#wc:open

Brock wasn’t a general practitioner himself, but the residents of Wisteria Court often felt comfortable coming to him with their questions about their health and well-being, which made him quite a hot commodity around the hospital. (He liked to think it was because of his expertise and not solely because of his looks. This was not entirely correct.)

He was in the middle of going over some important documents in his office when he heard a knock on his door, prompting him to look up at a familiar face. “Oh, hey!” he calls out to them, offering his trademark winning grin. “What’s up? How’s that thing with your mom going? Have the symptoms gone away yet? Remember what I told her: Tylenol is not a cure-all for everythin, which is a common assumption among the older set—”

Working security for a gated community was decidedly not the direction Paco saw his life going in, but work was work. It didn’t give him the same satisfaction being a sheriff back home did, but it sustained his need for law and order — it was just on a much smaller scale. With less jurisdiction than he would have liked. Better than nothing.

He’d just started his shift when Paco got a call from one of the residents. Already? Paco knew the citizens of Wisteria Court had a tendency to be overly paranoid rich folk, but come on. Time to get to work. 

Ten minutes later, he pulled up to the address given to him and knocked on their door, admittedly scoffing at the McMansion he found around him. His house was much smaller than this one, even if the insanely high rent didn’t reflect it...

Then the door opens.

“Hi there,” Paco says firmly, sizing up the resident who requested his services. It seemed like everybody who lived in Wisteria Court was a goddamn adonis, and this one was no exception. But now wasn’t the time to be unprofessional. “You called about a security concern? What’s the matter? Everything seems fine to me...”

ever since he started working at the gym, coaching clients into getting in better shape, charlie had had his fair share of things to see in the building that he sometimes, and more often than not, wished he didn’t get to see. be it naked bodies, dirty people, people with hair where they shouldn’t have hair and other things like that. he never got used to it. almost every single time he walked into the locker room to change and get himself ready, mainly just trading his city clothes for something more comfortable and gym appropriate, he’d say a little prayer in his head, hoping not to get blinded by something too strong for his eyes to take in. this time hashem seemed to listen to his prayer and allowed him to not get grossed out immediately as he walked into the room. for which charlie was very much grateful.