#ruewrote

the interviewer grins, clearly pleased. “yeah?”

“oh, i binged it in less than a day,” you ramble. “like, canceled plans, phone on silent, unwell about it.”

somewhere just off to your left, you're oblivious that hudson is mid interview himself, glances over, already slightly smirking to himself. he knows where this is going.

“the chemistry,” you continue, hands coming up as you talk, animated now. “that’s what got me. it wasn’t just tension for tension’s sake, you know? there was so much chemistry. like, the way they looked at each other-”

you cut yourself off, laughing. “sorry. i’m getting too into this.”

“no, please,” the interviewer says. “go on.”

“it just hooked me,” you nod, “i don’t even know how to explain it. you start one episode thinking you’ll stop halfway and then suddenly it’s four in the morning and you’re like, what am i supposed to do with myself now?”

the camera zooms slightly closer.

“and,” you add, turning fully toward the lens now, eyes sparkling with mischief, “i am formally begging. publicly. on record. please cast me in season two.”

the interviewer laughs, “oh?”

“i don’t care if it’s a small scene,” you insist, clasping your hands dramatically. “i’ll be a random girl in the background. i’ll do something embarrassing. i’ll do anything.”

you glance straight into the camera again, completely unserious and fully committed. “call me.”

hudson actually snorts from his interview, shaking his head.

you’re still smiling when movement catches your eye, someone passing just by you. tall. dark suit. familiar face.

connor storrie.

your brain short circuits instantly.

“oh my god, wait, connor,” you blurt, turning completely away from the interview without hesitation.

the interviewer looks momentarily startled as you call out, “hi! hi, sorry, hi!”

connor stops mid step, clearly surprised. his face breaks into a grin the second he realises you’re talking to him.

“hey,” he acknowledges, laughing a little, stepping closer.

you don’t even think, you reach out, lightly grabbing his arm to get his attention fully. “hi. i’m so sorry, i’m being rude, i’m mid interview, but i wanted to say hi.”

he laughs, shaking his head. “no, it’s okay, hi to you too.”

he leans in and pulls you into a quick side hug, arm warm and around your shoulders. it’s brief, cameras immediately swing toward the two of you.

“good to see you,” his words quiet against your ear.

“you too,” you reply, beaming up at him. “seriously.”

he gives a little nod, still smiling, before letting you go and continuing on toward his own interview spot.

the second he’s gone, you turn back toward the camera, pressing a hand to your chest dramatically.

“i’m fine,” you announce, “woo! i'm totally fine.”

the interviewer laughs, “you alright?”

you fan yourself with your hand, a little over the top. “it should be illegal.”

“what should?”

you glance between where connor disappeared and now realising where hudson is doing his own interview a few feet away, then back to the camera.

“is it weird if i say that they both smell and look so good?” you fangirl, “it’s actually unfair to the rest of us.”

“i mean,” you continue, grinning, “how is anyone else supposed to compete with that? i walked onto this carpet confident and now i’m just-”

you flutter your hand again, mock dazed.

“ruined,” the interviewer finishes for you.

“ruined,” you confirm.

hudson glances over again, catching the tail end of your dramatics. he watches you with an amused, fond smile, completely unaware that he's just watched you just publicly sing his praises.

“and final question,” the interviewer says, still smiling. “if you were cast in season two… who would you want scenes with?”

you don’t even hesitate.

“both,” you blurt out, “together, preferably.”

the interviewer laughs as the segment wraps, thanking you. you step back, still riding the buzz, cheeks warm, heart thudding.

as you finally move toward the ballroom entrance, hudson finishes his interview too, catching up to you as you go and take your pictures.

walking side by side with you now, he raises his brows, amused. “did i hear my show just got aggressively promoted?”

you grin. 

“i regret nothing.”

but right now he was here. safe and warm with you. you shifted carefully onto your side, propping yourself up on an elbow as you looked down at him. a strand of his hair had fallen over his forehead. you brushed it back gently, fingertips barely touching his skin.

he didn’t wake, so you lean down, pressing the lightest kiss to his forehead. then another to the corner of his brow, another to the bridge of his nose, his breathing changed just slightly, deeper then slower, but he stayed asleep.

a smile tugged at your mouth, you kissed one closed eyelid, then the other. his lips twitched faintly, you like to think that somewhere in sleep he knew exactly what was happening but didn’t mind one bit.

you kissed over the line of his cheekbone, then the other side, trailing affection over every place you could possibly reach, wanting to try to rewrite every cruel thing the world had ever handed him.

“you deserve everything good,” you whispered against his skin, another kiss to his jaw. “you deserve softness.” another beside his mouth, “you deserve to be loved.” saying it quietly into him even though he couldn’t hear you… well that’s what you thought.

this time when you leaned in again, his hand caught your jaw gently, your breath hitched. benjamin’s eyes were half open, sleep heavy, lashes low over them. he looked up at you with sleepy confusion, softened by exhaustion.

“how long,” his voice rough with sleep, he cleared his throat a little, “have you been attacking me?” you laughed under your breath. “long enough.” 

his thumb brushed your lower cheek where he held you. “i was aware.”

“oh, were you?”

“mhm.” his eyes slipped shut again for a second. “didn’t want you to stop.” you got giddy all over again, bending down to kiss him properly this time, catching his lips with your own, happily savouring the moment. when you pulled back, his arm came around your back, hand sliding lower until it found your ass, squeezing as he dragged you closer. 

“you know,” you murmured, brushing your nose against his, “i plan on doing this every morning.”

he swallowed thickly before speaking up, “no one’s ever done this before.” the room felt like it went still. you touched his face, thumb smoothing over the line of his cheek. “then they were incredibly stupid.”

for a second something flickered across his face, that disbelief he always had when your kindness reached for him, never quite knowing what to do with it. it didn’t take him long to tug you down against him, burying his face in your shoulder as he held you tighter.

you adore fans, always have, but paparazzi at the end of a night like this aren’t worth the risk  . they’re impatient and pushy cause they’re also all tired and need to get paid.

the back of the venue is quieter and much cooler. a service alley lit by soft yellow bulbs and the glow of idling cars. your driver is already there, the door open, waiting on you.

you take a breath. one more step and you’ll finally be done for the night.

“hey- wait up!”

you flinch, heart jumping as you turn.

hudson and connor come into view, jogging toward you, connors tie is crooked. connor’s hair has fallen out of whatever careful styling it had earlier. both of them are slightly out of breath, hands braced on their thighs for a second as they stop.

you blink, then laugh.

“oh my god,” you breathe out, half amused, half startled. “i thought i was about to get yelled at.”

connor laughs too, shaking his head. “yeah, no. sorry. we didn’t mean to scare you.”

hudson straightens, rolling his shoulders as if he’s trying to calm himself. “we just…uh- didn’t want to miss you.”

you glance between them, smiling softening. “everything okay?”

there’s a pause. hudson looks at connor. connor looks back. hudson exhales. “we were wondering… if we could get your number.”

connor nods quickly, “only if you’re comfortable. just to stay in touch.”

the honesty of it, catches you off guard in the best way.

“yeah,” you blurt out without thinking, “of course, that’d be lovely.”

the tension in their shoulders visibly releases.

connor hands you his phone first, then hudson does the same. you take them both, thumbs moving easily as you type your name and number into each. you don’t rush it, there’s no reason to.

when you give their phones back, hudson glances down at the screen then back up at you.

“thank you,” you shrug lightly, “i’d have been disappointed if you didn’t ask.”

that makes connor laugh under his breath.

for a second, none of you speak. the alley hums softly, the distant crowd, an engine idling, the muted clink of someone packing equipment inside the venue.

you step forward before you can overthink it.

connor’s closest. he’s taller enough that your arms slide around his middle, your cheek brushing the front of his jacket as you lean in. the hug is brief but warm, the kind that says thank you for being kind to me tonight.

his hands come to rest lightly at your back, careful, respectful, he only pulls away when he feels you do it first. his head dipping instinctively.

as you separate, he turns just enough to press a quick kiss to your cheek, soft and unassuming, it happens on reflex rather than intention.

then you’re turning toward hudson.

you fit into him a little differently. one arm loops around his shoulders, the other settling at his side as you lean in, closer than you need to be. he stills for half a second before his arms come around you, slower this time.. you feel the warmth of him through his silk shirt, the way his chest rises.

when you pull back, he does too, eyes dropping briefly before lifting again, that’s when he leans in, brushing a kiss to your other cheek as you separate. it lingers only a fraction longer than connor’s, this one very much intentional.

you step back with a smile you don’t quite bother hiding, heart still humming, that same quiet infatuation curling in your chest, the one you’d felt all night, watching them, feeling oddly seen.

“goodnight,” you bid them, “goodnight,” they echo.

hudson smiles at you, “make sure to let us know when you get home safe.”

you nod, stepping into the car, sharing one final look as the door closes behind you.

neither of you notice the figure a few yards away, half hidden behind a van. their phone still angled as they stopped recording the video.

by the time your car disappears down the street, the moment is no longer just yours and by morning, it won’t matter how ‘innocent’ it was. 

the internet will decide what all of it really meant…

now, even with your schedule packed, the anxiety was very much still there, you couldn’t shake it. you caught yourself glancing at your phone again. you had counted, at least, fifteen times in the past ten minutes. your thumb hovered over the screen ready to unlock and check for a new message.

a small part of you tried to reason it out. “it’s only been a week,” you muttered to yourself, staring out the window as you sipped at your tea. “they’re busy. you’re busy. it’s late, it’s fine.” but it didn’t feel fine. it felt like your brain had turned against you, the wait really was killing you.

the exposure that you had gotten online after that night should’ve been enough to distract you.

your interview clip had somehow become the clip. edits of your interactions with the three of you. people dissecting your answers, your follower count had jumped overnight. your publicist had sent three different emails with subject lines in all caps.

it was good. really good.

but none of it stopped you from checking your phone again and again. you’d told yourself you just have to be patient. then again you didn’t want to have misread that night. the touches, the kisses on your cheeks, the hugs at the end of the night.

maybe they’d just been caught up in the atmosphere, hell maybe you had been too.

you exhale slowly and force your phone face down on the counter. tomorrow you have a photoshoot anyway. big brand, big opportunities, you need sleep, not to be up spiraling.

the studio air smells faintly like hairspray and coffee. you’re ushered from makeup to wardrobe with gentle hands guiding your elbows, stylists murmuring about lighting and fabric drape. the space is bright, aggressively white and music playing over the speakers echoes throughout the room.

you slip into work mode easily, it’s muscle memory by now. your chin angled, shoulders dropped, eyes softened just enough to look candid. the photographer moves around you in slow arcs, camera clicking in sharp bursts. 

the photographer lowers his camera slightly, studying you for a second before lifting his hand.

“hold that.” you freeze mid motion, eyes lifted through your lashes. your fingers are hooked loosely into the hem of the sweater, shoulder tilted toward the light. the fan blows air towards you, pushing your hair back just enough to expose your jawline.

“beautiful,” he murmurs, circling you slowly.

he steps closer, not touching at first. just gesturing. “turn your body slightly- yeah, give me more of this side.”

you shift your weight onto your back foot, hip angling subtly as your shoulders rotate. the sweater slips a fraction lower down your arm and the stylist moves in quickly, adjusting it with careful fingers before stepping away again.

“good. relax your mouth,” he suggests, tapping his own lip as demonstration, which made you smile quickly before snapping back into professionalism.

you part yours slightly, exhaling through them so your expression softens. your hand slides from the hem of the sweater to your collarbone, fingertips brushing lightly across your skin absentmindedly. the camera clicks rapidly.

“chin up. not that much-  there. stay right there.”

he steps forward then, gently placing two fingers beneath your jaw to tilt it a few degrees toward the light. it’s brief and professional, his touch gone as quickly as it came. you follow the direction instinctively, arching your neck just enough to elongate the line.

“yes! that’s it.”

the music shifts to something slower. you roll your shoulders back between frames, letting tension drop. on the next cue, you pivot fully, giving him your side profile. one hand slips into the pocket of the jeans they’ve styled you in.

between outfit changes, you step off set and reach automatically for your phone. still nothing. you swallow it down, the disappointment, the tiny sting in your chest .

it’s fine, you tell yourself again. 

by midday, you’re in your fourth look. softer lighting now, warmer tones, your makeup slightly smudged on purpose for the look. you’re leaning against a backdrop when your assistant hurries toward you, weaving around cables and light stands.

“sorry,” she apologises quietly, holding your phone out. “i think you’ll want to take this.”

your heart stutters before you even get a good look at it, your fingers clumsy as you unlock the screen. seeing that you’ve been added into a new groupchat.

connor: hi. i’m hoping it isn’t too late to text you

hudson: we’ve been arguing about who should message first for a week. sooo heyy

the breath you let out is shaky, almost embarrassing in it’s relief.

“everything okay?” the photographer calls from behind the camera. you can’t stop smiling. “yeah, actually.” you call back softly as your thumbs move quickly to reply back.

you: i was starting to think you two forgot about me lol

the typing bubble appears almost instantly.

hudson: we absolutely did not forget

connor: we just didn’t want to seem too eager

a quiet laugh escapes you, and you press your lips together to try and hide it as the stylist comes in to adjust your sleeve again.

hudson: are you busy today?

you glance up at the lights, the camera, the team moving around you.

you: photoshoot. trying to look professional

connor: when are you free?

you hesitate only long enough to feel your pulse in your fingertips.

you: tonight maybe?

you: wait whyy?

there’s a minute where they're typing, your heart pounding in your chest as you wait for their reply.

connor: we were hoping you’d say that

you lower your phone slowly, staring at nothing for a second as the warmth spreads through you, not anxiety this time. something more anticipatory.

“ready?” the photographer asks. you straighten your shoulders, handing your phone back to your giddy manager, step back under the lights, and this time when the camera flashes, your smile is anything but fake.

the one who, just last night, had you pinned against your apartment door, his mouth hot on your neck, whispering things that were decidedly not safe for work.

you’re not dating. it’s an arrangement, mutually beneficial for the both of you.

the meeting drones on, but the atmosphere’s lighter. people are actually engaging for once. halfway through, flambae leans back in his chair, smirk already tugging at his mouth. “so, robert,” he drawls, voice thick with amusement.

“not to get all touchy feely or anything, but you’ve been in an awfully good mood lately. new skincare routine? secret hobby? or…” his grin widens, eyes flicking toward you before landing back on robert,

“someone keeping you well rested?” he taps the donut box with a finger. “these are a nice touch, by the way.”

a few people chuckle in agreement. robert, who is now standing at the head of the table, doesn’t stiffen or scowl like you might have expected. a faint flush creeps up his neck, but he manages a tight smile.

“if we can return our focus to what's actually important,” he deflects, smoothly steering the conversation back to safer waters.

but his eyes, for just a fraction of a second, flicker to you.

you bring your coffee to your lips, hiding the proud smirk that threatens to split your face. you take a slow, deliberate sip, your eyes locked with his over the rim of the cup. you don’t blink. you just let the smug satisfaction shine through, a silent message just for him.

your look screams, “i did this.” we did this. this is all because of me.

he holds your eyes for a moment too long, his professional face firmly in place, but you see the crack in the facade. you see the way his jaw tightens, just a little, in the way he slightly bites his bottom lip.

he looks away first, turning to the screen, but the tips of his ears are still pink.

the meeting continues, but for you, there’s now a strong tension pulling at you two. every time he speaks, you remember how his voice had dropped to a murmur as his lips brushed your neck.

every time he gestures with his hands, you recall the feel of those same fingers feeling on your skin. 

you can tell he's really trying to keep it together. you're at work for crying out loud. still, you can’t pretend it’s not a little entertaining, knowing that he’s probably replaying the way you bit his shoulder to keep quiet last night.

finally, he dismisses everyone with a “that’s all.” chairs scrape back, and the room stirs with the low shuffle and chatter of everyone leaving.

you take your time, gathering your stuff and the now empty coffee cup, letting the crowd thin. robert is pretending to be engrossed in shutting down the projector, his back to the room.

this is your moment.

you walk towards the door, but instead of leaving, you hover just outside in the hallway, out of sight from the glass of the doors. as he emerges, phone in hand, you reach out, your fingers curling gently but firmly around his wrist. he freezes, his head snapping towards you.

“a word, sir?” an innocent purr that doesn’t match the intent in your eyes.

his gaze darts down the hall, confirming it’s empty. “this isn’t-” he starts, his tone all business, but you’re already pulling him into the small, dim supply closet two doors down. it’s a tight fit, filled with the smell of old paper and toner.

the door clicks shut, plunging you into near darkness, a single sliver of light from under the door cutting across his face. his professional stance is gone, replaced by a startled anticipation.

“what are you doing?” he whispers, but not really in protest.

you don’t bother answering. instead, you push him back until he hits the shelf of printer paper, your hands sliding up his neck to catch his face and you kiss him.

nothing soft, it’s possessive, something of the kiss version of that smug little smile you wore all throughout the meeting. 

a wordless reminder to him that this was exactly why he was in such a good mood.

it takes him a second to register your touch, but with a low groan he breaks. his hands wrap around you, one hand tangling in your hair, the other splaying against the small of your back, pulling you flush against him.

he kisses you back with the same desperation. his tongue sweeping into your mouth, tasting of coffee and the faint sugar from the donuts.

this is the robert you know. not your boss, not your dispatcher, but the one who comes undone beneath you. you can feel the frantic beat of his heart as his chest pressed against yours.

when you finally break apart, you’re both breathing heavily, the sound loud in the confined space.

you rest your forehead against his, your smug smile returning, now pressed against his lips. “so,” you whisper, “the donuts were a nice touch.”

he huffs a quiet, breathless laugh, his thumb stroking your cheek. “shut up,” he murmurs, but there’s no heat in it, pressing another kiss to your mouth.

“we can’t stay in here,” he gets out after another moment, his voice regaining a sliver of its usual command, though it’s thoroughly undermined by the fact that he’s still holding you tightly against him.

“i know,” you agree, not moving an inch.

he steals one last, quick kiss. “ugh fine! my office. five minutes.”

he disentangles himself, smooths down his tie, and slips out the door, leaving you alone in the dark. you lean back against the shelves, a slow grin spreading across your face. you can still taste him on your lips.

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"go!" you shouted, voice raw with urgency.

minho barely had time to react, stumbling forward before catching himself. he turned back, eyes wide with frustration and fear, but you were already moving, already twisting out of the way.

the griever's jagged limb sliced through the air where you had just been, missing you by mere inches. but you weren't fast enough.

the force of it’s swing still caught your side, a brutal impact that sent you flying backward. your body slammed against a wall with a thud. an explosion of pain ripped through your torso.

the breath was stolen from your lungs, your vision momentarily darkening at the edges as you crumpled to the ground in a heap.

everything felt like it had slowed, your senses dulled by the sharp sting in your head where it had struck the wall. warmth trickled down your face, sticky and thick, the metallic tang of blood filling your mouth as you gasped for air.

the pain in your side throbbed in sync with your heartbeat, and when you tried to push yourself up, a sharp spike of agony shot through your ankle.

twisted? maybe worse.

"shuck!" minho's voice was a distant roar, his footsteps slamming against the ground as he skidded to a stop beside you. he didn’t hesitate. his hands grasping your arm, yanking you up with a force that nearly sent another wave of nausea rolling through you.

"get up," he snapped, voice tight with urgency. "we gotta move, now!"

"i–" your words barely leaving your lips before he was throwing your arm over his shoulder, all but hauling you forward.

your legs screamed in protest, your ankle a burning mess, but there was no time to complain. the griever let out a horrible, guttural screech, its body dragging itself toward you with terrifying speed. its bladed legs glinted under the fading light, rising to strike again.

minho didn't slow. "come on, come on, come on–"

each step was agony, but the sight of the glade’s walls ahead sent a fresh surge of adrenaline through your veins. safety was right there. you just had to make it.

minho was half dragging you now, your injured leg barely keeping up, but he didn’t let go. he didn’t let you fall. he kept moving, kept running, even as the shriek of the griever grew louder behind you, too close, too fast.

and then–.

the moment the two of you stumbled past the threshold, the stone doors groaned, their deep rumbling echoing through the maze. dust and debris rained down as the massive slabs of rock slammed shut with a final, deafening boom.

silence.

the maze was sealed. the horrors locked away behind stone and shadow, for now.

your knees buckled, body trembling with exhaustion, but minho kept you upright, his grip tight as he gasped for breath beside you. his chest heaved, sweat dripping down his face as he turned to look at you. his expression was tense, jaw clenched, but his eyes. his eyes burned with something fierce. relief. frustration.

"you okay?" he panted, though he didn’t need to ask.

you swallowed hard, still dazed, still struggling to process the fact that you’d made it. that you were alive.

you opened your mouth to answer, but your vision blurred at the edges, black spots dancing in your peripheral vision. the blood still dripped down your temple, the weight of exhaustion was unbearable.

"help! someone get jeff, now!"

the darkness swallowed you whole, you barely registered the weightlessness of your body, the sounds around you becoming distant echoes. but there was something keeping you upright, something solid, something warm.

hands.

strong, steady hands gripping your shoulder and your leg, the person shook you. not rough, but firm enough to fight against the pull of unconsciousness.

“don’t you dare.”

the voice cut through the haze, it filled with desperation. the grip on you tightened, grounding you, keeping you from slipping any further.

“stay with me, shuck face.”

your eyelids fluttered, the effort to keep them open unbearable, but that voice, it had a hold on you.

then everything went dark.

when you finally stirred, your body felt heavy, weighed down by exhaustion and pain. the first thing you registered was the dull ache in your head, the lingering sting of your injuries. the second was the warmth of somebody beside you.

your eyes cracked open, slow and sluggish, blinking against the dim light. the familiar wooden beams of the med-jack hut swam into view, followed by the scratchy feeling of blankets pulled over you.

and then, him.

gally.

he was right there, sitting at your bedside, elbows on his knees, his hands clasped tightly together as if he was holding himself back. but the tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw was clenched, told you everything.

at the sound of your breath hitching, his head snapped up. the moment his eyes met yours, something flickered across his face. relief, frustration, something deeper.

“you’re real stubborn, ya know that?” he muttered, voice hoarse.

you tried to swallow, your throat dry. “nice to see you too.”

but gally wasn’t amused. he exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “what the hell were you thinking?” his voice was rough, almost fearful.

your body still ached, but you managed a small, tired smile. “didn’t… have much of a choice.”

he scoffed. “yeah? ‘cause from where i was standing, it looked like you ran straight into danger like a damn slinthead.”

you sighed, shifting slightly. “we had to get back.”

“that’s the problem,” he snapped, leaning forward. “you didn’t think. you could’ve died.”

his voice cracked at the end, just slightly, but enough for you to notice. you blinked at him, your exhaustion making everything feel distant, yet gally, he was the only thing that felt real.

then, like he couldn’t stop himself, he reached forward, his rough, calloused hands gripping your arm, fingers pressing into your skin. his touch was soft.

“back there,” he muttered, voice low, like he hated admitting it. “when you started slipping, when you almost–” he stopped, inhaling sharply through his nose. 

you remembered. the way his hands held onto you, the desperation in his voice.

a faint smile tugged at your lips, weak but genuine. slowly, you lifted a trembling hand, brushing your fingertips against his cheek. he tensed, eyes flickering between yours, but he didn’t pull away.

“you were worried,” you murmured.

gally let out a dry, humourless chuckle. “yeah, no klunk.” his voice softened, though the frustration still lingered. “minho came running in with you half dead, bleeding all over the damn place. of course, i was worried.”

your fingers traced lightly along his cheekbone before dropping back onto the blanket, your body too weak to do much more. but the warmth of his skin lingered on your fingertips.

“i’m okay,” you whispered.

he shook his head, exhaling deeply. “yeah.” his hand that was still wrapped around your arm, sliding down to intertwine your fingers. “you better be.”

the exhaustion was still heavy, your body sinking into the thin makeshift mattress. but you weren’t fully out. the warmth of gally’s hand remained, a steady reassurance even as your eyelids fluttered closed. he didn’t move right away.

you could feel his eyes on you, watching, waiting, like he didn’t fully trust that you were okay just yet.

then, finally, his grip loosened, but only slightly. his thumb brushed over your wrist, lingering there for a second longer before he let go.

“you need to rest,” he muttered, voice gruff but softer than before. “don’t pull any more stupid stunts.”

you hummed something incoherent in response, too tired to argue, he sighed knowing you weren’t really listening.

there was a shift in the room, a murmur of voices just outside the hut, and then the faint creak of the door opening. you heard the shuffle of footsteps. clint’s voice, quiet but firm.

“how bad was it?” gally’s voice was lower now, quieter, but still edged with worry.

“she’ll be fine,” clint replied. “but she’s banged up bad. twisted ankle, bruised ribs, mild concussion. jeff and i patched her up the best we could, but she needs to take it easy.”

gally let out a breath, and you could almost picture him running a hand through his hair, frustration bleeding into every movement. “make sure she does,” he muttered. “don’t let her push herself. she’s stubborn as shuck.”

clint chuckled. “yeah, no kidding.”

“i mean it.” there was an edge to gally’s voice now, something protective, something fierce. “be careful with her, alright?”

there was a pause, then clint’s voice, softer this time. “you really care about her, huh?”

silence.

you fought to keep your breathing steady, to keep yourself still, even as your heart thumped a little harder in your chest.

“…just make sure she’s okay,” gally says finally.

then, without another word, the door creaked again, and the heavy sound of his boots returned to your bedside.

you felt the mattress dip as he sat down beside you. there was a brief hesitation, then warmth. his warmth, as he shifted closer. 

you felt his arm slide beneath you carefully, his other draping across your waist as he eased you against him, mindful of your injuries. his grip was firm, but gentle.

for a long moment, he was still. then he muttered, “i hope you know you scared me half to death.”

you could have answered. you could have told him you knew, that you were sorry, that you were still here. but instead, you let yourself relax against him, let his steady breathing lull you into something close to peace. 

as his fingers absently traced soft patterns against your back, as his hold on you tightened just slightly. the mix of the feeling of his arms around you, and the distant hum of the glade outside slowly pulled you under. your eyelids fluttered, too heavy to keep open, 

and within moments, you drifted off to sleep.

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