mal.”

His laughs once again devolve into gargling coughs, levering himself up off the bed with a hand from Mel.

She wraps him up, bandaging the wound while giving him the rundown.

“No getting this wet for twenty-four hours. After that you can shower, but no soaking. You’ll need to come back in two weeks to get the sutures out, so until then I don’t want you touching it or picking at the scabs.” She gives him a pointed look, and he has enough in him to look away guiltily, scratching at his chin.

“Yeah, I know the drill. Any sign of infection I’ll come back.”

Mel nods, stepping away from his side to grab a small bottle of pills off the counter.

“Take two of these when you need them, but wait four to six hours in between.”

“Got anything stronger?” Malcom winks.

“Not for you.” Mel’s lips twitch in a smile and she presses the bottle to his chest. “Have a good one, Malcom.”

Malcom takes the bottle and grins, bringing a hand up to tip an imaginary hat on his head. “Appreciate all you do for us, doc.” He peers around Mel, calling out to you in the next room. “And always a pleasure seein’ you. Remind me to take you up on that treat next time.”

“Goodbye, Malcom.” You call from the sink, scrubbing down on your knuckles. You stare him down as he leaves, laughing the whole way.

You roll your eyes, turning back to washing the blood off your arms. It had started to dry, making your skin tacky and gross.

Mel wanders over, leaning to rest against the sink next to you as she finishes filling out Malcom’s chart. “He’s got a point. You’ve got to be nicer to patients.”

“Malcom’s a dirty old dog. He’s fine. If he wasn’t going to be okay, then I’d be nicer.”

“The severity of someone’s injury doesn’t factor into how nice you are to them.” She’s trying to tell you off, but you can see her smiling from behind her clipboard.

You just shrug, turning off the tap and shaking out your arms. “Seems fair to me.”

She breaks, snorting and poking you in the side with the board as she walks past, placing it on a hook on the wall. She grabs the metal tray and wheels it away to be sanitised.

“You’re done for the day. Go home and relax, your leg is shaking like crazy.”

You look down at your leg, sighing as you watch the muscle of your calf twitch from the strain. It wasn’t too crazy today, but there was a lot of sitting down and standing back up. You were starting to feel it.

“You sure? If I’m sitting, I can- “

Mel cuts you off with her signature ‘excuse me?’ look, her brow raised, and her lips curled downward. That shuts you up real quick, as it does most people. Poor Owen is on the other end of that look too often, and he pouts for ages afterwards every single time.

You grab your coat from a basket under the sink, where you all put your belongings when you clock in.

“I’ll see you for dinner?”

Mel shakes her head, gathering up all the dirty tools and putting them in a metal tub for sanitation.

“I’m going to Owen’s tonight. We have the morning off tomorrow, so I think we’re going to head to the aquarium with Alice.”

You smile, throwing your coat back on. “That’ll be nice. I know Alice was antsy about getting out of the kennel when I saw her yesterday.”

Mel chuckles, “That’s how she gets you. You know she has to go on a diet because people keep giving her treats?”

You laugh along with her, the zip lock bag of jerky you save just for Alice burning in your coat pocket.

Coming up behind her, you press a chaste kiss to the back of Mel’s head as you pass. “Well, have fun. Drink responsibly. Use protection- “

“Shut your mouth right now.“ She hisses, whipping her head around to see who’s around to hear. She’s in the middle of cleaning up, but you know you’d get a punch right across your shoulder if she had a hand free.

Pulling back the tent flap you wave goodbye to Mel, grinning at her flushed face.

“I’ll see you when you get back!”

Swinging by the front you sign out for the day, writing down your reasoning for clocking off early. You only had two hours left of your shift, and you really do think you could have lasted if you were allowed to sit the rest of the day. But what Mel says goes, as both your supervisor and your doctor.

The sun is setting when you leave the tent, the November air nipping at your skin. Winter is right around the corner, and you can already feel it. You’ll need to take up Mel’s offer of making some legwarmers to wear under your clothes, knowing that the freezing temperatures are going to be hell on your leg.

Wrapping your coat further around you, you shuffle inside the stadium as quickly as you can. The caf should just be starting to serve dinner now, and if you hurry you can beat the rush before everyone clocks off.

Just as you predicted, people are already lining up at the food stations when you reach the mess hall. Each of the stalls are serving something different, though it usually all boils down to a combination of rice, meat, soup, and stew. Today it looked like everyone was lining up by the old pretzel place, which usually meant it was burritos.

You do an awkward shuffle, a small circle as you try to decide what to eat. The burritos stall is always packed for a reason, but it looks like the butchers finally got some of those pigs in-

A sharp whistle from behind you cuts through the rumble of voices.

“Hey, doc!”

You turn, looking over at the old Noodle Bowl.

A woman a bit older than you stands behind the counter, her cropped hair hidden underneath a backwards cap. Her tank top is drenched in sweat from the hot kitchen, her deep skin flushed from the heat. She holds out an opaque container, though you can already smell the rich beef stew coming from the kitchen behind her.

“Skip the line! You know medics get priority.” She grins, waving the container at you.

You smile and limp over, your leg starting to throb. You meet the woman at the counter, gently taking the container from her. It’s nice and warm in your hands, feeling them tingle as they heat up.

“Thanks, Isabella. You’re a life saver.” You sigh appreciatively. You crack the container open to peek inside, your mouth watering at the dark broth and floating chunks of potato and beef.

“You know what would be perfect with this?” You begin, looking up at her. She smirks, reaching off to the side.

“Bread?” she asks, sliding over a small parcel of tinfoil.

You gasp, reaching for it. “A woman after my own heart.” You laugh, placing the foil of bread on top of the container. “Remind me again why we didn’t work out?”

“You were way too out of my league?” Isabella teases, leaning across the counter towards you.

“Good answer.” You grin back at her.

Isabella chuckles, taking off her cap to smooth out her hair again before putting it back on.

“You take care of yourself, yeah? Enjoy.” She winks, rapping the counter with her knuckles before turning back to the kitchen.

Stew in hand, and a light blush on the highs of your cheeks, you make the long trek back to the comfort of your room. Luckily yours is only on the second floor, as opposed to being on the third or fourth, but with the escalators out of order it’s still a huge hike for you and your leg.

You end up taking your coat off to make a temporary bag for your stew, folding it up and using the arms as handles. It gives you more room to grip the rails as you need them, which becomes more and more often the higher you climb.

You’re slightly out of breath and coated in a fine layer of sweat by the time you reach your room, taking a second to catch your breath before stepping in. Maybe you couldn’t have done those last two hours. Dammit Mel for always being right.

The stew is still hot when you unwrap it from your coat, moving to hang it up on a peg near the door. If you were quick about getting changed, you could probably get away with not having to heat it back up.

Depositing the container on the dining table as you pass, you make your way over to your side of the room, having to pivot and turn back when you automatically start going down the steps.

You and Mel split the room pretty evenly, her having the slightly raised segment to herself, and you having the area in front of the window. You liked being so close to the giant windows, peeking through the curtains you both strung up when you couldn’t sleep and pressing your cheek to the cold glass on warm nights. But ever since your injury, Mel suggested the two of you swap.

It made sense, taking away as many unnecessary obstacles as possible, but you still kind of missed your old spot. Maybe if you asked ever so nicely you could swap again.

You strip in front of your wardrobe, quickly hopping into comfier clothing. It was by no means anything close to proper pyjamas, a pair of slightly more worn in cargo pants and a long sleeve henley. Something that you could feasibly run around and fight in if you needed to.

Your days as a solider are over, but old habits die hard.

The rest of your night is simple. It always is when you have the room to yourself. Having Mel around is always fun and you love staying up and talking to her, but it is nice to just be alone sometimes. It feels different, not like how it used to when you were fighting for your life before you joined WLF. You can choose to be alone now, knowing that you’re safe and warm and that your friends are just around the corner. You can enjoy it.

Setting up a CD to play some soft music in the background, you eat your dinner. Isabella had served you up richly, enough chunks of beef in your single serving to split across two. She’s always been like that, giving special treatment to those she likes and admires. Your brief but very intense history got you onto that list, and you’re thankful for every day you’re still on it.

Using the bread to soak up the last of the broth, you savour the final bite of your food. If Mel was here, you’d get to have her broth too (she only likes the chunks, apparently), but tonight you miss out.

With dinner done and nothing else to do, you decide to curl up in bed for the rest of the night, give your leg a much-needed rest. You keep the CD playing quietly and grab one of Mel’s textbooks, tossing it onto the bed.

You run through your stretches for the night, positioning yourself on the floor to bend and stretch your leg just as Pierre-- the closest thing to a physiotherapist you have around here-- showed you. It hurts like a bitch, so you give yourself some leeway tonight and stop when it gets too much.

Peeling yourself up off the floor, you practically crawl under your covers, dragging the book under with you. The book is heavy, one that would be used during school, but you’re finding it somewhat useful. A lot of what they’re talking about goes over your head, but there’s enough diagrams and things you recognise to somewhat keep up. A lot of what Mel teaches you is done through the real thing, so you don’t have a lot of time to learn the name of every single bone or nerve in the nervous system. It’s a lot more… ‘Don’t cut here’ and ‘If you don’t put pressure there, he’s going to bleed out and die’.

You fall asleep around eleven, the textbook flopping to the floor when your arms couldn’t hold it up anymore. You’ve shifted in your sleep, back facing the rest of the room and limbs tucked in. You should start looking for a thicker blanket now that it’s getting colder.

The corner of your bed dips under their weight as someone sits, trying not to squish your feet under the covers. The thumping of boots being kicked off their feet and to the floor is just enough to pull you back to consciousness, though it’s the rush of cold air under the blanket as they pull it back that wakes you up entirely.

“Abby… Cold.” You hiss, turning and trying to tug the blanket from her.

You can practically hear her eyes roll as she crawls under with you, shifting onto her side so she can press her back up against yours. It makes up for the biting cold she let in, her back strong and warm, heating you up more than your blankets ever could.

“How was patrol?” you mumble, brain still catching up.

Abby hums. “Fine. Normal.”

You nod, or think that you do. You’re so tired.

“S’good.” You yawn, burying your face into your pillow more. “Sorry Manny kicked you out.”

She shifts, her rolling muscles move against your back.

“Yeah,” she sighs, sinking into your mattress, “It’s whatever. He uh, got to the room while I was eating dinner.”

“Should talk to him. Tell him to keep it in his pants when you get home from patrols.”

You hear a ghost of a laugh, your music quiet enough for you to pick it up. It puts a sleepy smile on your face.

“I should, huh? Maybe tomorrow.”

“Mmhm.” You yawn, stretching out your legs before relaxing back into your mattress with a hum. “I’ll be your back up.”

Ever since you found Abby passed out in the library, an open copy of Lord of the Flies laid across her chest, she’s been sleeping in your room.

She rejected your offer initially, looking at you like you’d grown a second head before rolling back over to keep sleeping. Which was fair, you guessed. You weren’t exactly friends, just two people that hung out in the same group.

Not that you didn’t try to be. You knew from the moment Mel introduced you to everyone that you wanted to know more about Abby. She was intimidating, a bit rough around the edges, and more than a little cold during your first interaction. It should have been a sign to stay out of her way, to leave her alone. But unfortunately, it just made her incredibly attractive.

No matter what you did, nothing seemed to favour you to her. You eventually found out it was because of Mel, and while no one could tell you exactly what happened, you figured it was bad enough for her to dislike you through pure association.

Something must have stuck with her though, because soon after rejecting your offer she was knocking on your door, pillow tucked under her arm, ready to take over your couch.

And she did. Anytime she needed a place to sleep, and Mel wasn’t home, she would come over. You started leaving out nicer blankets, draping them over the back of the couch, switching out the throw pillows for softer, less scratchy ones. She never said anything, but you knew she appreciated it.

It wasn’t until two months ago, drunkenly collapsing on your bunk together after Manny’s birthday party, that you started sharing your bed. The nightmares you would have, that the both of you shared in common, seemed to fade away when you weren’t alone.

A silent agreement passed between the two of you then, an unspoken arrangement to slide in next to each other. Backs pressed together, sharing your warmth, getting hours of blissful sleep.

You feel a nudge to your calf.

“Go back to sleep. Didn’t mean to wake you up.” She whispers, drawing her foot back to curl into herself. The movement presses her back more firmly into yours. A contented sigh tumbles from your lips.

“You’re fine. G’night, Abby.”

“… Night.”

You both fall into comfortable silence, the soft music still playing from the corner of your room. The CD will finish soon, but you should hopefully be asleep by then. You wait for the telltale signs of a sleeping Abby before you let yourself fall back under.

While the nightmares aren’t as intense when you share the bed, all it takes is a particularly bad day for them to rear their ugly head. And while you have your own long list of issues, you’re not the one still in active duty, so you like to make sure that Abby falls asleep. That she isn’t left to stare into the dark until the sun begins to rise, or gets dragged into whatever hell her brain has fixed up for her.

Her breathing eventually slows, and while she doesn’t snore, her deep breaths are interrupted with the occasional huff and groan. The pressure of her warm back on yours builds as her muscles relax and she shifts into the divot in the mattress between you. Her foot twitches and she shuffles her legs, unconsciously nudging you to entangle your legs with her own.

Only when you are certain she’s out and her sleep is peaceful do you let yourself go back to bed.

⸙

She’s gone in the morning when you start awake, the sound of a door down the hall slamming closed making your heart leap into your throat. Shooting upright in bed, the blanket tucked gently around you falling to your lap, you reach out for your firearm. It takes feeling the lumpy, cold mattress beneath your fingers to bring you back to yourself.

You’re in your room. Not outside hidden amongst the trees.

There are no Scars here.

Knees come up to meet your forehead as you curl in on yourself, shutting your eyes and forcing deep, shaky breaths.

It’s been months since you were on any kind of active duty, yet your body wouldn’t let you forget a second of it. Once a soldier always a soldier, you guess.

Once your heartrate slows back down, the sweat that was beading along your temples cooling, you lift your head up from your knees, peaking at the curtains. The morning sun is breaking through, sending slivers of light over Mel’s bed and the couch. If you strain your ears, you can hear people shuffling in the hallway, tired grumblings as they make their way into work.

Without checking a watch you’d say it was around eight in the morning.

Mel wasn’t scheduled for work until tonight, which means that you too got to have the morning off too. Though you were really getting somewhere with your training, Isaac didn’t want you working solo until Mel had signed off on you. So, unless they were absolutely swamped or it was an emergency, you worked the same shifts as Mel.

Flopping back on the mattress you shut your eyes once more, stretching out your limbs across the entire expanse of the bed. You had absolutely no issues with sharing your bed with Abby, but this mattress wasn’t exactly a king, and often find yourself tucked right up against the wall.

You doze on and off for a few more hours, taking advantage of the free day to catch up on all the sleep you’d been neglecting. It feels like you and Mel have been working around the clock lately, being assigned long shifts at odd hours. Ideally, you’d nap until your shift tonight, but your body refuses to let you sleep peacefully after 10am.

You putter around the room for a bit after dragging yourself out of bed, getting changed into your clothes for the day and drawing open the large curtains to let the sunlight into your room. The rays warm you as you do your morning stretches, flexing and pulling your leg into repetitive positions.

You so desperately want to just laze on the couch, curl up with a book or a magazine and rest your leg, but looking around the room you spot multiple piles of belongings neither your nor Mel have bothered to tidy up. Knowing the two of you, they’ll never get done if you don’t tackle them now. And who knows, maybe Mel will be so impressed that she really will swap spots with you.

You stomach begins to rumble around lunch time, just as you’re standing up from the CD rack you spontaneously decided to reorganise. Sure, there was probably something more important to do, but now your CDs are back to being in alphabetical order. For now, atleast.

Checking the fridge, you grimace at the lack of edible food left on the shelves. A withering carrot, some marmalade, and leftover rice and beans from a few nights ago make up its contents.

Sighing, you shut the door and grab your jacket. You’ll just get something from the cafeteria. Maybe when Mel comes home you can figure out her schedule, see if she’ll be willing to split some groceries with you.

⸙

“Hey, doc! Come sit with us, huh?” A voice calls out to you as you walk past their table, a container of stir fry hot in your hands.

You swivel around, eyes roaming the few tables in front of you when you spot Manny, waving you over. He’s seated with a few other soldiers, some you recognise from prior hangouts, others that must be part of his unit.

You hesitate, chewing on your bottom lip as you toss up between sitting in the cafeteria with company or scampering off to your room to eat in private. Not that you don’t like sitting with Manny and his friends. They can just get real rowdy sometimes without Mel or Nora around to talk to.

You open your mouth to politely decline, wanting to chill as much as you can before your shift tonight, when the person opposite Manny turns around to look at you.

Abby.

She looks good this morning. Her usual braid is draped over her shoulder, getting long enough now to do so. It brushes the collar of her t-shirt, the sleeves of which she’s rolled up to the seam to fit her arms. She’s holding a bowl of rice up to her chest, spoon hanging out of her mouth as she looks at you.

Unable to hide the small smile that twitches your lips, you give Manny a nod and head over, weaving back through the crowded hall. Manny grins and shuffles along the bench, pushing against Jordan to make room for you next to him.

“There she is! How’s it going? Seen anything gross lately?”

You laugh, pushing yourself into your spot between him and Jordan, having to climb over the seat to get there. “Unless you count touching Malcom, then no. Not lately.”

Abby huffs a laugh around her spoon, twisting back around to face the table. You look to her as you set your container down on the table, smiling when you see she’s already looking. Her eyes flick down to your food and back to you, brows raised slightly in question.

Tilting your container you show her your lunch, the stir fry still steaming and warming your hands.

“Malcom isn’t that bad,” Manny laughs, diving back into his own food. Some sort of sandwich from the looks of it. “He’s a good shot.” He muffles through a mouthful of food.

You roll your eyes, picking up your fork and stabbing at a few vegetables, “Yeah, and a bad dodge. He keeps coming in to get stitched up, but I’m convinced it’s because he gets his chest felt up.”

“Can’t blame a man for trying his best. Not all of us are as lucky.” Manny snickers, elbowing the man beside him. The rest of the boys laugh back, the noise at the table picking up.

Abby just shakes her head, slouching over her bowl of rice to continue eating. From where you’re sitting it looks like plain brown rice. Knowing her, it probably came with a side that she’s already eaten all of, not planning out her bites ahead of time and just going right for the tasty part.

You twist to the side to face Manny, reaching up for his ear.

“Speaking of--” You pinch the top, yanking on it to bring his head down to your level. He yelps, grabbing at your wrist and swearing. “You need to stop having your play dates the same day Abby gets back from missions.”

Manny eyes you as he curses, briefly looking over at Abby before turning his attention back to you. Across from you Abby tenses, spoon pausing halfway to her mouth. She looks like a deer caught in the headlights.

“How’d you know I had someone over?”

You sniff, letting go of his ear and turning back to your food, getting a bite in before answering. “Caught her in the library again.” You lie, hopefully smoothly.

The two of you never agreed to keep her sleeping habits a secret, but you knew enough about her to know that she liked to keep her business to herself.

Manny grins, throwing his hands up guiltily. “What can I say? I have poor timing. Well, not all of the time...” He winks.

You fake a gag, grimacing as you pick up your food container.

“And with that, I need to go get ready for work tonight. I’ll catch you all around.”

Manny laughs, his voice booming through the hall. He playfully grabs at your sleeve, tugging it as you stand up to leave.

“Baby, don’t go! Please, I can change!” He pleads, gently trying to pull you back down to the table.

You stumble and laugh, batting his grabby hands off your clothes as you squirm away. Nearly tripping on the seat, you pry yourself free, stepping out of Manny’s range and across the table.

“Bye, Abby.”

You slide your container of food next to hers as you pass, having eaten all the vegetables and leaving her the beef. Her head whips up to yours, eyes questioning and mouth full of food. A piece of rice is stuck to her bottom lip.

Cute.

She tries to swallow her mouthful to say something, but inhales wrong in her haste, choking on rice. Manny, observing the interaction, bursts out in a fit of laughter as he slides over his canteen of water, watching Abby gulp it down to clear her throat. Some of the guys sitting next to her lean over to slap at her back, chuckling along with Manny. He’s calling her something in Spanish as she pushes all the hands away, the tips of her ears reddening as he jeers at her.

The last thing you see before the crowd shuffles and blocks your view is Abby, leaning over the table to punch Manny in the arm.

⸙

“He even said that we could decorate for Christmas. Apparently, he knows some department store that has trees and everything.” Mel gushes, setting up the surgical cart for the night.

“You two are so fucking cute.” You smile, spinning yourself in the office chair they have back here.

Mel flushes, feeling the heat of her cheeks with the back of her palms, “I just… I don’t know. I feel stupid for getting so giddy about it all but he’s just sweet, you know? Thoughtful.” She smiles softly to herself, reaching up in a cupboard for some gauze. “We haven’t even been dating a year and he’s already talking about getting new room assignments.”

“And you want that? He’s not like, pressuring you to go too fast or anything?” You slow your spin, digging your heels into the tent floor to stop to face her.

She shakes her head, laying out a handful of freshly bleached bandages and some scissors. “No, he’s been really good about it. I said that I’d like to wait until the New Year at least. Start fresh.

You nod, looking at her. Mel is a kind person, though she can be very outspoken and tough when needed -- you’ve seen this enough times when dealing with Abby or an unruly patient. But you’ve never seen her so happy. So flustered.

She giggles sometimes. Mel has never been a giggler.

Owen has been good for her. She needed someone to stop her from overworking herself, to make her feel appreciated and special, and if Owen is anything, he’s a hopeless romantic and a great distraction.

You let out a sigh, dramatically throwing you hand up to your forehead, pushing with your feet to spin on the chair.

“I can’t believe my wife is taking our child and leaving me for another! Leaving me to wallow in our shared home all alone.”

She snorts, throwing you a look over her shoulder, “Our child?”

“Alice, obviously.” You peek at her from behind your hand. “I expect visitation.”

Mel laughs, throwing her head back, “Of course. Wouldn’t dream of keeping her from seeing you.”

The room falls into a comfortable silence, Mel double checking the contents of her cart.

“Maybe when I move out you can see about getting someone else to move in so you’re not as lonely.”

You shrug, leaning your head all the way back on the headrest so it hangs over. You feel something shift and pop in your neck, a pressure fizzling away.

“Yeah, no. I’ll just live it bachelor style until someone needs the space.”

Mel hums, “So you wouldn’t even offer it to your mystery woman?”

You try so hard to school your reaction, to not make it so obvious how right she is, but it’s difficult when she gets you like that out of nowhere. You tilt your head up to look at the back of her head.

“My who?”

Mel turns around, a smirk playing at her lips. She knows she’s caught you out. “Don’t play dumb with me. I know you’ve been having someone over while I’m gone.”

Your cheeks pink as you go to defend yourself, but for the life of you, you can’t find a non-damning answer. You’re left stuttering, gaping like a fish.

“I- Who- You don’t know that.”

“Oh? Then why do you always ask if I plan to be home or not?”

“Can’t I be invested in your safety? As your friend- “

“And, “ she cuts you off, crossing her arms over her chest as she leans against the sanitation sink, “We both know you have trouble sleeping alone. But suddenly on the nights I’m gone, you come into work having slept like a baby? Nuh-uh.” She points an accusing finger your way. “You’ve got someone you’re bringing home that you’re not telling me about.”

She looks triumphant. Victorious in having called you out on your sneaking around.

Your hands come up to cover your face, hiding from her gaze.

“Mel, it’s not like that,” you groan, sliding down in your chair.

“Seems like that to me.”

“No, it’s just… we’re just friends. I’m just hanging out with a friend.”

She doesn’t believe you. You don’t have to be looking at her to know that for a fact. “And you’d be content to just… stay friends?”

“Obviously I’d be fine with whatever she wants,” you rush out, getting overwhelmed with the intimate questions.

Theres a beat of silence.

“But…” she prompts.

You throw you hands up, looking up at her, “Yes, Mel. Fine. If she was interested, I would take her up on it. Happy?”

Mel nods, pleased as punch at getting you to admit this out loud. She has a bad habit of doing that.

“So,” she breaks the silence, kicking off the bench, “Are you going to tell me who it is?”

You cringe. Seeing as they aren’t exactly on speaking terms, you doubt that she’s going to be super thrilled about Abby hanging out in her home while she’s gone.

“I… I don’t know, Mel. Sorry, I just- “

“Hey, it’s fine. I get it.” She says softly, walking over and placing a warm hand on your arm. “No hard feelings. I’m not going to be mad because you don’t want to tell me who you’re crushing on.”

You breathe out a sigh of relief, sagging against the backrest of the chair. “Thanks, Mel.”

“But if you ever wanted to talk about it- “

“Yes, yes,” you wave her off, unable to help yourself from smiling, “I’ll come to you about it.”

Mel smiles, pushing you on the shoulder so that you spin around in your chair.

“Come on, time for work.”