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bitching-newsboys · 5 years ago

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A nurse has heart attack and describes what she felt like when having one

I am an ER nurse and this is the best description of this event that I have ever heard.

FEMALE HEART ATTACKS

I was aware that female heart attacks are different, but this is description is so incredibly visceral that I feel like I have an entire new understanding of what it feels like to be living the symptoms on the inside. Women rarely have the same dramatic symptoms that men have… you know, the sudden stabbing pain in the chest, the cold sweat, grabbing the chest & dropping to the floor the we see in movies. Here is the story of one woman’s experience with a heart attack:

"I had a heart attack at about 10:30 PM with NO prior exertion, NO prior emotional trauma that one would suspect might have brought it on. I was sitting all snugly & warm on a cold evening, with my purring cat in my lap, reading an interesting story my friend had sent me, and actually thinking, ‘A-A-h, this is the life, all cozy and warm in my soft, cushy Lazy Boy with my feet propped up. A moment later, I felt that awful sensation of indigestion, when you’ve been in a hurry and grabbed a bite of sandwich and washed it down with a dash of water, and that hurried bite seems to feel like you’ve swallowed a golf ball going down the esophagus in slow motion and it is most uncomfortable. You realize you shouldn’t have gulped it down so fast and needed to chew it more thoroughly and this time drink a glass of water to hasten its progress down to the stomach. This was my initial sensation–the only trouble was that I hadn’t taken a bite of anything since about 5:00 p.m.

After it seemed to subside, the next sensation was like little squeezing motions that seemed to be racing up my SPINE (hind-sight, it was probably my aorta spasms), gaining speed as they continued racing up and under my sternum (breast bone, where one presses rhythmically when administering CPR). This fascinating process continued on into my throat and branched out into both jaws. ‘AHA!! NOW I stopped puzzling about what was happening – we all have read and/or heard about pain in the jaws being one of the signals of an MI happening, haven’t we? I said aloud to myself and the cat, Dear God, I think I’m having a heart attack! I lowered the foot rest dumping the cat from my lap, started to take a step and fell on the floor instead. I thought to myself, If this is a heart attack, I shouldn’t be walking into the next room where the phone is or anywhere else… but, on the other hand, if I don’t, nobody will know that I need help, and if I wait any longer I may not be able to get up in a moment.

I pulled myself up with the arms of the chair, walked slowly into the next room and dialed the Paramedics… I told her I thought I was having a heart attack due to the pressure building under the sternum and radiating into my jaws. I didn’t feel hysterical or afraid, just stating the facts. She said she was sending the Paramedics over immediately, asked if the front door was near to me, and if so, to un-bolt the door and then lie down on the floor where they could see me when they came in. I unlocked the door and then laid down on the floor as instructed and lost consciousness, as I don’t remember the medics coming in, their examination, lifting me onto a gurney or getting me into their ambulance, or hearing the call they made to St. Jude ER on the way, but I did briefly awaken when we arrived and saw that the radiologist was already there in his surgical blues and cap, helping the medics pull my stretcher out of the ambulance. He was bending over me asking questions (probably something like ‘Have you taken any medications?’) but I couldn’t make my mind interpret what he was saying, or form an answer, and nodded off again, not waking up until the Cardiologist and partner had already threaded the teeny angiogram balloon up my femoral artery into the aorta and into my heart where they installed 2 side by side stints to hold open my right coronary artery.

I know it sounds like all my thinking and actions at home must have taken at least 20-30 minutes before calling the paramedics, but actually it took perhaps 4-5 minutes before the call, and both the fire station and St Jude are only minutes away from my home, and my Cardiologist was already to go to the OR in his scrubs and get going on restarting my heart (which had stopped somewhere between my arrival and the procedure) and installing the stents. Why have I written all of this to you with so much detail? Because I want all of you who are so important in my life to know what I learned first hand.

1. Be aware that something very different is happening in your body, not the usual men’s symptoms but inexplicable things happening (until my sternum and jaws got into the act). It is said that many more women than men die of their first (and last) MI because they didn’t know they were having one and commonly mistake it as indigestion, take some Maalox or other anti-heartburn preparation and go to bed, hoping they’ll feel better in the morning when they wake up… which doesn’t happen. My female friends, your symptoms might not be exactly like mine, so I advise you to call the Paramedics if ANYTHING is unpleasantly happening that you’ve not felt before. It is better to have a ‘false alarm’ visitation than to risk your life guessing what it might be! 2. Note that I said ‘Call the Paramedics.’ And if you can take an aspirin. Ladies, TIME IS OF THE ESSENCE! Do NOT try to drive yourself to the ER - you are a hazard to others on the road. Do NOT have your panicked husband who will be speeding and looking anxiously at what’s happening with you instead of the road. Do NOT call your doctor – he doesn’t know where you live and if it’s at night you won’t reach him anyway, and if it’s daytime, his assistants (or answering service) will tell you to call the Paramedics. He doesn’t carry the equipment in his car that you need to be saved! The Paramedics do, principally OXYGEN that you need ASAP. Your Dr. will be notified later. 3. Don’t assume it couldn’t be a heart attack because you have a normal cholesterol count. Research has discovered that a cholesterol elevated reading is rarely the cause of an MI (unless it’s unbelievably high and/or accompanied by high blood pressure). MIs are usually caused by long-term stress and inflammation in the body, which dumps all sorts of deadly hormones into your system to sludge things up in there. Pain in the jaw can wake you from a sound sleep. Let’s be careful and be aware. The more we know the better chance we could survive to tell the tale.“

Reblog, repost, Facebook, tweet, pin, email, morse code, fucking carrier pigeon this to save a life! I wish I knew who the author was. I’m definitely not the OP, actually think it might be an old chain email or even letter from back in the day. The version I saw floating around Facebook ended with “my cardiologist says mail this to 10 friends, maybe you’ll save one!” And knew this was way too interesting not to pass on.

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bitching-newsboys · 5 years ago

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Race vs the hot RA

Or the couple times race pined after the hot RA and the time the hot RA pined back

Hi! im back at school after thanksgiving break, so i decided to write some college fluff. like for real guys. its j us t fluff

enjoy!

ship: ralbert

warnings: lots of fucking smiling ;)

word count: something like 3k?

editing: nein

“This is BULLSHIT.”

Race takes out an earbud and stares, mildly alarmed, at the bathroom door of their suite. Abruptly, the shower shuts off, despite having been on for all of thirty seconds and a moment later, Spot emerges with a towel wrapped around his waist, shivering hard enough to rival a chihuahua left out in front of a grocery store in the rain. He looks angry, scowling hard enough to bare his teeth and eyes narrowed in a way that would probably be murderous if he didn’t also look entirely pathetic.

Race quirks an amused eyebrow, “Everything okay?”

“No,” Spot growls, “there’s no fucking hot water.”

Race frowns, “Like, none?”

“Yes, Race,” Now Race can see the goosebumps that line Spot’s arms and notes with faint concern that his lips look a little blue, “None. Like, it’s fucking Antarctica in that fucking shower. I feel like Steve Rogers after he crashed that fucking plane into the Arctic.”

“Shit, that’s not good.”

Spot scoffs, giving him a ‘no shit’ look and crosses to his drawer to pull out a pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt.

“Maybe too many people are using the showers?” Race suggests, “and like, maybe the hot water got all used up. That happens sometimes at home.”

“Don’t think it works like that,” Spot says, padding back towards the bathroom, “M’pretty sure this place operates more like a hotel, so lack of hot water shouldn’t be an issue. Can you go let the RA know something’s wrong with the plumbing?”

Race’s stomach drops, face coloring a bit at the thought of talking to Albert, their engineering SLO’s attractive resident’s assistant. Like Race and Spot, he’s a junior, but this was Race’s first year living in the engineering housing, so he hadn’t seen him around before. Which was weird considering they should have at least had a freshman seminar together or something of the sort.

But nope. On upperclassmen move in day, Race was completely blindsided by the pretty redhead coming around to the dorms, introducing himself with a disarmingly charming smile and an overly peppy, “If you ever need anything, I’m in 311b!”

Which was unfair, really, because naturally, Race had to see Albert fairly often at various floor events and as smooth as he’d like to believe he is, Albert made him basically incoherent.

And Spot knows that.

So, fuck Spot.

“Can’t you go tell him?” Race calls, trying not to sound pathetic but missing that mark by miles.

“No!” Spot shouts back, still sounding irritated, “I got class soon, dude, stop being a pussy and go!”

Race groans, steeling himself for a moment before pushing himself up from his desk and crossing towards the door, stopping at the bathroom to yell a quick, “I hate you!” at Spot before exiting and ambling down the hall towards Albert’s single. The sign outside Albert’s door says that he’s on duty, so he knocks twice and bounces on his toes while he waits, stomach swooping when he hears a, “Just a sec!” from inside the room.

A second later, Albert opens the door, looking relaxed in a pair of running shorts and long sleeved shirt, feet tucked into a fluffy pair of moccasins. The outfit is stupid and entirely adorable and Race has to forcably log his brain back online. By the time he’s gotten a grip on himself, he realizes that Albert was saying something and is now looking at him with a mildly concerned and expectant smile on his face.

“Shit, sorry,” Race stammers, “What?”

The easy smile doesn’t drop, but an almost knowing glint flashes through Albert’s eyes, “I just asked what’s up. Everything okay?”

“Oh,” Race feels himself blush, “Yeah, no, the hot water’s just fucked in our bathroom. Thought I should let you know.”

“Ah, fuck,” Even disgruntled, Albert looks easy-going. It’s unfair really. For someone majoring in astrophysics, Albert always look entirely too relaxed, “Yeah, Mush came to me earlier about that. I called in a ‘fix-it’ and they said someone should be coming to look at it around 5 o’clock. Sorry, though. I know cold showers are fucking awful.”

“Oh, it’s okay,” Race says, “Spot was the one who got the brunt of it, not me.”

“Bet he was thrilled,” Albert says, “Kid’s a ray of sunshine.”

Albert even manages to make biting sarcasm sound entirely welcome. Race isn’t convinced he doesn’t have super powers or something.

“Yeah, he was super chill about it,” Race plays along, “Kindly asked me to let you know and everything.”

“Mhm, I’m sure.”

There’s a small lapse of silence and Race starts to feel the nerves in his stomach come back, suddenly overwhelmed again by Albert’s alluring nature. He’s about to turn and leave when Albert opens his door wider.

“You wanna come in for a bit?” He asks, “Was just making some ramen if you’re interested.”

“Oh,” Race’s heart soars for a second before dropping again, “Fuck, I’d love to, but I can’t,” Albert’s face falls a fraction and Race tries not to read too deep into that, “I have to finish studying for that astro 212 exam.”

Albert lights up again, “Oh! I gotta study for that, too. We can study together? If you want, I mean. Like, you totally don’t have to if you, like, study better alone or something, I just thought it might be fun to-”

“Albert,” Race cuts him off, feeling oddly elated to see Albert flustered for once, “No, that’s perfect. I’d love to eat ramen and study with you, just give me a minute to go grab my notes.”

“Sweet!” Albert says, smiling again, “I’ll keep my door open, so just come on in whenever!”

Race gives him a thumbs up and tries not to run back to his room. Once he’s inside, it’s a mad dash to grab his things, cursing as he drops his graphing calculator twice. He doesn’t even notice Spot on the floor, tying his shoes, until he laughs.

“Got a hot study date?” He quips.

“No,” Race says, “Shut up. RAs aren’t technically allowed to date residents.”

Spot holds up his hands in the universal sign of surrender, “Rules can be bent.”

Race rolls his eyes, rushing back out of the room.

Race fucking hates calculus. Well, actually, that’s a lie. He fucking loves calculus. Numbers have always made sense to him, theorems and equations melding into one beautiful web of logic that always pulled him into a comfortable rhythm. But right now, surface integrals were fucking him in the ass.

Which is why he’s holed up in the library on a Sunday morning, staving off a wicked hangover and trying not to vomit as he stares dejectedly at his textbook, praying that the words on the page will magically make sense. Sighing probably too dramatically, he pulls his notebook towards himself and copies down another problem, working through it at a snail’s pace before checking the answer in the back of the book…

…And it’s wrong. Again. Fuck.

He groans, dropping his head down and thumping it a few times against the table. It makes his head hurt worse, so he stops, inwardly reviewing all the ways he’s a fucking dumbass who shouldn’t be in college, because college is hard.

And fuck multivariable calculus.

Just kidding, sorry, Race thinks, I love you, multivar.

“Doing okay?”

Race looks up too fast, groaning again at the movement. Albert’s hovering across the table from him, backpack slung on his back and iced coffee in hand, an amused smirk resting on his face. He looks entirely too awake for a 10 am on a Sunday, but then again he wasn’t drinking last night.

“Depends,” Race answers, apparently too hungover to be too affected by Albert’s presence, “Are surface integrals really worth my sweat and tears?”

“For our major, yes,” Albert says, “Mind if I sit?”

Race waves him off, dropping his head back onto the table, “Go ahead. What’re you doing up so early?”

“Same as you it seems,” Race can hear him taking out his books, “Guess we all got a little behind on calc homework.”

“Guess so,” Race forces himself to sit back up, “I don’t get it.”

“What don’t you get?”

“Any of it,” Race feels his stress start to peak, “I haven’t gotten a single fucking problem right and I’ve been here since fucking 8 and really, I don’t know why I did that to myself, ‘cause I was up ‘til god knows when last night dri-” He cuts off, eyeing Albert warily.

Albert shakes his head, “It’s okay, call me a bad RA, but as long as you all are being safe with it and there are no complaints, do what you want.”

Race nods, “Well, then, yeah. So, I was up ‘til god knows when and now I’m hungover, but I gotta spend more time on this fucking class so I don’t fail this unit, because I’ve never failed a unit of math before and I don’t wanna start now, because then I’ll fail everything and fail out of college and-”

“Whoa,” Albert reaches across the table and places a hand on Race’s forearm, “Slow down, dude, breathe,” he waits for Race to take a deep breath, “It’s going to be alright, man. Everyone’s got a bad unit, doesn’t mean you’re gonna fail it all. Just gotta make a game plan. I’m decent at this stuff if you want some help? I can’t say I’m as good as a TA or something might be, but I can help you get this assignment done.”

Race takes another deep breath, trying not to focus on Albert’s lingering grip on his arm. Albert seems to come back to himself though, because he clears his throat, coloring a little as he squeezes Race’s arm and lets go.

“Sorry,” Race says sheepishly, “Didn’t mean to lose it there.”

“Happens to the best of us.”

And there’s Albert again, putting Race at ease with the tone of his voice alone. Fucking magic, Race swears.

Maybe it’s an RA thing. They all seem to have that scarily open demeanor. Race could never.

“You don’t gotta help me, man,” Race says, “I’d feel bad making you-”

“Don’t,” Albert says, smiling. Jeez, does he ever stop smiling? “You’re not making me do anything, I offered. Plus, I gotta get this shit done, too. We’d really just be doing it together. It’s better practice to go in depth anyway.”

A swell of admiration grips Race and he has to look back down at his notebook to keep from doing something stupid like kiss Albert or something.

“C’mon,” Albert prompts lightly, scooching so he’s next to Race instead of across from him and knocking their knees together. Race tries not to lean into the touch, “What’s the first problem? 34?”

They work through the math at a steady pace, and with Albert’s instruction (which lacks a certain condescending air that Spot always gets when he tries to help Race out), Race starts to understand the content better. He’ll still need to go to office hours, probably, but for the moment, he feels less panicked.

By the time they’re finished, their bodies are pressed together from shoulder to thigh, both of them hunched over their work only inches apart. Race tries not to stare, but he can’t help but notice the way Albert bites his lip and narrows his eyes when he’s focused. Even with his guard down, he’s magnetic- effortlessly charming. He must feel Race looking, because he glances up from where he’s completing the final problem. They’re very close- too close, really and Race can see him flick his gaze down to his lips for a second before locking on his eyes. In his peripheral, Race can see his ears color. He’s a blusher, Race has come to realize. It’s kind of precious.

“Thanks,” Race says, unable to stand the growing tension.

Albert blinks a couple times, eyes clearing, “Yeah, no prob.”

“Like, really, thanks. I get it more now and I’m infinitely less stressed.”

Albert grins, “I’m really glad.”

It’s quiet for another second, then Race shifts, glancing at his watch and realizing he’s done with homework and it’s not even 1:00 pm yet.

“Shit, what time is it,” Albert asks, leaning in again to look at Race’s watch, “Fuck, I have duty in a half hour, I gotta go.”

Race tries not to feel disappointed at the prospect of Albert leaving, “Yeah, I might try to go back to sleep to be honest.”

Albert laughs, “Good plan, drink water.”

“Will do.”

They pack up in silence and walk out of the library, pausing again when they get back to their hall.

“Obviously fuck math, but I had fun hanging out with you,” Albert says.

Race feels his heartbeat pick up, “I had fun too.”

There’s another pause, this time a little more loaded, then Albert claps him on the shoulder, “Catch those Zs, bro, I’ll see you around.”

“See you.” Race says, waving as Albert begins to head down the hall.

“Don’t forget to eat!”

“I won’t.”

Albert turns around, fixing him with a playfully serious glare, “Promise me, Higgins. Can’t have any residents sick if I have something to do with it.”

Race laughs, “I promise.”

“Good,” Albert winks and Race feels himself blush down to his chest.

“Albert?”

The situation feels oddly flipped when Race walks into Panera to find Albert slumped at a table, head in his hands and knee bouncing rapidly under the table. It’s a Tuesday afternoon and Race figured he’d grab his weekly cup of broccoli cheddar soup before english.

Albert lifts his head from his hands and Race feels his concern grow when he notices the red that rims his eyes. He’s only ever seen Albert cool and collected, but he supposes even freakishly bubbly people have bad days, too.

“Hey, Race,” Albert tries to smile at him, but it falls short, “What’s up? You okay?”

“I’m good,” Race says, “Just grabbing a bite. What about you? Are you okay?”

Albert deflates a little, dropping his eyes down to his laptop, “I’m alright.”

“You sure?” Race ventures. Fuck it, he thinks and sits down, “You’re looking a little stressed. Is something up?”

He sincerely hopes he isn’t pushing boundaries here, but Albert looks like he needs a friend right now. Or maybe a shot of really strong tequila. Or both.

Albert shrugs, letting out a breath. It sounds shaky and shallow. He fixes Race with a self-deprecating smile.

“Shouldn’t this be the other way around?”

“Hey, man, just because you’re an RA doesn’t mean you can’t ask for help or some bullshit. I’m not gonna make you talk to me or anything, that would be shitty, but I’m here for you and so’s everyone else on the floor. If something’s bothering you, then it’s valid and you deserve support.”

Albert has such a starkly vulnerable look in his eyes that Race almost has to look away. The corners of his lips are turned down and his eyes are wide and almost pleading and he looks so goddamn defeated and beautiful at the same time and Race really wants to hug him.

Albert’s jaw shifts and he turns his gaze down towards his hands. His voice cracks a bit when he says, “I’m technically here on a hockey scholarship, right?” Race nods and Albert continues, “And our team is losing national ranking, ‘cause our new coach fucking sucks, so I might lose aspects of that scholarship and my parents can’t pay for my tuition on their own and-” he stops, shaking his head, “I’m scared, I think. I don’t wanna have to drop out or something.”

Race takes a moment to mull over a good response and reaches across the table, hoping he’s been reading their interactions correctly as he places a hand over Albert’s. To his relief (and delight) Albert flips his hand so their fingers are laced together.

Race squeezes it encouragingly, “I can’t promise you that everything will be alright and I can’t make you false reassurances, but I bet if you talked to the financial aid office, they could help you figure out a plan? But throughout all of this, I’m going to be here for you, alright? Anything you need, just let me know. If that’s a place to talk shit out, I gotchu, but I’m also here if you just need a friend. I’m here for you, Al.”

Albert’s looking at him again, that same vulnerable look on his face, but something else is there a well. Something softer underlying the worry lines on his face.

“Next semester I’m not going to be an RA anymore.” He blurts.

Race blinks, “Alright?”

Albert huffs out a laugh, “Sorry, I mean like,” he shakes himself, starting over, “I like you, Race.”

Race’s stomach jolts, “Wait, really?”

“Yeah,” Albert says slowly. They’re hands are still linked together and Race can feel Albert’s hand sweating. Or maybe that’s his. Fuck, they both seem keyed up.

“Fuck, I mean, Albert, I like you too. Have since the beginning of the semester,” Race knows he’s talking too fast, but the smile on Albert’s face tells him it doesn’t matter.

“Yeah?” And Albert looks so damn appeased that Race laughs.

“Yeah.”

“So, if I’m not an RA next semester, then we could…”

“You tryna ask me out, Dasilva?” Race asks, a teasing lilt to his tone.

“Eventually, yes I am,” Albert says.

On a whim, Race lifts Albert’s hand to his lips, kissing the knuckles.

“After Winter break, I’m taking you to that thai place in town.”

Albert’s smile takes on a genuinity that Race hasn’t seen before, “I’d like that.”

A month later…

“Feels good to actually be able to, like, do this shit publicly.”

Race leans in, pressing a kiss to Albert’s chin. They’re in the library, trying to get ahead of their physics homework before it picks up too much. Technically, they’d gotten together after admitting to liking each other last semester, but they weren’t allowed to have a relationship until Albert was out of his RA position.

“Yeah, that was like some star crossed lovers bullshit,” Albert laughs, “Hiding you in my dorm room and stealing kisses in dark hallways.”

“How romantic,” Race teases.

“I know.”

They kiss for real, both leaning into it. Race feels Albert grip his arm right above his elbow, rubbing his thumb in circles around his bicep. In turn, he brushes Albert’s hair behind his ears, tilting his jaw to deepen the kiss.

They pull apart and lean their foreheads together, smiling.

“I’m thinking about becoming an RA next semester,” Race murmurs.

Albert pulls back, looking alarmed until he sees the smirk on Race’s face, “you ass, I actually believed you!”

“Pfft, I wouldn’t do that when we just got this,” Race says, pulling Albert back in and kissing him again, “I like you too much.”

Albert smiles, giddy and exultant, “I like you, too, I think.”

“You think?”

“I know, I think.”

Race swats him, “Be serious and love me.”

They both freeze, the weight of the words they have yet to actually say suddenly hanging in the air.

Albert sobers up, taking Race’s hand, “I do love you. A lot, actually.”

And really, that’s unfair, because sometimes Race still gets so goddamn enamored by Albert and he can’t really believe he actually likes him back and he can feel his face flushing and oh god, he’s not going to revert back to incoherence is he? Oh god-

“Don’t have an aneurysm,” Albert says, kissing his nose, “I love you. That’s all.”

When Race smiles, it feels too big for his face, “I love you, too.”

END

thanks for reading, chiefs

yell at me to start writing again cuz i really been slacking

hmu to be added to my tag

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#i love this with my whole heart #mikeys the only reason i even check this anymore oops #i still love newsies i swear #good fic #newsies fanfiction #newsies musical #newsies #fanfics #fanfiction #fanfic #newsies fanfic #ralbert #racetrack higgins #albert dasilva #newsies au #au #college au #favorite

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bitching-newsboys · 5 years ago

Text

THIS IS THE ACTUAL CUTEST! MIKEY HAS BLESSED US ONCE AGAIN WITH A TOP QUALITY FIC.

Government Affiliated Love Affairs

idk @fuck-your-fandoms suggested this and i vibed with it so yeee here we are

soulmate au! kinda!

ship: ralbert

warnings: none i dont think, but if i missed something lemme know

word count: 2600 ish

editing: eh kinda idk

“Well, this is stupid.”

“Yeah, tell me about it, pal.”

Race sighs, looking down at his hands as he fiddles with the cup sleeve of his grande americano.

It was common knowledge that the “Formulated Love Act of 2023” was not the most foolproof of laws passed by the government in the past 5 years (not that anything the government did anymore was foolproof, but he’ll digress), but Race couldn’t help but at least appreciate that it wasn’t trying to push any heteronormative bullshit.

That didn’t make this asshole any more bearable.

Granted, the notion of solving the ‘loneliness epidemic’ (which apparently was a thing and was causing the US enough damn trouble that the government fucking stepped in) through means of systematic soulmates was sweet. Everyone gets a match based off a stupid fucking questionaire they completed when they were 21, like “oh, you can drink now! Here’s a shot of vodka and also your future partner is gonna be determined by this thick ass packet, go ahead and fill that out, no pressure!” And by the time you’re 25, a soulmate’s been hand picked for you. By law, you’re required to marry them within a year of meeting, and then you’re set to live your life happily ever after.

It was nice in theory. But in practice? Not so much.

Then again, wasn’t the government usually like that?

Race wished he had some whiskey to pour into his americano like those edgy movie characters. Or Jack Kelly. Jack Kelly did that sometimes.

When he’d gotten the email a week ago with his soulmate’s information and their established ‘meet-up arrangements’- which were really just fancy words for ‘forced date, have fun’- Race had been tentatively hopeful that maybe he’d be one of the rare cases. The ones you read about on Buzzfeed where it really is love and first sight and maybe those few, poor FBI Agents who were stuck with the ‘Pairing Process’ had done something right for once.

The ounce of a Disney fan within him had even entertained the thought of some miraculous meeting, where sparks fly and eyelashes are batted and smiles are exchanged.

But no. Instead, Race is sitting at some random Starbucks in the middle of Manhattan with an obnoxious (and upsettingly pretty) redhead, who’s first words to him were, “I fucking hate coffee, I’m gonna get tea.” To which Race had tried to cover his scowl, but failed miserably.

He hated tea snobs. Don’t get him wrong, he enjoys tea as much as the next 25 year old guy, but those dudes who fucking made a point to openly despise coffee in favor of tea like some sort of pompous jerk? Yeah, they killed his boner.

Race toys around with his coffee cup for another moment, before the silence gets too thick and he breaks, “Albert, right?” he asks, because even though it’s been a good half hour since they’d met up, the guy still hasn’t properly introduced himself.

It had said Albert’s name and age in the email last Saturday, but come on. It’s basic human decency to at least offer your name and maybe a handshake.

Albert scrunches his nose, taking a long sip from his iced peach green tea lemonade. Fucking asshole.

“Yeah,” He says. He sounds bitter and uninviting. Race tries not to shrink in his seat, “And you’re Antonio.”

“Race,” Race interjects.

Albert’s eyebrows draw together, “Race? What the fuck kinda-”

“It’s a nickname, just-” Race scrubs a hand down his face, “Just, don’t question it, but it’s Race, got it?”

Albert leers at him, “Fine.”

The silence settles over them once more, except this time, they’re maintaining eye contact. Albert looks like he’s trying to size him up and Race’s neck prickles uncomfortably.

I mean, seriously, this is the guy Race has to marry? Yippee fucking ki yay.

“Listen,” Race says slowly, “This- I mean,” he blows out a breath, starting over, “I hate to break it to you, but we’re stuck together and you’ve gotta move in by,” he pauses, checking the date on his phone, “Wednesday, so we could either work something out or suffer.”

Albert’s glare doesn’t falter, “I’ll suffer.”

Race sighs again.

XXX

“And down the hall here is my room and that,” Race gestures to the door opposite his room, Albert trailing behind him, “Is yours.”

After their disaster of a first date last Saturday, Race had relented and cleaned out his office, turning it into a guest room and moving his desk and file cabinets into his own room. It was a tight squeeze into his relatively small space, but he wasn’t about to share a room with Albert. But he was a nice person and wasn’t gonna condemn him to the couch, either. So, guest room it is.

Albert hefts his box of belongings higher into his arms, shrugging his right shoulder to adjust the duffle bag on his back before inching into his room.

“Thanks, I guess,” He calls bluntly behind him before kicking the door closed, leaving Race standing dumbly on the other end.

Race blinks. Then, blinks again.

“Man, fuck you!” He calls in a sudden surge of anger. He hadn’t done a damn thing to Albert, what fucking right did he have to hate him? He didn’t even give him a chance!

“Nah.” Albert calls back.

“I didn’t mean it like that you fucking ass- you know what? Nevermind.” He storms into his own room, slamming the door shut behind him.

XXX

Later that night, Race is curled up in front of the TV, cradling a bowl of Panang curry and watching some random documentary about koalas. He spoons some fried tofu into his mouth, frontwardly considering getting a koala, because they’re fucking adorable, and distantly wondering if Albert was ever going to come out of his room.

He hadn’t heard from him all afternoon and the only indication that he was still in the house had been the distinct sound of a toe being stubbed, followed by a loud, ‘fuck me!’, which Race didn’t laugh at. He didn’t.

His question is answered a moment later when Albert’s door creaks open down the hall and he pads into the living room. Race can feel him lingering in the doorway, watching him, and he groans a little, placing his spoon back into his bowl and muting the television.

“What,” he says, turning to face Albert, who looks sheepish for a moment before replacing the scowl on his face.

“Nothing, just-” he purses his lips and glances towards the kitchen.

Race softens a little, “Are you hungry? I didn’t know your order, but I got you some pad thai,

‘cause it’s pretty standard…it’s in the fridge if you want it.”

Albert looks back at him, a strange look on his face, “You got me something?”

Race shrugs, “yeah?”

“Even after I-” Albert shakes his head, “Thanks.”

Race watches as he seems to go through some internal conflict before stalking off towards the kitchen. A moment later, the microwave starts up.

“Alrighty,” Race mumbles to himself, unmuting the television and picking his spoon back up.

A couple more minutes pass with the remote sounds of Albert putzing around in the kitchen and the narrator’s accented voice droning on. It feels weird to have someone else in the house, but Race shrugs it off. He never loved having roommates, but it was no different than his college days, really. Even though he couldn’t just forget Albert after the year was over. He had to marry the damn guy.

He’s surprised when Albert comes back into the living room and even more shocked when the other end of the couch dips. Glancing over, he finds Albert sitting with his legs tucked underneath him, twirling rice noodles around his fork and staring fixedly at the TV. He forces himself to relax and finish his curry.

They don’t say anything and eventually, Race lets his guard down a little. An indiscernible amount of time passes and the program turns to a show about domesticated hedgehogs and how to care for them.

Race feels himself nodding off, and he’s about to let sleep take him over completely when he feels his bowl being lifted out of his hands. He cracks open an eye in time to see Albert get up and clear their dishes.

He comes back a moment later and looks mildly startled to see Race awake.

“I thought you were out out,” he says, and Race notes that the hostility that’s been ever present since they met is curiously absent.

“I woke up when you took our stuff,” Race admits.

Albert hums and sits back down on the couch, clicking off the TV and bracing his forearms on his knees. He looks like he might want to say something, so Race waits patiently.

“Look,” Albert starts, sounding a little strained, “I’m sorry for how I’ve been acting. I’m not trying to justify my behavior, but this whole,” he gestures a little wildly, “soulmate thing freaks me out and I kinda panicked over it and totally took it out on you even though it’s not in any way your fault and,” he lets out a humorless chuckle, finally looking at Race, “I’m sorry. Really.”

Race offers him a tired, but reassuring smile, “Listen, bud, I’m like half asleep so only, like, a fraction of this conversation is getting comprehended, but it’s okay. I mean, you were an asshole, but I get it. This whole system is fucked.”

Albert laughs for real and Race finds that he likes it. Just a little. He can appreciate a nice laugh, okay?

“Sure is,” Albert agrees.

There’s a pause, but it’s not as charged as before.

“Where did the nickname ‘Race’ come from?”

“Uhhh,” Race yawns, stretching, “I dunno, my little sister always called me that and it stuck?”

“Cool.”

“Yeah.”

Race props his head up on his hand, sleepily watching Albert fidget. Albert seems to sense him staring, because he looks at him again, offering a small smile.

“You’re tired,” he points out uselessly, “you should sleep.”

Race nods, standing, “Yeah, I think I’m gonna,” he starts towards his room, “You should, too.”

Albert salutes him, “I will.”

“Goodnight, Al.”

“‘Night, Race.”

XXX

After their little impromptu apology session, things change between Race and Albert.

They hang out more, heading into the city to browse through museums and stroll aimlessly through Central Park. Albert brings Race to a planetarium and Race, in turn, takes him to an ABT performance at Lincoln Center. It’s nice, Race finds, and his initial opinion of Albert is rapidly changing into something entirely different and ten times more positive.

He discovers that Albert’s favorite ice cream flavor is stracciatella, even though it’s hard to find in the States. Albert tells him that he graduated from Pratt with a film degree and dreams to one day participate in the Sundance Film Festival.

In turn, Race confesses that even though he grew up dancing and always thought he’d be a professional dancer, culinary school had ended up being his calling.

Little things about Albert start to filter into Race’s awareness. Like the way he quirks one side of his mouth a little higher than the other when he laughs, or how he scrunches his nose a little and furrows his eyebrows when he’s filming. He’s got that kind of charming, self-deprecating humor, where he’s always cracking jokes, but only at his own expense, making him approachable and likable. When he’s telling stories, his voice always pitches a little different, captivating whoever’s listening. But when someone else is talking, he gives his full, unwavering attention.

It makes Race feel interesting and important. Like what he has to say matters.

It’s a sunny Friday and the two of them are sitting in a small sandwich shop in Brooklyn. Albert is retelling some ridiculous story about how he got a cab driver to bring him to a veterinarian for free, because he found an injured pigeon. His meatball sub is long since forgotten and Race notices that he has a little sauce on his cheek.

He’s just about to reach out to wipe it off when he realizes it.

He’s kind of in love with Albert Dasilva.

Huh. Crazy.

XXX

“Hey, so I was thinking we could go try out that new bubble tea place over on 14th?”

Race lifts his head from his pillow, blinking blearily at where Albert’s leaning against his doorframe. It’s Saturday and they’d spent the night previous in some club getting spectacularly drunk and naturally, Race is hungover as shit. But Albert doesn’t get hungover, the motherfucker.

He scrubs a hand down his face and Albert watches with a smirk as he struggles to sit up.

“Yeah,” Race says, “Yeah, I’m down, just,” he rolls his stiff neck, wincing as it cracks, “gimme a few minutes to freshen up.”

“No prob,” Albert says, sidling out of the room, “We can grab greasy breakfast for you somewhere as well!”

“You’re a saint!” Race calls back.

A half hour later, they’re bumping shoulders as they venture through The Village, keeping an eye on Albert’s google maps as they look for ‘Bubbleology’, the new fangled cafe Jack and Katherine had been insisting they try.

“So, the Air and Space Museum in DC is having an exhibit on Mars next weekend and I was thinking we could pop down to see it?”

Albert perks up, looking away from his phone to give Race an excited smile, “Really? Wait, how did you know about that and I didn’t?”

Race blushes a little, shoving his hands in his pockets, “It’s your birthday coming up, so I was looking for things to do and…yeah.”

“Aww,” Albert nudges him, but Race can see him flush, “That’s sweet, I’d love to- shit, Race, careful!”

Race gasps, freezing as a car speeds towards him. The only unfrozen part of his mind is screaming that the crosswalk says they can walk, so why isn’t that car fucking stopping and-

He feels a hand grip his bicep, yanking him back towards the sidewalk and all cognition slams back into him as he and Albert fall onto the pavement.

“-Fucking ASSHOLE, watch it!” Albert’s screaming uselessly after the car, but Race isn’t registering it. Not completely anyway.

He takes a moment to assess himself, breathing deeply as he becomes increasingly aware that he almost fucking died, but he didn’t thanks to Albert.

Albert looks down when Race tugs on his sleeve, “Are you okay? Jesus, that was- mmph.”

Race pulls him down, crashing their lips together. For a moment, Albert’s frozen against him, then he relaxes into the kiss, reaching up a hand to cradle Race’s jaw. They kiss for a while, until Race remembers that they’re quite literally sitting in the middle of a sidewalk and pulls away.

Albert opens his eyes, looking slightly dazed, “Whoa.”

Race bites his lip, suddenly unsure, “Sorry?”

“No,” Albert’s eyes widen, “No, don’t apologize, that- no, that was okay.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes,” Albert says, hoisting Race to his feet and pulling him in for another kiss, “Very okay.”

When they break apart again, they’re both laughing, foreheads resting against one anothers.

“Hey,” Race whispers, waiting until Albert’s eyes meet his to continue, “I like you.”

Albert rolls his eyes, but it’s fond, “I like you, too, dumbass. Maybe those FBI guys actually were onto something.”

Race smiles, goofy and genuine, “Yeah, maybe.”

They stand there for another moment, enjoying each other’s embrace. Then, Albert steps away abruptly, grabbing Race’s hand and pulling him down the street.

“C’mon, I still want bubble tea.”

It’s Race’s turn to roll his eyes, “Idiot.”

“Yeah, butcha love me.”

“You got me there.”

do we want a part 2 with fluffy dating stuff/wedding?

lemme know!

thanks for reading, chiefs

hmu to be added to my tag

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