choiceofthereader

[choiceofthereader]

Food for the Soul

pairing: Bryce Lahela x GN!Reader word count: 2.7k warnings: none, nothing but fluff ao3 link summary: In which Bryce tries his very best to make you a cake.

There are times where you like to believe you're a somewhat patient person. A strong person, even, if you're feeling particularly modest. You've endured countless situations—countless patients—that have grated at the very cells of your nerves. Have driven you to the brink and back, have made the bitter and acrid taste of anger familiar, and yet, somehow, you have always pulled through. You're just resilient like that.

So this... this should be no different.

The plastic chair you're sitting in is too big, too damned slippery, and with each move you make it feels like you're right on the edge of falling and landing on your ass. No matter how much you try, no matter how much you wriggle and squirm, you can't get comfortable. It only adds to the irritation that's been clogging your veins like viscous motor oil. It's not that you're mad, per se.

You're just... tired.

The exhaustion you feel is all-consuming, like a parasite that's nestled and burrowed its way in your brain. It lingers in your heavy limbs, in your leaden tongue that has you slurring with every word you speak. With every shuddery breath, with every burdensome blink, you feel as if you are one step closer to escaping into the arms of Hypnos.

But he must have other plans for you because a ragged sigh soon escapes you, and you take that moment to focus outward, to focus on the hundreds of people milling about around you. Blips of different conversations are sparking in your ears and dancing in your skull, but the words are muddled, too jumbled by the static that resonates in your head. You're not sure what time it is, probably late in the afternoon if the darkening of the sky is anything to go by, but what you do know is that you are ready to leave.

Like, yesterday.

Today was meant to be a restful one, a rare day off for you to lounge around lazily at Bryce's apartment and do not a damned thing.

It is your birthday, after all.

You're not ashamed to admit that your mind had wandered while you were at work. Would you two go out to dinner? Have another late-night rendezvous at a go-kart track, or perhaps a quiet night in? Maybe even something a bit more salacious, something that would have the night ending with a pleasurable sigh leaving your lips and your name on his. But instead of all those potential wonderful things, you've been... here. At the mall.

At least you're not alone.

Keiki is sitting across from you, watching as you pick forlornly at the pizza you had bought earlier. The grease clings to your fingertips like the hunger that's sticking to your ribs, but you can't find it within yourself to eat. Eating would involve moving, moving would involve expending energy, and you must conserve that energy lest your eyes fall shut.

A low murmur of your name has you looking up, and what you see has a fond smile tugging at your lips.

Keiki's eyes are crinkled as she looks over you, lower lip caught between her teeth. Her arms are crossed like they always are, but this time, you can see the tips of her fingers digging into her biceps. There's a rigidness to her posture, one that's so unlike her, and it doesn't take a diagnostician to deduce what's wrong with her.

She's worried.

Regardless of how she likes to play it off with quick quips or compliments that somehow always border the line of mocking, you've grown close to Keiki.

It's all for everyone to see if they just know where to look. The competitive game nights that end in laughter, the late-night astrology talks, even moments where she shares small tidbits of her home life. Her walls are always up, protected by the barbed wires composed of her scathing wit and sarcasm. But there are times, like now, where you'll find a door with your name on it, unlocked just for you at that particular moment.

One day, you hope she'll give you a key.

Not wanting her to fret anymore than she already has, you smile.

"I'm alright." You placate, pushing the plate of pizza away. "Just a bit tired."

It's an understatement to say the least, but it's not one you're willing to admit aloud. Your night shift had started out relatively normal, the lull in patients a welcome reprieve, but come afternoon, you couldn't tell if the blurring of your eyes was from sheer exhaustion or tears of frustration. Probably both, but she doesn't need to know that.

Keiki only narrows her eyes. You can tell she doesn't believe you, and you can't really find it within yourself to blame her. What she sees in front of her is the epitome of exhaustion: droopy eyes, a slouched posture, a barely concealed yawn escaping from the recesses of your mouth. She stares at you for what you know is only a few moments, but she somehow manages to make it feel like hours under her piercing gaze.

With a quick bob of her head, the plastic chair scrubs against the floor as she stands up. "Come on, we're going home."

That perks you up a bit.

"Wai—what?" Perhaps not the most eloquent stringing of words you've put together, but when you're practically running on fumes, who can really blame you?

"Home," she enunciates. "You know, that place where you and Bryce like to act like you haven't seen each other in years, but in reality, it's only been like"—she checks her watch—"two minutes at the most?" She shakes her head, looking at you in mock pity as she tries to fight off what you know is a shit-eating grin. "Like lovesick teenagers. I'll never understand it."

You ignore her statement, trying even harder to ignore the heat you feel across your cheeks. You guys aren't that bad. Sure, maybe there was that one time where Bryce serenaded you with the cheesiest love song your ears had ever heard, and it probably doesn't help that you sang along, but does that really count as being 'lovesick teenagers'?

The answer that conjures in your mind doesn't fall in your favor.

"Anways!" you say quickly, averting your gaze, but you don't miss how Keiki preens at your embarrassment. "What about the surprise you guys are planning?"

Keiki snorts. "We're not 'planning' anything." Bending down, she picks up the white bags by her side. "I told you, I wanted to show you the new game store." She even shakes the bags for emphasis.

"Oh, really?" you ask, grinning as you look down at your watch. "We stayed in that store for over an hour! You wouldn't even let me leave!" Her insistence of just one more game, please! left you in the store for hours, and you'd be happy if you never saw another board game for the rest of your life.

She pouts. "I just wanted to spend time with you on your birthday," she counters, her voice barely above a whisper.

Oh, she's good.

The downcast look, the averting of her eyes, the low pitch of her crestfallen tone. She paints the perfect picture of innocence, and you're not ashamed to admit she does it well.

"You're so full of shit!" you accuse, but your voice is soft, fond, the hint of a smile creeping at the edges of your lips.

She only grins, giving a casual shrug at the unveiling of her ploy. "Look, even if we were planning anything, which we're not"—she winks—"it's not going to matter if you can't keep your eyes open long enough to enjoy it."

Keiki makes a fine point. You've trudged throughout the mall for what has felt like an eternity, and as much as you like spending time with Keiki, you also like being in the loving arms of your bed. With that thought in mind, you stand up from your chair and stretch. The cracking and popping of your joints feel therapeutic, remedial, and you welcome the slight boost of energy that it gives you. Pushing in your chair, you grab the paper-thin plate that contains your pizza and start walking towards the exit.

"Are you... are you taking that pizza with you?" she asks, frowning. "It's kind of been sitting there for a while."

You feel your cheeks heat. "Hey, I paid like... 4 bucks for this. I'm not letting it go to waste." As if you could on your salary.

Keiki only raises a hand in a placating gesture. "Not judging, just... curious."

Even though you don't particularly believe that, you make no comment, instead just focusing on putting one foot in the front of the other. It's not long before you feel Keiki nudging you with her elbow, and you frown at the slight grimace that mars her face.

"We weren't that obvious, right?"

She startles at the loud snort that escapes you, huffing in offense when a grin forms on your lips. You don't think they could've made it any more obvious.

. . .

When you had arrived earlier at Bryce's apartment, dead set on keeling over in his bed, you were immediately bombarded with pleas to just leave.

Go out and enjoy your birthday. Do you really wanna spend the entire day cooped up here?

The answer to his question was a loud and resounding Yes!, but you couldn't help but notice just how wrong his smile was. It was an easy, carefree thing, but... stilted, strained. There was an edge to his smile, something akin to panic in those brown eyes. It also didn't help that he was slowly inching you closer and closer to the door. Keiki was tugging incessantly at your hand, claiming there was a new store in the mall that was selling a new board game she wanted to try.

Much to their relief but much to your chagrin, you relented.

. . .

The memory makes your steps lighter, the haze around your head just a bit clearer. To love and be loved is a wonderful thing, and there's not a day that goes by where you're not grateful for them being in your life. You pinch your fingers together until there's barely any space left between them. "Just a bit."

She flushes.

You're quick to reassure her, waving away her worries like lingering smoke in the air, "Oh, don't be embarrassed. I'm sure whatever you guys have planned, it'll be great."

After all, what could go wrong in the span of a few hours?

. . .

The first thing you notice is that it most assuredly is not great.

"Keiki, I said at least not for ano—babe!"

Bryce is standing stock-still in the center of the living room, the very image of a Greek god. But while you may believe that Bryce has an Adonis level of attractiveness, you're pretty sure it's not the cause of why your eyes are beginning to well with tears. The apartment looks foggy, smokey, and you fan the air in front of you as you step closer to him.

That's when you see it.

Balloons.

An alarming amount of balloons in a myriad of colors are pinned to the ceiling, the curtains, all with the Rod of Asclepius printed on them. A banner hangs pitifully on the wall behind the sofa with big, chunky letters screaming HAPPY BIRTHDAY at you, and you notice that your name is written at the bottom in loopy cursive. You're pretty sure that it's Bryce's handwriting, but that's not the worst part.

There's flour. Everywhere. Especially on Bryce. His clothes are saturated with flour, the black apron he wears even more so. When you squint, you make out small specks littered throughout his hair, clinging to his eyelashes like fallen snow. Before you can even sputter out a befuddled What the hell?, Bryce sidles up to you, nearly losing his balance on the wooden floor. He's wringing his hands, a rare nervous energy radiating off of him in waves.

"Babe!" Bryce bellows, cringing at the crack in his voice. He's smiling at you, but it's a shell of his usual megawatt grin, and the chuckle he lets out is strained, like he had to physically drag it out of himself. He lets his gaze drift towards his sister. "Keiki," he says pointedly, to which she only shrugs. There's tension between them, so thick it almost seems palpable, their gazes never wavering.

Until Keiki sighs loudly, rolling her eyes.

"What was I supposed to do?" She tosses her bags on the couch. "Hold them hostage?"

She only smirks at Bryce's sputtering and while you normally find their bickering amusing, you know from experience that if you don't put a stop to it now, it will only continue well into the night.

"Bryce?" you ask, tone light. "What... what happened here?"

"Well..." he trails off, averting his gaze. "Lets just go to the kitchen."

You all walk towards the kitchen, noticing that the closer you get, the pungent smell of smoke intensifies. And the kitchen... well, it's a mess.

There are pots and pans strewn throughout the kitchen, each one dirtier than the last. There's flour on the countertops, batter on the shelves, what you hope is frosting on the floor.

And then you see it.

On the stove top, resting on a glass plate that you know has never seen the light of day, is a cake. The first thing you notice is that it's lopsided, burnt edges peaking out from beneath what you know is your favorite frosting. It's hideous, but there's something oddly charming about it. Is this what it means to 'make something with love'?

"Look," Bryce starts, running a hand through his hair. It causes the flour in his hair to streak, and you don't miss how Keiki tries to stifle a giggle. "I know it's not the best, but—"

You don't let him finish, instead rushing to throw yourself at him, your apology low and murmured at the oomph he lets out. You two nearly collapse on the floor as you wind your arms around him. Squeezing tight, you bury your face into his neck, and beneath everything that you smell—beneath the burnt cake, the expensive shampoo he splurges on, you smell home.

You feel at home.

It's the same feeling when you wake up next to him, his face bathed in the early morning light, when your lips meet in a slow dance that only you two know the steps to, when his words are the only thing keeping you afloat as the foundation around you crumbles. You love this man and you wonder if he knows, if he feels the same way you do.

"I knew I did a good job," he beams, his hands a warm weight as they settle on your waist, thumb brushing a small sliver of exposed skin.

"They haven't even tasted it," Keiki mutters.

Bryce sighs loudly, "Why are you still here?"

Untangling yourself from him, you rummage around in the drawers until you find a fork. You tear off a sizeable chunk, popping it in your mouth.

You try to keep a straight face.

It's... it's terrible.

The cake is dry, the frosting gritty, and the overwhelming taste of burnt cake settles heavily on your tongue. You try to school your face into one of neutrality, but if Bryce's wince is anything to go by, you don't think you're doing a very good job.

"Look, I know it's terrible," Bryce whines, a crestfallen look on his face. "I just... wanted to do something special for you. I wanted your birthday to be perfect." His frown upticks into a small smile and he winks, "Like you."

You ignore Keiki's gagging in the background, instead focusing on the heat in your cheeks.

There's a comforting warmth in your heart, and you can't help but to think just how far you've truly fallen for this man, of how far you've come with each other. Even though those 3 words haven't been spoken yet, you've come to realize that with every loving touch, in every heady kiss and whispered affection, Bryce shows his love through his actions.

You take a look around the apartment, at the birthday decorations, at the multiple attempts of cake making. It's perfect, and truthfully? You wouldn't have it any other way.

Keiki steps forward. "So... should we just go buy a cake?"

Bryce doesn't even say a word as he walks to the fridge and opens it, pulling out a single layer cake.

He gives a cheeky grin. "Next year will be better, I promise."

You smile, giddy at the idea.

You can't wait.

[choiceofthereader]

A TEST IN PATIENCE

Hi, Choices fandom! This is my first time writing a fic, so I hope you enjoy it.

This is an Ethan Ramsey x Reader fic, taking place in chapter 12 during the reception and afterwards. It’s basically retelling the story, but I wanted to explore more on the potential thoughts and feelings of the OH!MC. There is no OC used in this story, just you. 

pairing: Ethan Ramsey x Reader

word count: 1.8k

side note: As I referenced earlier, this is my first time writing fanfic, so I’m not very familiar when it comes to the intricacies of writing a story based on a game. So just as a precaution, I’m not affiliated with Pixelberry in any form or fashion. If my posting this does cause some kind of mishap, then I won’t hesitate to get rid of it. With that being said, please enjoy! 

——————————————————————————————————

A TEST IN PATIENCE

You’re surrounded by a mass of those in shared sorrow, but you can’t help but to feel so… lonely. The murmured whispers of condolences shroud you, and the reminder of how you’ve failed settles low and deep in the pit of your stomach. If only it were alone in its skulking…

Grief.

Frustration.

Helplessness. 

Your hands and jaw clench in tandem, Sienna’s words running rampant through your skull. 

“Why do so many people have to make it worse by hurting each other?”

Her question left you at a loss for words. What could you possibly say? That you don’t know? Blame it on the basis of human nature? Is that what it means to be human? To hurt? To kill? You don’t know if you can believe that—there are good people in this world, you know that, good people like…

You slam a door on the thought, but it doesn’t stop two familiar faces reflecting back at you in the inky depths of your mind. It causes a rush of restlessness to settle over your bones, a need to do something—anything—to bring the world you carry back up on its feet. Sienna was right; without each other, where would you all be? So maybe you weren’t able to save Danny or Bobby, but that doesn’t mean you can’t save others. 

With an idea fluttering around in your head, you let your gaze flit over the crowd. 

Spotting Aurora, you head in her direction. You ignore the look she gives you as you march up to her—the look that everyone has been giving you. You can’t tell if they’re projecting pity or concern, but it doesn’t matter —right now they’re on two sides of the same coin, but you push down the slight exasperation it makes you feel. Now isn’t the time about you. 

You’ve been given a second chance, and you’ll be damned if you won’t use it wisely. 

Keep reading

[choiceofthereader]

OH MY GOD BRYCE CARES SO MUCH ABOUT MC IM-

[choiceofthereader]

Alan Ramsey and Naveen after seeing their son on TV and hearing him say he’s not single:

[choiceofthereader]

A TEST IN PATIENCE

Hi, Choices fandom! This is my first time writing a fic, so I hope you enjoy it.

This is an Ethan Ramsey x Reader fic, taking place in chapter 12 during the reception and afterwards. It’s basically retelling the story, but I wanted to explore more on the potential thoughts and feelings of the OH!MC. There is no OC used in this story, just you. 

pairing: Ethan Ramsey x Reader

word count: 2.3k

side note: As I referenced earlier, this is my first time writing fanfic, so I’m not very familiar when it comes to the intricacies of writing a story based on a game. So just as a precaution, I’m not affiliated with Pixelberry in any form or fashion. If my posting this does cause some kind of mishap, then I won’t hesitate to get rid of it. With that being said, please enjoy! 

——————————————————————————————————

A TEST IN PATIENCE

You’re surrounded by a mass of those in shared sorrow, but you can’t help but to feel so... lonely. The murmured whispers of condolences shroud you, and the reminder of how you’ve failed settles low and deep in the pit of your stomach. If only it were alone in its skulking...

Grief.

Frustration.

Helplessness. 

Your hands and jaw clench in tandem, Sienna’s words running rampant through your skull. 

“Why do so many people have to make it worse by hurting each other?”

Her question left you at a loss for words. What could you possibly say? That you don’t know? Blame it on the basis of human nature? Is that what it means to be human? To hurt? To kill? You don’t know if you can believe that—there are good people in this world, you know that, good people like...

You slam a door on the thought, but it doesn’t stop two familiar faces reflecting back at you in the inky depths of your mind. It causes a rush of restlessness to settle over your bones, a need to do something—anything—to bring the world you carry back up on its feet. Sienna was right; without each other, where would you all be? So maybe you weren’t able to save Danny or Bobby, but that doesn’t mean you can’t save others. 

With an idea fluttering around in your head, you let your gaze flit over the crowd. 

Spotting Aurora, you head in her direction. You ignore the look she gives you as you march up to her—the look that everyone has been giving you. You can’t tell if they’re projecting pity or concern, but it doesn’t matter —right now they’re on two sides of the same coin, but you push down the slight exasperation it makes you feel. Now isn’t the time about you. 

You’ve been given a second chance, and you’ll be damned if you won’t use it wisely. 

“We need to talk to Ethan,” you say upon reaching her. No more wasting time—not anymore. “Mass Kenmore and Edenbrook need each other.” 

If she notices the desperate look in your eyes, she pointedly ignores it. Instead, her brows furrow, a myriad of emotions shining at you. She finally settles on mild shock, and a small huff of disbelief escapes her.

“What, now?” she whispers, brows rising. “We’re at a memorial service.” The words leave her in an urgent, hushed tone, and her gaze travels around the room as if to remind you of your location—as if you could forget. “Besides,” she adds, her tone hoping that you’ll somehow see reason. “We don’t have a proper pitch.”

“That doesn’t matter!” you choke out, the small laugh escaping you bordering on hysterical. “Tobias and Ethan worked together to solve what we all thought was fatal!“

You don’t understand why she can’t see how perfect the idea is. The two biggest hospitals coming to cure the unsolvable—to save those who have already been branded as damned. It makes frustration grate at your nerves, the bitter taste of displeasure heavy on your tongue. The idea kills two birds with one stone, but you can already see a rebuttal forming at the tip of her tongue.

You won’t give her the chance. 

Turning on your heel, you give a quick scan of the room until you find the man you’re looking for—Ethan. With a man so hell-bent on saving his patients, surely he’ll see the benefit of your idea, right? Even though it’s in short supply, you hope. 

As you stride towards him, his eyes tighten as he glances from you to Aurora quickly trailing behind. You know that he recognizes the look on your face—the one that tells him you’re teetering on the edge between selflessness and reckless abandon. Some might say the two walk hand-in-hand, but that hasn’t stopped you before.

It sure as hell isn’t stopping you now. 

“We have an idea to save the hospital,” you announce. Your words are firm, your conviction even more so, but it doesn’t ease the maelstrom of anxiety clawing its way up your throat. You just hope it’s not visible on your face. 

Ethan’s brows raise, his measured gaze shifting from you to Aurora once more. Clearing his throat, he looks back to you. 

“... Can it wait until we’re back at the hospital?” 

What? 

“No!” you snap, jaw grinding. “Why do you keep trying to block ideas to help Edenbrook?!” 

His eyes soften, and a low murmur of your name leaves him. His hands twitch at his sides, almost as if he wants to reach for you, to comfort you, but you won’t let him. Not this time.

“No.” The word escapes from you in a low sneer, and the sluggish anger that has been coursing through your veins comes alive. It’s always something with him—you take one step closer to the edge just for him to pull you back. One day, he is going to have to let you fall. 

“I’ve been busting my ass for months trying to figure out how to keep Edenbrook afloat, and you just bitched and moaned the entire time! So how about this time, you just listen?” The words leave you in a rush, and you can feel your chest rising and falling rapidly, breath coming out in sharp pants. Your face feels hot, the low thrum of adrenaline pumping through your veins making you feel on edge as you openly scrutinize Ethan. 

Aurora’s gaze is hot on your face as if she can’t believe what she’s hearing, but you don’t turn to look at her. Instead, you keep your eyes steady on Ethan, openly challenging him. When neither of you speak, Aurora steps forward.

“Um, wow,” she stammers out. “Dr. Ramsey, I am so sor—”

He holds a hand to stop her and shakes his head, the cool blue of his eyes never leaving yours. You wonder what he sees. 

“Alright.” He bobs his head. “Tell me your idea.” The sinking feeling in your gut is replaced by a brief surge of joy, and your explanation leaves you in a jumbled rush.

“Mass Kenmore and Edenbrook can team up to solve budget cuts,” you quickly explain. Looking at Aurora, you nod your head in affirmation for her to continue.

“They’re right,” Aurora nods. “If we share resources and redundancies, we can balance the losses. Neither hospital would go under.” 

You think of Senator Farrugia. Just his name conjures disgust, but you know you can make use of his influence. “With the senator in the picture, the media is interested in us right now,” you add, urging him to see reason.

Ethan stays silent, eyes boring into yours. His expression never wavers, and it grinds at your nerves. Why won’t he say something—anything? 

“It’s... a bold idea,” he finally acknowledges, albeit hesitantly. 

“So help us pitch it. The hospital doesn’t care about us, but you—” You pause, pointing a finger in his direction. “You and Tobias could go to the board with this.” 

Holding out a hand to stop you, Ethan frowns and says your name softly. “You have to know that this isn’t a cure-all. With shared resources and redundancies means potential job loss.” 

“Then I’ll be the first one to volunteer for layoffs!” you snap. “If that’s what it takes to help Edenbrook...” You trail off, letting your gaze harden as you look between the two. “Then so be it.” 

They both look startled at your admission, but you have nothing to say. Why speak when your actions will do it for you? 

“You don’t need to throw yourself into the fire,” Aurora cautions. 

You shake your head. Edenbrook is your home, the patients your family. You will bend until you break. “I will do whatever it takes,” you enunciate, eyes falling to Ethan. “So, will you talk to Tobias?” 

His face screws into one of uncertainty, eyes flickering back and forth between the two of you. You know that look—you hate that look. 

“I... I don’t know,” Ethan stutters out. “I don’t know if Tobias will agree if I’m on boa—”

“Danny and Bobby just died for Edenbrook!” you scold, nails digging into the meat of your palm. There is an amalgamation of emotions swirling through your head right now, but what simmers beneath is a cold fury that leaves you nearly breathless. Is it so hard to put aside a petty feud? “The least you can do is talk to a man you don’t like to save it.”

The corners of Ethan’s mouth falls into a small, admonished frown, but he says nothing, and you know that he’s observing you. He sees it all—the rigidity in your posture, fists clenched at your sides, the anguish that has made its home in your heart. It unnerves you, and you can’t help but to look away. 

“I’m not saying no,” he begins, the placating tone irking you. “Just give me a little time, okay?” 

“...Fine,” you grind out, crossing your arms. 

The silence nearly becomes oppressive before he calls your name. “Can we talk for a moment?”

Before you can speak, Aurora forces out a smile towards you, “I’ll leave you two alone.” Lips pursing at the both of you, she pivots on her heel and walks away. 

“I’m so sick of everyone looking at me like that,” you admit.

Like you’re fragile, one wrong step away from breaking. They observe you, pincers looking for the jagged piece that will make you crumble, like they’re expecting you to.  But you won’t break—not. now If not for Danny and Bobby, then for the lives that rest upon you. 

“I know it must be frustrating,” Ethan whispers in a soft voice, as if trying to soothe the anger that has sprouted its way out of you and you want to scream—want to shout at what he knows about loss. The image of Dolores rattles in your skull and you let him continue, the thought shaming you into silence. “But this is still raw for everyone,” he continues. “We can only imagine what it must feel like for you.”

A shiver runs through you, your skin all of a sudden feeling familiarly oily, like a light sheen has laid rest upon you. 

“You know what it was like,” you mumble.

 How could you—either of you—forget? The worried looks everyone gave you, the silence from Bobby and Danny, broken only by Rafael’s stuttering breaths.

Ethan holding you in his arms, neither of you knowing if it would be your last day...

No, you don’t think you’ll ever forget. 

“Which is why I’m worried about you,” he admits earnestly. “I saw what it did to you, how it ripped away your control.” Ethan lays a heavy hand on your shoulder. “It’s okay to feel that way—to live in it, even.” 

Huffing, you shrug off his arm and walk away, his gaze a heavy brand on your retreating back. You don’t need people to understand—you need them to act. You rub at your eyes with the tips of your fingers, pushing in deep until you see stars.

Until you no longer see the two sets of gentle eyes staring back at you. 

/////////////////////////

The night passes by in a blur filled with tear-laden smiles as you all reminisced about Bobby and Danny, the invisible weight on your shoulders weighing heavier and heavier. The halls steadily clear and for that you’re grateful, but you can feel it—a small ball of anxiety forming beneath your ribs. You don’t want to go home right now—hell, maybe never. You need a distraction, something—no, someone—to occupy your mind. 

There’s movement in your peripherals, and look to see Ethan standing by his lonesome.

Your earlier conversation with him plays throughout your mind, but you swallow down the slight resentment and walk towards him. His eyes find yours, a slight smile lifting the corner of his mouth in what you know is meant to be a comforting gesture. 

“What are you still doing here?” you ask. 

He averts his gaze, inhaling deeply just to release it mere seconds later. “I meant to leave an hour ago, but...” he trails off, pausing. 

Your eyes squint, “But what?” 

Ethan opens his mouth to speak, but closes it just as quickly. His body language screams skittish, so you keep silent to let him go at his own pace. A few seconds pass before he tries again. “But you were still here,” he admits, tone gentle.  

His words leave in a low whisper, but yet it’s comforting all the same. They wash over you like a caress, and it makes you realize just how drained you truly are. You want to rest your head on his shoulder, bury your face in his neck, anything.  Will he tell you that it’ll be alright? Tether you to reality when your tears threaten to float you away? You must project what you’re feeling because Ethan steps closer to you.

“Can I...” Ethan hesitates, a war of wants and needs visible in his eyes, but he continues. “Can I drive you home?” 

You don’t try to stop the small smile that breaks out on your face and nod, “Sure.”

Saying your goodbyes to the few stragglers left and collecting your things, you step out of the building and into the light drizzle of rain. The rain is fitting, you think. A physical representation of the cloud that hangs over your head. As you begin walking towards Ethan’s car, his hand snakes out to grab yours, fingers interlacing. He squeezes, once, twice, and continues to walk. It’s a small gesture, but a comforting one all the same. 

A soft, small smile forms on your lips, and you think... hope, that things will be okay.