#dudes what about the patient with leukemia

[clementine221b]

oh i LOVE the montage of house entering princeton plainsboro with his flame cane and wilson.

they really do just save lives and serve cvnt

s3 e21

[favefandomimagines]

Oh (e.b.)

Summary: buck runs into his ex fling, taylor kelly, leaving you to feel like nothing but a second choice

AN: inspired by the winter finale of 911

You were a catch. You were smart, had a good job, beautiful. Guys were lining up to date you and yet the man you wanted to be with didn’t want you.

It seemed to everyone around you that the two of you were meant to be but to Buck, it wasn’t that obvious. He didn’t see how you looked at him, didn’t hear how you talked about him. Clearly, he didn’t know how you felt about him.

So, you stuck it out. You put your feelings on the back burner and just decided to be his friend. If he wanted to be with you, he would.

But you couldn’t ignore the feeling in your chest when he told you he was having dinner with Taylor Kelly.

“We got to talking at that call and then Albert said him and Veronica were having dinner and I just, called and asked if she wanted to come.” Buck explained. “And she said yes?” You asked.

“Yeah, she seemed on board. Maybe this is the universe telling me something.” He said. “The universe? You’ve never believed in that stuff.” You told him. “But this is Buck 3.0. I’m all for a change.” Buck answered. “When is this dinner again?” You asked. “Wednesday at 6.” He said. 

“Oh.” You muttered quietly. Wednesday was your birthday. And it seemed that Buck was caught up in bettering himself and finding someone that he had completely forgotten about you. But you had enough trying to remind him and get him to see that you were right there the whole time. 

You swallowed the lump in your throat as you looked at the mug in your hands. “You okay?” He asked. “Uh, yeah. I think I’m gonna head home. I have a long shift tomorrow.” You said, rising from your seat.

“You just got here.” Buck pointed out. “Buck, I just, I gotta go.” You said in a more stern manner. He looked at you with furrowed eyebrows and watched you leave his apartment.

You let out a large sigh as you got in your car before the tears came.

How were you so unlucky that the guy you were head over heels for, wanted someone else? He wanted someone else so much, he forgot about her birthday. When you were right there through everything? You were there through Abby leaving, Ally breaking up with him, the lawsuit against the department, his parents, everything. And yet you were left on the back burner. 

You always put his feelings above your own, not because you felt like you should. But because you cared about him and if he was happy, you were happy. Though, the more you thought about it, the more you realized that he sometimes didn’t give you that same courtesy. 

Your day was like the day from hell. Everything that could go wrong in your line of work, went completely wrong. To make matters worse, you had lost one of your favorite patients. She had stage 3 leukemia but she never let that change her personality. 

She made going to the hospital after shifts worth while because at least you got to spend time with her. But the cancer was too aggressive for the chemo and she died in her sleep that night. You tried not to let losses get to you but she had been your patient since you started volunteering at the hospital. You were really hoping you’d see her remission but the universe had other plans. 

All you wanted to do was lay on the couch with Buck and just cry. You got in your car and dialed his number, getting a few rings before he picked up. “Hey, you!” He greeted you. “Hey, do you maybe want to come over later? I’ve had the worst day. I lost a patient and-” You started before he cut you off. 

“I’m sorry, Y/N, I can’t. I have a date tonight, trying to put myself back out there.” He said. “I can come over after.” He added. “No, forget it. It’s fine.” You said. “You sound upset.” Buck said. “I’m fine, Buck. Enjoy your date.” You replied before hanging up the phone. 

Since that evening, you had been avoiding Buck like the plague. On shifts, you wouldn’t talk to him. Sticking to Chimney and Hen like glue to avoid any conversation with Buck. 

You went so far to ask to ride in the ambulance to calls, rather than in the fire engine like usual. It wasn’t odd for you to be in the ambulance because you were an EMT but you usually rode with the rest of the team.

“Does anyone know why Y/N won’t ride with us anymore?” Buck asked his crew. “Are you that dumb?” Hen asked. “Hen,” Bobby started. “It’s because of you, dude.” Eddie answered. “Me? What did I do?” Buck questioned. “Well, you blow her off all the time, completely ignore her feelings and ditch her for dates and you’re so oblivious you can’t see that she’s totally in love with you.” Eddie explained. “When you were hurt in the hospital, she didn’t come to work for days because she didn’t want you the throw a clot. She had to work triple shifts just to make enough to pay her rent because of all the days she missed sitting with you. Did you ever thank her for that?” Bobby added. “Well, no, but-” He started. 

“And when she lost her favorite patient, Emily, did you ask her if she was okay?” Bobby asked. “I-I couldn’t I had a date. And she didn’t say it was Emily.” Buck said, trying to defend yourself. “If you don’t reciprocate her feelings, that’s fine. But she’s your best friend. And as her best friend, you are supposed to be there when she needs you. She shouldn’t have to explain herself.” Bobby concluded. “You also forgot her birthday.” Chimney added as they all got out of the engine. 

The rest of his shift, Buck tried getting you to talk to him. But it was always, ‘I’m busy, Buck’ or ‘Can’t talk, we’re working.’ He’d given up when he tried to stop you after a call and you had given him a look he had never seen before. 

The guilt was eating him alive. He was a terrible friend to you and he thought being with you was a pipe dream. Until Hen and Eddie told him you loved him. But regardless of your feelings for him, you had done so much for him and he didn’t realize it until you were gone. 

That night, Buck went over to Taylor’s to gain more perspective on what he could do to fix what he royally screwed up. 

“I don’t know what to do. She hasn’t talked to me in weeks. We’ve never gone this long without talking.” Buck explained to Taylor.

“Well, you did forget her birthday. And not give it a second thought that she was hurting over the loss of a patient.” She said. “That’s not helping.” He replied. “You asked for my help and I’m being honest. You really hurt her. She almost got evicted because she was so worried about you. The first person she wanted to be with after her friend died was you and you went on a date instead.” Taylor said. “I know. I tried to talk to her but she won’t answer any of my calls or texts. She won’t even look at me anymore.” Buck said. 

“You are so stupid sometimes.” Taylor laughed. “What?” Buck asked. “She has feelings for you. Why else would she get so upset? If she only saw you as a friend, you would be getting screamed at not avoided.” She explained.

“Everyone keeps saying that but there’s no way Y/N has feelings for me. She’s...perfect. Perfect doesn’t fall for damaged goods.” Buck rebutted. “Trust me, she loves you.” Taylor told him. “And do you love her?” She asked. “Of course I do. But being with her seemed like it was too good to happen so I tried to move on. I guess I tried so hard I ended up hurting her anyways.” Buck answered. 

“Then tell her. And do a whole lot of graveling while you’re at it.” Taylor said. 

Buck quickly left the apartment and got into his car driving like a bat out of hell. When he arrived at your apartment, he didn't even bother to park in the parking stall correctly, his main focus was just getting to you.

When he finally reached your door, he knocked on it rather harshly and heard the sound of your urgent footsteps coming to find out who it was.

"Buck? What are you doing here?" You asked. Buck couldn't even find the words to answer because he was more focused on what you were wearing.

You had on a formed fitting red dress, your hair was curled and flowing over your shoulders and you looked beautiful.

"Wh-Why are you dressed like that?" He stammered. "I have a date." You answered. "You have a date? With who?" Buck asked. "Emily's brother. We became close when Emily had chemo and after she died we kept in tough. Why are you here?" You questioned.

"Don't go on the date. Please, for the love of god, don't go on that date. Because I love you, Y/N. I was too stupid to see it until you weren't around anymore. And I was terrible to you. I was supposed to be your best friend and I was so worried about my own life I dnd't even ask you how you were doing and oh my god I missed your birthday." Buck rambled.

"Slow down, Buckley, and talk to me at a normal rate, please." You said.

Buck took a deep breath and looked at you intently. "I'm in love with you. I-I always have but being with you always seemed like a pipe dream because you're perfect. You have always been perfect and you know that I'm not." Buck explained.

"Exactly. I've seen you at your worst and I still love you but even as your best friend you never gave me the time of day. Missing my birthday to go to dinner with Taylor Kelly. Brushing me off after Emily died because you had a date." You laughed bitterly. "I have stood by you no matter what. But god forbid I need you once in a while." You added.

"And I am so sorry, Y/N. You have every right to be upset with me, I'm upset with me. I'm pissed off at myself because I didn't realize what I had until it was too late." Buck replied. "Evan, do you understand the situation you just put me in? I get to go on a date with a great guy, one who actually pays attention and then the man I've been in love with for years, shows up at my doorstep to tell me he loves me back." You started.

Buck's facial expression fell, fearing the worst and anticipating you telling him that you'd moved on and he was too late.

"And I have to call that guy and tell him that I can't make it. Because the person I actually want to be with is right here." You finished.

The light in Buck's eyes returned at your words, looking at you with a gentle smile.

"Really?" He asked. "Yes, really and please don't make me regret it. You've screwed up a lot lately, let's not add us to the list." You said. "So there's an us now?" Buck questioned. "I-If that's okay with you." You stuttered. "It's absolutely okay with me." Buck said with a smile.

"I guess I got all dressed up for nothing." You sighed, letting Buck inside your apartment.

Buck was quiet for a moment as he watched you take your heels off and your earrings, placing them on the table by the door. "Then let's not make it for nothing. Let me take you out on our first official date." He said.

"Besides, I need to see you in that dress more often." He added a smirk on his face. "Alright then, Buckley. Take me on a date. You have a lot to make up for." You smiled, offering him your hand.

Buck took your hand in his, happily, and held you steady as you put your shoes back on. “Trust me, Y/N, it’ll be the best date you’ve ever been on.” He said. 

In the moment, you laughed at his words but after the date had concluded and all was said and done, it had indeed been the best date you have ever been on. 

[this-shit-bnanas]

Coffee Spoons: Chapter 2

Some notes:

This is an Alan x Michiru fic rn. I don't know if we'll add some Shirou x Michiru later on; keeping it fluid, my dudes. This is a free writing activity for when my job is slow and I'm procrastinating. There's no plot besides what I make up on the fly.

Addressing my favorite review I've ever received (on FFn): yes, the rating will change to mature.

AO3. FFn.

PREVIOUS CHAPTER : Next

Shirou, that sly dog, had gotten Barbary Rose to start making a ruckus. She stood in front of him, hands behind her back neatly, and observed him like she was dissecting a specimen that was not particularly interesting. A necessary evil, Alan is, apparently.

"Let's skip the pleasantries," she said, not unkindly, but in the demeanor of a woman who wanted to solve a problem as quickly and efficiently as possible. A true scientist. "Shirou has led me to believe you passed up on a valuable company. Is this true?"

Alan leaned against his desk and crossed his arms loosely. "I suppose, depending on the viewpoint, it is."

"I won't pretend to appeal to your moral considerations, but this idea could be a windfall for patients with leukemia. Valuable proprietary patents, and so on and so forth." She arched an eyebrow ever so slightly.

Alan wished he could sigh deeply. "Yes, it was a very good idea. But if I bought out every good idea, I would be broke and all I would have to sell is empty promises." He held up his hands, helpless.

Rose considered this. "Very well. I'll look over their written proposal."

Alan smiled, making sure to crinkle his eyes so it looked real. "Always a pleasure, Doctor."

Rose left and Alan let the smile fall from his face. Rose was an excellent scientist, excellent at handling the… scientific vision, or whatever Alan's father thought was important, and even better at double checking the figures and publications. It was too bad she had twice as many morals as she did accolades. If she raised hell, every other scientist in the place would, too.

Sneaky, sneaky Shirou.

…

The week had been an endless parade of paperwork and meetings. While all very stimulating and important, none of it was particularly fun. So, to save himself from becoming made of marble and plastic himself, he logged into the company's security cameras.

A lot of it was rather mundane. Only certain cameras had sound—not that he could play it aloud—and there wasn't very much going on in the labs. He caught one argument, mimed with exaggerated arms, but that was about it.

Well, Alan shouldn't lie to himself.

Michiru hadn't texted him.

That he hadn't expected.

Giving up the gun, he clicked through until he found the cramped Ethics and Review office. Michiru was bunched into a ball on the chair, knees up under her chin, squinting at her computer screen. Her tongue stuck out from the corner of her mouth as she concentrated.

But why hadn't you called, Michiru?

Shirou entered the office. Michiru was still concentrating, but Alan had a bird's eye view. Shirou made the pretense of shuffling some papers, picking them up, putting them back down—watched Michiru while he did all this behind her.

Alan tapped a pen as he watched.

Michiru heard him eventually and whipped around in her chair, presumably greeting Shirou, but all Alan could see was the slope of her shoulders and the nape of her neck. Alan rested his chin in the palm of his hand, elbow on the table.

What were the odds of someone barging in?

Low, he decided, and flipped on the camera's mic.

(Alan had made sure the camera in the E&R department had a microphone. Couldn't have those pesky philosophy majors destroying a multimillion-dollar drug, could he?)

"—reviewing a lot of the SOPs," Michiru's bright voice chirped. "There seems to be a lot of stuff already in place for animal trials, but there isn't anything outright about the obligation of companies to make decisions for the general public… is there?"

"Not exactly," Shirou said. Typical. "But it makes more sense. Less effort spent in proposal and designs, faster product production which in turn lowers the price."

Alan rolled his eyes, but Michiru didn't already know the answer, so she asked: "But Japan has universal healthcare, so what's the gain?"

Shirou shuffled the same pile of papers again. "America doesn't, and this is an American-based company. Good science from Japan, and good money from America." Shirou wasn't even from America. Alan rolled his eyes again.

Michiru hummed, the sound tinny over the microphone. But Michiru, it was all that sweet money that bought you that fancy coffee you like. Alan tapped his lips with the tip of his finger.

…

Alan sipped the whiskey, letting it roll over his tongue. A gift from some investor or stockholder or another, whoever he had been meeting with. He wondered if it was illegal to accept a gift over fifty-dollars—five-thousand yen, excuse him. He couldn't remember and smiled.

He looked out the window onto Yokohama, the lights blinking across the rooftops like lightning bugs. The city always looked better at night. Every city did, he thought. He took another long sip.

It was Friday.

Alan stood, poured himself a glass, and decided to wander. Well, wander was such a strong word. He had been itching to take a stroll to E&R.

It was seven floors below him. The halls were dark, lit only by the auxiliary lights, and it smelled like ink. He had shoved E&R onto the record floor, and there was a general air of clutter, of papers out of place. He wondered if it irritated Shirou as much as it would irritate Alan.

The lights were still on in E&R. He stepped in, ready to—

Michiru turned in her chair and blinked blearily at him.

[globrights]

after the dust settles and the married couple are gone for good (neither of them can remember their last names, or even bothered asking), dennis finds himself boiling a cup of tea. normally, this would be a beer, or, hell, several gallons of hard liquor situation, to help drown it all out. to forget. to push deep down where their own ears are deaf to the burrowing guilt. they still feel guilt, right?

tried to break up a couple. who they thought were falling apart because the husband cheated on a guy named teddy, but it turns out teddy was the name of their dead leukemia son and greg isn’t even gay.

or well. he could be gay. we don’t know that. 

his mind diverts to the gurgling of their old kettle, screaming from its spout, old and crying for reprieve. he thinks of the sounds of lisa crying, echoing down the halls, this experience piling onto her grief and pain no doubt. he isn’t sure he felt all that bad. awkward, sure. but if he really felt so bad he wouldn’t be drinking tea. mac didn’t seem all that affected either though, so he thinks he’s in the clear. people die everyday, right? people’s kids die too. it only really hurts if it happens to you.

“hey, you want tea?” dennis settles down at their table, mac is seated on one of their yellow chairs. the question is pretty much rhetoric, he thinks. mac is only here because he wants some of whatever dennis was making. or he’s here to be with dennis, so he might as well have some tea while he’s at it. dennis pours carefully into their cups. the steam is kinda stinging on his knuckles. maybe he should’ve tricked mac into doing this.

“i was thinking about you.”

“huh?” dennis sets down the kettle. he has no idea what mac is talking about.

“when i was. talking to greg. tryna get him to date me, fuck me, fall- i don’t know,” he sighs, almost despondent now.

“what’s...” dennis stops. his throat catches because he now has a little inkling of what. “uh.”

“i don’t know, man, i don’t know. i watched all those rom-com movies-”

“yeah, i know.” he knows because they watched them all together. every chummy, over-the-top, cliched as hell rom-com. they saw so many of them, because mac said he never saw them before because he thought men couldn’t watch those movies because that would be gay. but he’s gay now, so. no reason not to. and dennis sat and watched with him, made recommendations, too. didn’t think about the implications of all that. he sure as hell is thinking now. “those movies- that’s what gave you the idea for the scheme.” 

“i guess. i keep thinking, dude. like, when i watch those movies, i think about you.”

dennis is almost angry. they had an equilibrium here. they had an understanding again, he thought. they’d be normal, they’d be friends, dennis doesn’t point it out when mac is staring at him a second too long, mac stops trying to explain why he stares. mac stops trying to redefine who they are, what they mean to each other. 

“mac-”

“every time i talked about, about leading men, leading ladies, making the perfect rom-com in real life, talking about love, that was all you, man. i said it, cuz, i was thinking about you.” 

“don’t say it-” dennis begs, eyes downcast. “please don’t say it.”

“why not, dennis?” he is exasperated. “because, i mean, i tried. i wanted to let go, believe me-” he points-”but you know how you were like. you didn’t give a shit about lisa. i couldn’t pay you to fuck her-”

“that’s because you have no money-”

mac almost laughs at that, and it’s a good thing he does, because it quells his anger and he sits back down, slumped and drained, but he sits back down. “i don’t think you even like women anymore. so why can’t you like me?”

“that’s ‘cause you’re annoying,” he thinks, he thinks maybe, if he keeps deflecting, keeps throwing quips and catching cheap laughs from mac, maybe he will drop this. oh, please. please let him drop this. 

“you don’t really think that. not for the most part.”

“oh, but i do.”

“fine, then i’ll leave right now,” mac stands up again, tries to find some thing to throw into something, like shirts into a bag, but he comes up empty. he raises his voice to compensate. “i’ll move out, just like you wanted! you want me to leave dennis? you wanna sit here in this apartment alone, lying to your goddamn self?”

“mac, sit down.”

“say you want me to stay.”

“no.”

“then i’m leaving,” he tries to move to his room now. oh god, he hates this. his tea is getting cold. mac’s tea, which he’ll have to drink if the idiot makes a break for it, is getting cold too.

“mac, come back, please. we can do this another time.” mac ignores him, actually starts packing a bag, so dennis has to drag himself off that chair, and walks his heavy steps toward mac, grabbing his hand, the one that’s tearing open a duffle bag. “come on,” he says, trying to sound patient. “what’s this really about?”

for a moment there, mac looks at him like he has the comprehension of a very stupid baby. “i wanna be in love, man.” 

“i know, okay, i’m sorry the air bnb thing failed, we can try it some other time, market the place to some, some hot greasy beefcakes. not greg, okay? guy was ugly as shit anyway.” 

“this, this isn’t about the air bnb, i don’t care about the air bnb!” 

“i know, i know, you wanna be in love!” dennis yells back, tired of this. “we’ll find you someone-”

“i don’t want just any bozo off the street, dennis, i want-”

“then we won’t get some bozo off the street, i said-”

“i want you!” mac exhales so loud after that. “oh my god, will you please shut up, dude. don’t act like you don’t know.” “i know, okay? believe me, i know. i’m saying this because i know. and trust me, you don’t know.”

“okay now you’re confusing the fuck outta me. uh, what don’t i know?”

“you don’t want me. you want the closest thing that’s most comfortable. trust me, buddy. i know i’ve been pissed about this in the past, but i get it now. i know it isn’t your... well, i guess, fault.”

“so you don’t believe me.”

“no, i just-”

“dennis, i love you man.” the words leave mac’s lips but they stick in dennis’ throat. “i wanna be in love, because i’m-i love you. i don’t even, i don’t even think i care if that scares you off anymore.”

“if it scares me off will you stop?”

“no.”

“why the hell not?”

“because i-”

“yeah, yeah, you’re in love with me,” he groans. “fine. be in love with me. i don’t care.”

but he does.

mac scoffs. “be in love with you? all on my own? by myself dude? fuck off. i’m so tired. i’m so fucking tired i can’t do it anymore. i can’t do this. i drive myself crazy because of you. i think you hate me, i think you love me, i think, i think i’m gonna die.”

“stop being so melodramatic.” 

“well, i’m sorry, dennis. i’m sorry you don’t give a shit about this, or me, but, it hurts, okay? and-”

“who says i don’t give a shit about you?”

“then why won’t you say anything?”

“oh give me a break. you haven’t been talking to a wall or anything. i’m right fucking here.”

“you’re talking, sure, but you’re not saying shit, bro. you’re not telling me a thing.”

dennis sits down on mac’s unmade bed. he must be getting a migraine. “what, pray tell, do you want to hear from me?”

“the truth. if you don’t love me, fine, if you’re not into men, fine. tell me, dude. do something. say something. but don’t fucking lie to me. i’ll know that, at least.”

“if-” dennis hesitates. “if you can tell.” he is tempted to just run away, frankly. “does it need to be said?”

silence drapes over them, the room, a cold silence, it freezes everything around it, and now dennis is the one who wants to die. he’s said too much by not saying enough. maybe it’s not to late to say sike and proclaim his undying hatred for mac. lord knows it’s got some truth to it. mac is insufferable, he is annoying and controlling and a full on bitch. but god, dennis can’t stay away, dennis can’t even look away sometimes, and maybe that is his one flaw. 

“say stop.” 

mac shuts his eyes, leaning in. dennis doesn’t pull away. his eyes flutter then droop close, too. mac plants the softest, most chaste kiss on his lips. when he pulls away without taking things any further, dennis looks at him, not a thought in his mind. mac breathes out. “i never thought i’d get to do that.”

“so do you feel better now?” his voice is almost petty. dennis has one too many thoughts now. all of them involve mac realizing he has no interest in dennis at all and that this was all just. one big ruse. mac has what he wants, so he wants nothing more now. maybe dennis can save his dignity if he claims that letting himself get kissed was a fluke too. “can we- can we go and have that tea?”

“not if i get to keep kissing you.” dennis looks almost shocked. mac looks to the side. “can i? keep kissing you?”

dennis moves first this time. he traps mac’s lips with his own, face between his hands, pulling mac close. mac takes the hint, draws in, knee between his legs, and he moans at the contact. he inches up mac’s shirt, and mac stops kissing him to sit up, pull it off. he’s straddling dennis when he leans back in and says ‘i love you’, again, inches from his lips. this gets him going. “i love you so much,” he says, words slurred, but meaning profound. “gonna show you how much”. dennis ignores him, but those words, once nothingness, become everything now. he slowly finds himself believing.

“you’re my everything,” he says, recklessly, before the thought leaves his head and before he can reconsider and decide against. mac freezes, and then he smiles. dennis hopes mac knows this means he remembers what he said to greg too. maybe if mac is smart enough, he’ll know dennis wished mac had been talking about him back there, when he heard him dole out a dollop of sweet nothings, to that undeserving greg.

“you’re my everything too, man,” he says, making him giddy in the head, unbuttoning his jeans like it’s a contest, tugging them down with a relish. “oh my god. you’re so much bigger than greg.”

dennis goes pink. “shut up, you’ve seen my cock before.”

“i know. thought it would make you happy. and for serious, dude? it’s. shit.”

“it’s shit?”

“no, like, holy shit, it’s nice, you know?” 

dennis is almost irritated now. he’s got a throbbing hard cock and no one to suck it, you know? or pump it. or put their... ass over it? dennis isn’t really sure what mac’s gonna do here. 

just as he’s about to chastise him, mac licks down the flat of his palm and sends his hand down the side of his shaft, touching it tentatively, out of curiosity. dennis makes a very embarrassing noise, but is soon rendered unconscious of it, because tongue dances around his arousal and mac’s lips pull over it, slowly sucking him off, and dennis is more helpless than he should be, whimpering and pleading, pathetic as can be, but it doesn’t matter, it’s okay, and mac goes faster and faster and it gets wet and so, so good, and he’s crying for help, for more, for release. he grabs onto whatever he can, at some point, he grabs at mac’s leg and gets swatted at, and then he doesn’t think or remember how it happens but he gets what he’s needed for the longest time. 

“fuck,” he curses, a good minute or so after it happens, because god, he can’t believe that this happened. oh well. too late now. pretty hard to take getting your dick sucked back. 

“was that good?”

“you’re actually asking?”

mac laughs. it feels good to hear. “i was awesome, right, dennis?”

“shut up.”

“okay.” he almost loves this. mac’ll do anything he says now, at least for a good few days. 

“hey.”

mac flips his head immediately to look at him. he’d make fun of mac, except he looks beautiful, and his dick is hanging out, so maybe it’s not the time to make fun of someone with anger issues, whether he’s in love with you or not.

“yeah?”

“i-” he changes his mind. “you wanna get some tea?”

mac looks a little confused, but he nods instantly, readily. “uh, sure. if that’s what you want.” 

dennis searches for his pants and pulls it on and mac finds his top. they walk to the kitchen in silence and mac hands dennis his tea. he takes a sip. they sit down.

“i meant to say i loved you too,” dennis admits after a while, and to his surprise, mac doesn’t drop his tea, or have any outward reaction aside from his smile. 

“i know. you kinda said it earlier when you were-”

“oh.” well that’s embarrassing. 

“can we go have sex now?”

they down their tea so fast it would’ve burned their throats had it been any hotter. frankly, there was no need to finish the tea. but they do it anyway, and they scamper off to whichever room’s the closest to finish what they started. 

they’ve got the rest of their lives to start and finish things now.

[emmaswritingdump]

Dying in the Silence of the Things You Never Say

Words: 2578

Pairing: Adrienette (although it’s more platonic than romantic)

AO3 // Wattpad

Summary: He was sick.

She was hurt.

The doctor thought his talking to her might be good for the both of them.

A/N: This one's a hospital fic. Someone dies. It's not super fluffy or shippy. The relationship is more platonic than romantic. There is angst. You've been warned. (The title is from Gene Watson's song "One Sided Conversation" but this is NOT a songfic. The only thing about this story relating to the song is the title.)

***

He was sick.

It was leukemia. The doctors were all kind eyes and reassuring smiles, but he could see in their concerned eyes and anxious whispers that they were more worried than they wanted him to know.

It wasn't as if they hadn't told him there was a chance he wouldn't survive- obviously they explained that to him. But he had a feeling it was worse than they originally thought, and they weren't sure if he could handle the news.

He wasn't a little kid. He was fifteen years old. He could handle it.

And yeah, he knew that fifteen wasn't very old and if he died now he would be missing out on basically an entire lifetime, but he could handle it.

She was hurt.

She was moved to the room next to his when he had been there for a little over a month. He was bored of sitting in bed watching TV, so he was up pacing around his room while reading a book. Movement past the window into the hall caught his attention, and he looked up from his book to see a nurse pushing a bed that held an unconscious girl who looked to be about his age. Her name was Marinette and she was in a car accident that left her in a coma, the nurse told him when he asked about her. She was healing up nicely, and the doctors had hope that she would wake up soon.

He went into her room that evening after the doctors and nurses left. He wasn't sure why- he just felt as if he was supposed to be there. As if he was supposed to be with her.

Tentatively, he sat down in a chair next to her bed, not taking his eyes off her face. She had black hair with blue highlights, and freckles danced across her nose. She looked so peaceful as she slept.

"Um. Hi," he said softly and awkwardly, not sure how to go about this. "I'm Adrien. I'm in the room next door. I, uh, I read somewhere online that coma patients can hear people when they talk to them, and I guess I just wanted to give it a try? I mean, they say the voices of loved ones telling familiar stories helps, and I know we don't exactly know each other, but... I don't know. I guess I just thought this might be nice somehow? I don't... never mind. I'll just... go back to my room."

He stood and turned to the door to leave, and his heart jolted when he saw a doctor standing in the doorway watching him.

"Doctor Fu," he said to the elderly doctor in surprise. "Sorry, I just- I don't actually know what I'm doing in here, I just wanted-"

"Mr. Agreste," Dr. Fu said, "I think you should talk to her."

Adrien paused for a moment, processing what the doctor had said. "What? Why?"

With a twinkle in his eye, Dr. Fu gave Adrien a look that made him think the doctor might know something about him and this girl that he doesn't. "I think it would be good for both of you."

***

So he talked to her. He talked to her every night after her parents left- they sat with her for a few hours every day, but Adrien could never work up the nerve to talk to them. Another visitor she often got was a girl about the same age as them who wore glasses and had reddish-brown shoulder-length hair. He figured she was her friend, and as much as he wanted to talk to her, as much as he yearned for human contact with someone his own age who wasn't comatose, he didn't know how to explain why he had been talking to her unconscious friend every night.

He would tell Marinette about his family, his books, stories, politics, or whatever else was on his mind. He told her how worried he was when he could feel his health growing steadily worse with every passing day.

A few weeks after he first started talking to her, he was sitting in the chair next to her bed when her friend suddenly walked through the door.

She froze, surprised to see him. "Um, hi," she said slowly, "I think I left something in here earlier."

Adrien nodded. "Oh, okay. Uh, I'm Adrien, by the way."

The girl nodded, watching him carefully. "I'm Alya." Alya then started to move about the room in search of her missing possession, giving him the occasional distrustful glance.

"Are you a friend of Marinette's?" Adrien asked awkwardly after a long silence.

"Yes," Alya told him. "I'm her best friend, in fact. Are you a friend of Marinette's?"

"Well, not exactly," he admitted sheepishly. "I'm a patient here- my room is next door- and one of the doctors told me I should talk to her. He said it could be good for both of us, whatever that meant. So I usually come here at night and talk to her- I mean, it's not like I really have anyone else to talk to."

Alya turned slightly to look at him for a moment, her brow furrowed. "What about your friends and family?"

"Well," Adrien said slowly, trying to figure out how to explain the situation. "My dad is super protective and really doesn't even want me leaving the house, so I've been homeschooled my whole life and I've never really had many friends. Now that I'm in here, he comes to see me every weekend, but he always just seems... detached. Cold. I think he's... I think he's afraid. I don't know. It's just hard to talk to him when he's like that."

Suddenly Alya makes a triumphant noise and holds up a keychain with a ladybug charm dangling from it. "Found it!" She turns to face him. "Uh, sorry. That sucks."

Adrien doesn't say anything.

"What do you talk to her about?"

"Whatever's on my mind. Sometimes I tell her stories."

Alya nods. "Well, thank you. It's nice of you to keep her company."

Adrien nods and gives her a small smile.

"I'm gonna go," she said eventually, "So you can get back to talking to her. Thanks again."

Adrien nodded and turned to look at Marinette as Alya left the room.

"Adrien?"

He turned to the door to see her paused in the doorway. "Yeah?"

"I think I understand why that doctor thought talking to Marinette would be good for you."

***

He continued to talk to Marinette, and sometimes Alya as well. Every now and then Alya would stop by his room to talk to him for a bit on the days she went to see Marinette.

One day someone else came with her: a teenage boy about their age who wore glasses and a red hat and had headphones hanging around his neck.

"Hey Adrien," Alya greeted him, standing in the doorway. "This is Nino, a friend from school. Nino, this is Adrien."

"Hey, dude," Nino said.

The two talked for a while and became fast friends. Adrien had a sneaking suspicion Alya brought him along for Adrien to make a new friend, and he was grateful.

One day about two weeks later, Adrien was sitting in Marinette's room chatting with Alya and Nino when he suddenly became overwhelmed by the thundering pain in his head. He doubled over in his chair, breathing hard with his eyes squeezed shut, and waited for the spots to clear and the pain to dissipate.

After a minute or so, he became aware of a hand on his back and Alya's voice saying his name over and over again.

"Adrien? Adrien, are you okay?"

He nodded and slowly forced himself back into a sitting position. "Just a headache," he said softly after a moment.

"That was not 'just a headache,'" Alya said. "Nino went to get a nurse."

"It really is just a headache," he insisted, trying to ignore the persistent throbbing in his temples. "The headaches are frequent, but sometimes they're just... really sudden and strong. I'm fine."

He heard footsteps coming down the hall toward the room, and Nino entered with a nurse right behind him.

"Dude, are you okay?" Nino asked.

"I'm fine," Adrien said, but the nurse made him go back to his own room and let her check his vitals anyway.

***

His health was getting worse. He was getting weaker.

The nurse forbade him from leaving his bed more than two hours a day, and when he did leave, he had to be sitting down as much as possible. She even brought him a wheelchair so he wouldn't have to stand and walk to make his trips next door.

Nino and Alya visited him and Marinette every day. She had been in her coma for a little over two months by the time Adrien was in a wheelchair, and he could tell everyone seemed a little less hopeful.

Soon enough, Nino and Alya were Adrien's best friends. He could hardly even remember life before them, and he was immensely glad to finally have some friends to talk to.

They would often talk about Marinette and what she was like. He would ask about her interests, personality, likes, dislikes, and everything else. They told him everything they knew about her, and the more he heard about her, the more he liked her.

He could only hope that one day soon she would wake up so that he could finally meet her for real.

One day while he was talking to them, he heard someone calling his name from next door. Nino went to see who it was, and Adrien could hear him telling the person that he was next door. After a moment, Nino reappeared in the doorway, followed by Adrien's father.

"Hello, Father," Adrien said, surprised to see him on a Tuesday.

"Adrien," his father said sternly. "What are you doing in here?"

"I'm talking to Nino and Alya," Adrien told him. "They're my friends."

"Excuse me, sir," Alya said. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but my friend here- the one in the coma- she's a huge fan of your work. You're the person who inspired her to start designing clothes, actually. She would flip if she found out you were in the same room as her and she didn't get a picture, even if she was unconscious through the whole thing. So, could I please get a picture of you with her?"

Hesitantly, the man nodded.

Adrien moved his wheelchair to the edge of the room to sit next to Nino while Alya took the picture of his father sitting next to the unconscious Marinette.

"I didn't know Marinette was a fan of my father's work," he said to his friend.

"Well, I didn't even recognize him. What's your dad's name?"

"Gabriel Agreste."

"Oh, yeah, she worships the guy."

Adrien smiled. "Small world, huh? And hey, all those times I asked about her, you guys never even told me she liked fashion."

Nino merely shrugged.

"Adrien, you get in the picture too," Alya instructed him.

So he did. Nino pushed his wheelchair into the shot for him and helped position it for the picture. After a minute, a nurse passing by asked if they wanted her to take the picture for them. Alya and Nino joined, and Gabriel left the shot so they could get one of just the four kids together. Adrien made a mental note to ask Alya for a copy of that picture.

***

Gabriel didn't approve of Adrien's new friends, but Adrien didn't mind, because he didn't expect him to approve.

His father rarely came to visit more than once a week, but these people came every day, so he didn't care what his father thought about them.

***

Adrien got the news about three months after Marinette came to the hospital.

His doctor walked into his room carrying a folder full of papers with a grim look on his face.

He explained to him that the treatment wasn't working and that he didn't think there was much more they could do.

He told him they would continue to do their best to help him, but that at the moment, they saw no way he would survive this.

Adrien told Marinette before he told Alya and Nino. Somehow, he thought, she deserved to be the first to know.

He sat next to her bed, hesitantly held her hand in his, and softly told her that he was going to die.

He begged her to please wake up so he could meet her.

He begged her to wake up, even if it happened after he was gone.

***

In his final weeks, Adrien became weak and frail. He could hardly get himself out of bed, and he always had to wait to go to Marinette's room until someone could help him into his wheelchair and push him there.

He was bruising and bleeding a lot more easily. His headaches were nearly constant. He was always tired. But he made himself go talk to Nino, Alya, and Marinette every day.

He continued to talk to them until his very last day on Earth.

***

Adrien passed away a month after the doctor told him the treatment wasn't working.

It was peaceful; he went in his sleep.

Alya and Nino cried and comforted each other in Marinette's room.

"What's going on?" a soft voice suddenly asked them after a while.

Their heads snapped up to see a groggy Marinette staring at them.

She woke up mere hours after Adrien passed.

"Mari," Alya sobbed, "You're awake. You're awake. I can't- you're awake."

Nino went to get the doctor while Alya began to sob uncontrollably.

After a while, Alya calmed down and got to sit and talk with Marinette after the doctors left them alone.

"Alya," Marinette said quietly at one point. "Where is he?"

Alya furrowed her brow. "Who? Your dad? Nino?"

Marinette shook her head and concentrated hard. "I can't- I can't remember who, but I think there was someone here. Someone I wanted to meet. He talked to me and told me stories. I can't... I can't remember his name."

Alya's breath hitched in her throat. "Was it... Adrien?"

Marinette's eyes lit up, and she nodded. "Yes! Where's Adrien?"

Alya felt tears start to well up in her eyes as she tried to swallow down the lump in her throat. "Mari... Adrien passed away this morning."

Marinette stared at her for a moment in disbelief. "No, he... he can't be..."

"I'm sorry, Marinette. I'm sorry you never got to really meet him."

***

The next day, Alya brought Marinette a copy of the picture the nurse took of the four of them, and she got to see Adrien's face for the first time.

She kept it with her, stored away in her wallet, in a desperate attempt to cling to those cloudy memories she had of the boy talking to her every day for months.

Although she never spoke to him and never really met him, she felt as if they had really been friends.

She felt as if they could have been something more.

***

She went to his funeral.

It was a simple, quiet, open-casket funeral. She was able to see him in person for the first time.

He looked so peaceful.

She wasn't sure how she could cry for and mourn the loss of someone she had never met, but she did it anyway.

[junker-town]

The draft itself is a worthwhile payoff after 4 months of bulls***

Every year it’s the same, and by the end, it’s somehow worth it.

The NFL Draft is the biggest sporting event of the year in which no ball is kicked and no tackle is made. It is a massive spectacle that will probably soon be on every broadcast network, and something the league likens to election night.

At its core, it’s just a bunch of names being read off every few minutes, a concept that is ridiculous when you take a step back. It is a tentpole of the sports calendar, able to muscle NBA and NHL postseasons briefly off of the front of most sports pages, all because it’s chock full of the effervescent hope of “wait ‘til next year.”

Beyond that, the NFL Draft delivers on something we all desperately need by April’s end, because the run-up to the Draft is simply exhausting.

From the moment bowl games and the Super Bowl end, seemingly the entire sport ramps up to this spectacle. The rhythms of the news cycle are largely the same every year. The Combine comes in February and we hear the leaks of ridiculous interview questions and bizarre scouting reports. Calvin Ridley’s skin is too tight. Derrius Guice might like men, or he might’ve lied about a job interview. DeShon Elliott isn’t married yet. Bo Scarbrough needs to answer what clothing God will have on in heaven — you get it.

Anonymous NFL Scout’s word becomes law, and everyone with a Twitter account thinks they’re the next Mel Kiper Jr. So help me God, if I see another seven-round mock draft on my timeline, I’ll throw my phone into the nearest body of water.

But then the draft actually happens, and the league pulls off a continually evolving parlor trick: it renders all those things moot with humanity.

As the Draft has gotten further away from its Radio City Music Hall past, it has evolved. A league that can be fairly criticized for being as stuffy as a mothballed trench coat has found a way to put on a loose and light show, all filled with plenty of personality and color.

It’s now a road show, offering a venue change every year. This year it was in Arlington at Cowboys Stadium, and it was the catalyst behind the best new yearly Draft subplot: pick presenters straight up roasting the host site’s team and fans.

DAVID AKERS IS A SAVAGE pic.twitter.com/NP52RDmVmh

— The Checkdown (@thecheckdown) April 28, 2018

Michael Vick adding to tonight's Cowboys trolling while announcing the Falcons pick: "For the record I never lost to Dallas."

— Melissa Jacobs (@thefootballgirl) April 28, 2018

Watch: Justin Tuck announces the #NYGiants second round pick! pic.twitter.com/9WrOsxpxgV

— New York Giants (@Giants) April 27, 2018

Hall of Famer Jerry Kramer announces the #Packers' selection of CB Josh Jackson at No. 45! : NFLN + FOX#PackersDraft #GoPackGo pic.twitter.com/BxY1YM0BHl

— Green Bay Packers (@packers) April 28, 2018

"To all of you Ice Bowl fans, great to see you," HoF G Jerry Kramer announcing Packers pick (45th)

— Eric Zarate (@zarate_eric) April 28, 2018

Cleveland/Canton, Kansas City, Tennessee, Denver, and Las Vegas are the finalists to host the next two Drafts, so we’ll see what presenters will have up their sleeves in the coming years.

But the NFL mixes poignancy along with humor.

Steelers linebacker Ryan Shazier walked out onto the stage,

What a moment for Ryan Shazier pic.twitter.com/YJ69wLrg7k

— Laces Out (@LacesOutShow) April 27, 2018

A St. Jude children’s hospital patient announced Denver’s pick.

A special moment for @stjude patient Austin Denton, who announced @astronaut as the @Broncos’ first pick! : #NFLDraft on NFL Network + FOX pic.twitter.com/OovITmre9I

— NFL Network (@nflnetwork) April 27, 2018

A famous Bills fan named Poncho Billa was called out on stage while battling leukemia to deliver a pick, and Iowa DB Josh Jackson was given headphones by ESPN to listen to a message from children at the hospital that overlooks his college stadium.

Concurrently, the Broncos announced picks with dudes high diving next to the shirtless mascot ...

... some bros curled in a Vikings pick, Nate Burleson nailed a dated movie reference, and a damn parrot flew in the Bucs picks.

Oh, and R2-D2:

But the draft also has a soul, because it keeps its humanity as the central theme.

It’s not a perfect flawless television product, and that’s another reason why it’s fun. Both ESPN and NFL Network’s anchors are practically senile by the end of the final day. NFLN resorts to trying to stump its production truck, challenging the producers to find film of obscure players. It just works, and audiences are responding with ratings increases for the various networks.

The combined 11.214 million NFL Draft viewers is up 22% from last year. Highest NFL Draft since the Johnny Manziel Draft in 2014 (12.373 million). https://t.co/R4KQ0yR6Py

— John Ourand (@Ourand_SBJ) April 27, 2018

The bells and whistles and gimmicks are simply the window dressing of the three-day shindig.

The consistent joy and personality is the spine of the ~15-hour telecast. It’s the biggest thing that the run-up loses. What’s lost in Combine test results, tape breakdowns, coded racism, and minor storylines is found when we get to watch lives change in real time no matter who is delivering the pick.

Slogging through the pre-draft makes the image of triumphant young men hugging their loved ones even better.

If you don’t get chills/tears/misty-eyed watching the scene at Shaquem Griffin’s house when he was drafted, get your heart checked. pic.twitter.com/xD3x03prKa

— Will Brinson (@WillBrinson) April 28, 2018

We are all Jaire Alexander watching his teammate Lamar Jackson get picked.

Midway through @JaireAlexander's interview, his college teammate @Lj_era8 was selected with the last pick in the 1st round. Here's his reaction: pic.twitter.com/NPnkDf56R6

— The Checkdown (@thecheckdown) April 27, 2018

If you’ve been bullied, a little piece of you can empathize with the triumph of Cowboys OL Connor Williams. If you have any idea what Nick Chubb has been through, you can’t help but light up when you see his name flash on the screen.

For each of the 250-plus picks in any year’s Draft their payoff is our payoff as fans and witnesses to their athletic exploits. If there is no struggle, there is no progress. If there is no build-up, there is no payoff.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to read a way-too-early mock draft for next year.