#its a BIT different tone for them then i usually do | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

theonewiththefanfics · 22 days ago

Text

Sisyphus No Longer (one-shot)

Synopsis: Robby knows chaos intimately. He knows how to navigate it, and guide others through. But sometimes life throws a curveball so big, not even he can get out of the range of impact.

Pairing: Dr. Michael "Robby" Robinavitch x fem!Reader

Genre: mainly fluffy, lil bit of angst (Robby just lives in an anxious state of mind worrying about his girlfriend)

Warnings: swearing, bit of medical talk (hopefully mostly accurate lol, nothing explicit, though if you pick up on anything please do let me know, and I'll add it here 😊), innuendos, but no smut this time around.

Word count: 10,879 (here we go again 🙃)

This is a follow-up to An Itch You Can't Scratch, but I think you can read this on its own as well :) Please don't copy my work or repost it onto other platforms. all of the characters belong to HBO Max.

Robby’s life was chaos. But it was chaos he was used to.

He knew how to navigate it, like a ship under the blanket of fog. Knew how to bend the mist to his will, and twist it to reveal the correct course of action.

For example, chaos causer No. 1 – Myrna.

She was a regular at the Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Hospital. She dished out verbal assaults, like it was a Friday at a bar, trying to flash anyone who even threw her a glance, all the while being handcuffed to a wheelchair. The one time she’d managed to Houdini her way out, had sent the whole unit into a tailspin.

But Myrna was a constant in his life. She brought a sense of levity during his incredibly stressful days and allowed him to crack a grin or two. He was her Fruitcake and she was his Fruitfly. They just worked like that.

Then there was chaos causer No. 2 – Good old Gloria.

If there was one thing in the world Robby hated, other than people who took their primary medical advice from Reddit forums, it was suits, and people in them. Especially those that tried to run hospitals, while prioritizing cost-cutting, instead of the safety of their staff and patients.

“Would people recommend this emergency department to their friends or loved ones?” Gloria had asked him a couple of days prior, singing her usual song, albeit in a slightly different key.

The only thing that’d saved her had been the fact a mother had walked in with her five-year-old son, a piece of crayon stuck in his nose.

“Gloria, quite honestly, nobody is walking around recommending emergency departments, because nobody wants to be here. The last thing on the mind of someone with a split open head or a dying parent is leaving a five-star review. But sure. Be my guest. How about you go around the people sitting here, having waited eight hours to be seen, and ask them what they thought of the service today.”

She bristled at his light, but clearly aggravated tone. “I imagine eight hours is a long time to wait.”

“It is. You know how we could cut it down?” He crossed his arms. “More nurses. More staff. More equipment. It’s that easy. But unless you wish to get a rainbow sneezed on you, I suggest you walk away.”

She wasn’t amused by his words, but when Dana sidled up, helping him steady the kid against the unpleasant feel of forceps digging around his nose for a sky-blue piece of crayon, she muttered in a low tone, “This is all alleged, and if anyone asks, nobody has seen or heard anything. But there’s a rumor going around, that someone might’ve put sardines behind the radiator of a certain someone’s car.”

It had taken everything in Robby not to bust out laughing, even as the kid sprayed him with cerulean snot, which brought him to chaos causer(s) No. 3 – the whole of the Pitt.

Ever since his one-night-stand and fleeing escapade had been revealed a month prior, by none other than the woman who was his girlfriend now, nobody was allowing him to live down the words she’d dished out upon her admission to the ED.

Four hours.

Shaking mess.

God fucking help him.

He was Mr. Stamina now.

A ladies’ man (though he considered himself the man of only one specific lady).

His closest friend Jack Abbot had even heard about this. As he’d come in to overtake the Pitt the evening after Y/N’s discharge, he’d clapped Robby on the back and requested his tips and tricks for lasting that long in bed.

“What?” Robby scoffed, pulling off his stethoscope and zipping up his bag. “I can handle a whole ED on top of the hospital board for twelve hours straight, yet you don’t think I can handle one woman for four?”

“I never said that.” Jack lifted his hands in mock surrender. “The real question is – when you two first met – was that during one of your seven days off-shift?”

“Fuck you, man.” Robby pushed past him, ears reddening like ripe raspberries.

“Nah, brother. That job seems to be taken already.”

Robby had just given him the middle finger as he walked away and clocked out.

That had been his life every single day since Y/N had taken a chance on him, and had become the one chaos-causer he was still trying to adjust to.

It had been a little over a month since she’d broken her leg, and it had been a little over a month since they’d officially started dating.

(He’d scoffed at the term at first. “Dating?” he’d asked. “In my big old age?”

“Okay,” Y/N had mocked him. “Would you like to call it ‘wooing’? ‘Courting’? Do we need a chaperone to watch over as we graze our fingers alo-,”

“Alright,” he sighed. “Point taken.”)

He couldn’t be any happier though. The way they’d gotten reintroduced wasn’t one he wished to repeat because seeing Y/N in any kind of mild discomfort made him wince, but he would always be thankful for the universe granting him another opportunity.

He wouldn’t say that by the time she’d come to his place of work with a bone sticking out of her leg, he’d given up on love for himself, but Robby had resigned to the fact that maybe, a relationship, a romantic kind of love, wasn’t in the cards for him anymore.

And yet now, as he dragged his tired legs over to the place she shared with her best friend Sara, his mind couldn’t help but wonder what had he done in this life or maybe a past one, that’d granted him such happiness.

A paper bag of croissants crinkled as he patted down his trousers, searching for the spare key Y/N had given him. Mainly it was because Sara was sometimes out late bartending at her second job, and his girlfriend, her leg still in a cast, was slow to move around the apartment. But still, Robby always knocked first.

It felt intimate, coming into her space like that.

Like returning home, rather than simply staying over at someone else’s place.

He heard shuffling and voices echo before Sara opened the door, welcoming him inside. His brown eyes ventured to the couch on instinct where he’d usually find Y/N, her leg on the coffee table while the two friends watched a movie or a show or a serial killer documentary, only to find it empty.

Robby didn’t have to wonder long where she was, as he turned his neck and found Y/N in a heated conversation, her back towards the living area of the studio-type apartment, phone on speaker as a male voice argued back.

His brain was immediately overtaken by the doctor side of it – he wondered how long had she been standing for. Had she elevated her leg at all during the day? What was her pain level? But the words that came out of her mouth completely overrode the code, as it wasn’t something he expected to hear at all.

“No, you know what you’ve done, Harry? You’ve effectively killed our mother.”

“What’s going on?” Robby asked Sara, as the woman plopped down onto the couch, his gaze frantically scanning Y/N’s form. “Is Mrs. Y/L/N alright?”

Sara waved him off. “She’s fine. In fact, she’s never been better. No thanks to the hurricane over there though. Just listen. Y/N’s been ripping her brother a new one for like twenty minutes already.”

Placing his backpack onto a chair, and sliding to sit on the armrest, he watched as Y/N opened and closed random cabinets, her back taut as a string.

Even angry she was beautiful, Robby thought.

Maybe old and worn men like him did deserve kind and gentle things.

However, the way she spoke to her brother, well... She was as gentle as a cactus spike. “Harry, why the fuck would you do that? Why the fuck would you let her go alone?”

“She’s not gonna be alone, holy shit, Y/N/N! Take a fucking chill pill!” her brother exasperated on the other end of the line. “Dad’s going with!”

“Oh, great!” She threw her hands up and slammed an overhead cupboard closed. “That’s just fucking fantastic! You’ve turned us into Annie! Do you not have enough braincells to realize just how many people go missing while on cruises?”

Robby looked towards Sara who was watching the drama unfold with a wineglass in her hand. “Cruises?”

“One of her mom’s dreams has been to go on a cruise,” she explained. “She’s been joking that when one of her kids makes a million, they’ll get her a cruise pass.”

“And Y/N’s brother made a million?” From what he’d been told, Harry was five years younger than his sister. “Smart kid.”

“Dumb kid.” Sara snorted. “And not a millionaire. He just lives to torture her, I guess. He got their parents cruise passes for Y/M/N's birthday three days ago. Y/N even chipped in thinking it was for a new car or something. Quite frankly, I’m with Harry on this one. Their parents deserve a nice vacation in the Caribbean, but when Y/M/N phoned her to thank them for the present the two got for her…” Sara whistled. “I thought an eye might pop out of her skull. Or at least a vein, so now she’s been having the most epic crash-out. Want some popcorn?”

He could do nothing but shake his head and cross his arms, a smile blooming on his lips as he watched Y/N war with her brother.

“And if they get killed?” Y/N glared down at the phone on the kitchen counter. “It’s international waters! No jurisdiction wants to deal with that shit! They’ll become a fucking unsolved case!”

“Oh my god, they’re not gonna get killed!” Robby could just imagine her brother pulling his hands through his hair as Y/N didn’t relent. “They’re two pensioners who just want to relax on a big boat and see some sights with a Margarita in their hand!”

“And what if they are? Do you know where they keep the dead bodies on cruises? Next to those fucking Margarita mixes!”

Harry’s sigh was royal. “And who exactly has such a vendetta against them?”

“There’s a lot of bad people out there.” Y/N scoffed incredulously. “Do you need me to send you links to all the documentaries there are about people who’ve died under mysterious circumstances while on a cruise?”

“No, what I think is, you need to lay off true-crime for a while. You’re starting to sound like some red-pill conspiracy theorist! Mom and dad just want to have a vacation. Besides, you’re never like this when they fly somewhere.”

Y/N huffed, putting her hands on her hips. “Okay. Fine. How about this – mom is completely time-blind and dad’s a topographical idiot. What if they forget their passports while on some excursion or get lost? I don’t want to see them on a single TikTok about pier runners and whatnot.”

“They drove all through Spain, Italy and France last summer, and fun fact – didn’t manage to get lost,” Harry griped. “I think they will be just fine, especially because they will be with a group and a whole ass guide.”

“That’s not good enough!”

“Why can’t you just be happy for mom and dad? You know she’s wanted to go on a cruise for ages! She was so happy when she saw it was from both of us.”

“Harry…” Y/N rubbed at her forehead, but before she managed to say anything, her brother said something that made Sara choke on her wine.

“Why are you so fucking strung up? Is that new doctor boyfriend of yours not giving you any?”

Quite honestly, if he’d been drinking anything himself, he would have also choked. He hadn’t known Y/N had talked to her family about him, nor had he realized she’d told them it was a serious relationship. It made warmth bloom in his chest. Or maybe that was just the blush turning him tomato red.

“Actually, he’s -,” she twisted around and finally noticed he was sitting in her living room. “Right here,” Y/N finished in a clipped tone. “I’m gonna go. Next time I see you, Harry, you’re dead. Start writing a fucking will.”

With that, she ended the call and gave Robby a sheepish smile. “Hi. Sorry, I didn’t hear you come in.”

“I gathered as much,” he chuckled, back popping as he stood up and went to Y/N. It was almost instinctive how his hands found their way to her waist, resting on the dips above her hips. “Seemed like you were in a pretty intense argument. Wanna talk about it?”

“That depends.” Her hand trailed up his chest and settled on the nape of his neck, nails scratching against the skin there, a pleasant hum reverberating through his body. “Will you tell me that my brother is correct, and I’m obviously overreacting about this and that my parents will be totally fine? Or do you have common sense and wish to remain in a relationship with me?”

He gave her a crooked smile. “Can’t it be both?”

Y/N threw her head back and groaned, which gave Robby the opportunity to lean down and press a kiss against her pulse point, his own heart jumping in delight as he felt it speed up. He still couldn’t stop reveling in the fact, he had such an effect on this young, amazing woman.

“I know,” she huffed. “I know they will be fine, but I can’t help but worry. I have this irrational fear of cruises. I can’t explain it.” Suddenly she snapped her head up so fast, her forehead almost collided with his teeth. “Oh God. Don’t tell me you’re gonna be like that someday. Because if one of your dreams is to go on a cruise, I think we need to end this right here and now.”

“Sweetheart.” He cupped her face in his palms. “I don’t plan on going on a cruise anytime soon, nor once I’m geriatric. Unless you’re coming with me, I have no intentions of going on such trips.”

Y/N sighed and nodded, seemingly accepting his response. “Okay good. Because I do not have the mental capacity it takes to solve crimes.”

“They will be fine. It’s admirable you care for your parents so much, but they will be alright. And I do agree with your brother – you’ve got to stop watching true-crime for a bit.”

“Well, there’s not much for me to do at home. I still have two weeks until Langdon gets me out of cast number two,” she grumbled and took hold of the crutches she’d placed against the kitchenette. “Work from home is great, until you’re done for the day, and you’re already home. I gotta kill the time somehow until Sara gets home or you come over.” Y/N snorted, raising a brow. “Kill time. Get it?”

Robby just huffed a laugh as they made their way over to the couch, Sara having moved to a loveseat, so they could cuddle while he unwound from the day he’d had.

“Leg’s doing alright?” He checked in, as Y/N put a pillow onto the coffee table and placed her foot there.

“Just fine. Like it was yesterday. And the day before. And the day before, and ever since Langdon and Santos put it on.” She leaned over and pecked his lips. The kiss was short, but it was something he’d been dreaming of ever since he woke up in his own bed, in his silent and lonely apartment. “Give them some credit.”

It had been about three weeks prior, that Y/N had come back to the ED for her scheduled appointment with Frank to remove the post-op plaster cast, get the stitches out, and get her leg into the one she’d be wearing for the rest of the recovery time.

When she’d hobbled through the doors, Robby instantly rushed over to help her, smirks and wolf-whistles thrown their way. If he hadn’t been the attending, he was sure they would’ve gone on for the rest of the day. (The nurses did. He didn’t have the power to stop them).

“Back to work, people!” He called out. “Or I’m putting everyone on sanitary duty!”

That got the residents and med students scrambling to find a patient. Dana though, was not under his control like that.

“He treating you good?” The blonde nudged her chin in Robby’s direction. “Because I can give you the combination of chemicals needed to remove bloodstains so that not even Luminol will find a trace.”

Beside him, Y/N snorted at her words, taking the wristband Dana handed her. Without even thinking, Robby slipped it out of her fingers and wrapped it around her hand. An unmistakable heat rose on his face at the action. So simple, yet so telling of where his head was at, what his heart was thinking.

“He’s fine.” Y/N glanced up at him. “Maybe a bit overbearing with the leg thing, but I just chuck it up to those wires they implant in all of your brains when you finish med school.”

“If you say so.” Dana raised her brows and nodded. “Just know – the offer stands.”

“Thanks. I’ll keep it in mind,” Y/N chuckled and nodded at Robby that she was ready to move to the exam room where Langdon had already prepped the bed while Robby helped her get situated. Once she was as comfortable as she could be, he crossed his arms and asked, “You okay with a resident coming in and watching, sweetheart?”

He could feel Frank’s eyes snap towards him, the younger man’s mouth curling up in a grin at the nickname that’d slipped past uninhibited, but he didn’t dare look at him. It was like dealing with a wasp – ignore it and hope it goes away. (It didn’t).

“Sure,” Y/N shrugged. “As long as this isn’t some ploy from Saw where my leg will get spontaneously amputated or something.” She threw Langdon a gaze. “It’s not, is it? Because I’ve been having these really weird dreams where my leg just falls off while I’m doing something, and I don’t know if it’s my brain adjusting to the situation, or giving me a premonition I might be ignoring.”

“I doubt Dr. Robby would let anyone touch you with an IV line without supervising.” Rubber gloves snapped against his wrists, but the smirk on his face grew twice as large, as he, no doubt to fuck with Robby, added a little, “Sweetheart,” at the end of it.

“No, I would not.” He deadpanned, and if Frank was gonna be that way, so could he. “Santos!” Robby called out into the hallway, eyes locking on the intern who was milling around the HUB, who he knew Langdon didn’t particularly get along with. Seeing the smile drop from his cocky face was enough of a win. “Come and assist.”

“But that’s just a -,”

“A great learning experience?” Robby stopped whatever rebuttal was about to come out of Trinity’s mouth. “I concur. Now come and help Dr. Langdon.”

She was smart enough not to roll her eyes at him, but her ire was palpable for being called in on such a minuscule job. She had a lot of potential, there was no denying that, but she was too overconfident for Robby’s liking, too alike the many cowboy-types he’d met and had to deal with, so he hoped by making her do the small jobs, she’d start to realize every single thing they did, was important.

A proper IV line was important, listening to the patient as they explained their problems was important, being a steady and soothing presence was important. Even if you were only there to hold someone’s hand – it was sometimes the most important thing they could do.

Langdon huffed as she entered the room, but remained professional as he introduced Trinity as their intern, the woman offering Y/N a small smile to which she responded in kind.

Together they helped her move up her sweatpants to rest against her thigh while Langdon prepped the cast saw. “You alright with Dr. Santos performing the procedure?” he checked in with her.

Robby noted how Y/N squirmed in the bed at the sight of the blade. She was a squeamish person, he knew that, but she was more squeamish because of her overactive imagination. “Can’t say I’m too thrilled about anyone coming near me with a saw, but you people gotta learn at some point, right?”

“I mean, from my experience, everyone could take a page out of a mime’s book,” Trinity smirked as Y/N cocked her head. “They don’t scream.”

Robby brushed a hand down his face as his (unofficial) girlfriend widened her eyes. “Santos, really? That’s -,”

“Dr. Robby?” Dana interrupted him before he could tell that kind of bedside manner didn’t work on patients who already had dreams about spontaneous amputations. “Can you come here for a sec? We need a second opinion.”

He didn’t want to. Despite the fact that he was the attending, and the attending on the shift no less, the thought of leaving Y/N’s side was abysmal. But he couldn’t neglect his duties and show such favoritism, just because his heart worried the whole time she wasn’t in his line of sight.

“I’ll be back in a minute. Santos, listen to Langdon,” he told them and with that went over to Dana, Mel waiting by her side, a nervous bounce to her feet.

It was an easy consult, more to reassure the mother of a sick teenager, the medication they would put him on, wouldn’t interfere with others he was taking and cause an allergic reaction. As he explained it to her, confirming Mel’s diagnosis and Dana’s recommendations, he could hear the saw turn on even a couple of rooms down.

“Go,” Dana nudged him on the hip. “Or you’ll pop a vessel thinking they might be cutting something off that doesn’t need to be cut.”

He brushed a hand over his face, feeling the blood rushing to his cheeks as he excused himself and went back to the examination room. As he moved closer, voices could be heard in low tones.

Robby shouldn’t be hovering like that. Y/N was in great hands. He knew nobody would deliberately hurt her, and Langdon, despite everything, was a good teacher. As he reentered the room, giving her an encouraging smile, he took in how Frank instructed Santos to move down the line, answering Y/N’s question as to why an oscillating saw was so much different than a rotating one and why they had to be used in a different manner – a lifting motion, rather than gliding one.

Y/N let out a sigh of relief as the plaster cracked in two and was removed from her leg, no doubt the feeling of it euphoric. He knew how though it had been on her, but as Santos came to remove the lining, something shifted in her.

The gaze she threw Langdon was alarmed. Almost panicked.

It made Robby straighten up.

“So.” Frank started, sitting down on a wheely chair and moving closer to the appendage while Santos got to work on unbinding the gauze that separated Y/N’s skin from the cast itself. “Wanna tell me what you’ve been up to?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she responded in an obviously fake-oblivious tone, not daring to make eye contact with either him or Robby.

“Oh, I think you do.”

“Nope,” she popped the p. “Absolutely do not.”

Robby raised his brows at her, but she just kept looking at the ceiling as if it was the most interesting thing in the world.

Frank let out a deep sigh. “Look, I can see that you have been doing something, and I need to know what. The talk about infection wasn’t just to scare you. You have stitches that are still healing. If something got inside the wounds there, it could end really bad. Spontaneous. Amputation. Bad.” He used the words she’d said before.

After what felt like hours, but was probably no more than ten seconds, Y/N muttered, “Hypotheticals?”

“If you must,” Frank’s words were weary, especially as he threw Robby a confused look over his shoulder.

“And you?” she nudged her chin towards the attending. “Do you promise not to have some sort of a meltdown? Or worse – give me a lecture?”

Robby’s mind was a frantic mess, trying to think what horrible thing could have happened, what emergency had he not seen, when finally, she relented.

“Alright. Fine.” The words were basically bitten out. “I may or may not have, hypothetically of course, used a spatula to scratch. And maybe some… metal bookmarks I have. And uh, a wooden skewer, a clean one though. And umm… there might be some bobby pins and hairclips inside as well.” After a beat she added, “They kinda got stuck, and I couldn’t fish them out.”

And, sure enough, when Santos finished removing the lining, three bobby pins were embedded against her skin – one on the top of her foot, one against her knee, and one behind in what Y/N called it, her knee-pit.

Robby pinched the bridge of his nose, huffing a breath, as Frank did the same. “Is that all you used to scratch?”

“Yes.” Y/N didn’t dare look at either of them.

“Honest?”

“Yes!” she asserted, before quietly adding, “Nothing else would fit.”

Santos snorted from where she was cleaning down Y/N’s leg and applying an anti-scar ointment on the hurt skin, removing the bobby pins as she went along, thrashing them before the woman could ask for them back.

Robby couldn’t really fault her for her actions. The itchiness and discomfort a plaster cast could create was a lot to deal with, especially with how she’d been cooped up inside for a whole week without much to do.

“You could’ve caused a serious infection,” he sighed and put his hands on his hips. “You know better than to do that.”

She threw her head back in a groan. “Please, Michael. I asked you not to lecture me. I tried, okay? I really did. But then I just kept thinking about how itchy it was, and you weren’t there to stop me, and it just all boiled over. By the time I had the bobby pins stuck, it was too late. So, actually, it’s all your fault.”

He could only let out a slow, steady exhale and shake his head as he moved to stand by her side while Langdon and Santos gathered the materials for the new cast.

“So,” he broke the settled silence, hoping to stop the pout that’d bloomed on Y/N’s face. “The spatula. Was that the one you said melted on the stove?”

“Yeah,” she grimaced as his resident and intern had to position her leg properly. “I wasn’t gonna like, wash and put it back with the utensils, you know? That’s disgusting.”

“That’s what’s disgusting?” Robby looked down at her.

“Uh huh, keep talking like that, and see where it gets you.” She pointed up at him. “As of right now, we’re still in the situationship phase.”

“Situation-what?”

“Oh, please don’t break his mind like that,” Langdon butted in, as he lifted her leg slightly and told Santos how to properly attached the 3D-printed cast. Y/N let out a hiss of pain and he watched how her grip tightened on her sweats.

Robby didn’t even think twice before his hand slipped inside her palm, allowing her to squeeze it.

“Alright, good girl.” Langdon nodded at the woman on the bed before looking up at Robby, the way his jaw clenched, and snickered. “Oh, sorry. Is that a thing between you two? I hope I’m not stepping on some toes here.”

“You know what, Frank?” Robby squinted at his fourth-year resident. “I think I might have just found Gloria some spare funding.”

“Point taken,” he said with a laugh before removing his gloves and addressing Y/N. “How’s the pain? This cast is much lighter, as you can probably already feel, and will be easier to navigate in terms of movement and hygiene gene.”

“Manageable,” she nodded running a hand down the new material covering her leg. “Tylenol – two tablets every six hours, but no more than six a day.”

“Perfect,” Frank nodded and took hold of her chart, writing down her words. “And the pain level now?”

“Like a four? Maybe five?” Y/N hissed. “Can’t say this was too comfortable of a procedure.”

Robby smoothed a finger down her cheek. “Do you feel like you need any medication right now?”

“Maybe?” she huffed. “It’s just that with the moving,” she shuddered and swallowed hard. “I like, I could feel like plates and screws grating against the bones. Like I know they actually weren't, but it felt like they did, and just yeah… I think it’s apparent I don’t do well with these kinds of things. I honestly don’t understand what kind of steel stomachs you have. I would have thrown up all over the place if I had to see shit like this every day.”

“Well, if Gloria thinks our patient satisfaction scores are low now, she should be glad you don’t work here.”

Y/N huffed at Robby’s words. “This Gloria woman should come down and try being a doctor or a nurse herself. I know I’m not the easiest of patients as is,” she winced and threw him an apologetic glance. “And I think I might have traumatized that kid – Whitaker – the first time I was here, but from what you’ve told me about how people treat you… Sound like she’s about as close to real medicine, as Katy Perry is to being a real astronaut.”

“I like you.” Santos pointed at her. “Let’s keep you around.”

She just shrugged, giving Robby’s hand a squeeze. “I’ll stick around for however long this guy wants me to.”

His heart thumped in his chest. He wanted to say, “And if I want to keep you around forever? Will you stay?” but all he did was squeeze her hand back.

It wasn’t the time or the place for it. They were still, as Y/N had said, though he barely had any inclination as to what it meant, the situationship phase, but hopefully there would be more phases. And he wondered where it would lead him.

He was no longer a single ship passing through the night. He had a new constellation in the sky he could follow, as he managed the residents and students, evaded Gloria and her bureaucratic bullshit; whenever his mind needed a respite, he turned to the new stars gleaming in the cosmos.

As Dana had discharged Y/N, and Robby walked her to wait outside for the Uber, he allowed himself to skim his knuckles along hers. She responded by intertwining their pinkies.

And now it had been a month of that.

She was a month of evenings and nights spent together. A month of mornings waking up grumpy that turned to laughter and kisses. A month of good coffee, and bad movies, but he never took it for granted. He finally had a truly safe space to come to after days when he thought nothing good could exist in the world.

The worst time of day though was the very early mornings, like right then, when he had to leave the space he’d come to cherish so much.

When he was cocooned by her arms and blanket, his body soaking up the warmth Y/N offered, like leaves do the sunlight. Cracking a bleary eye open, he noted the slit where he’d forgotten to pull it tight.

A heavy sigh left him as she groaned, pulling at his back so their chests could be pressed closer.

“Don’t." He could feel her mouth move along the skin of his pecks. “It’s way too early to wake up and I’m way too comfy to let you.”

“I need to get ready for work,” Robby brushed a hand along Y/N’s hair. “You can still catch some sleep.”

She just huffed, shaking her head, grumbling softly, “I’m not gonna be able to fall back asleep, and you know it.”

His heart stuttered in his chest, but before he could say anything, she’d already sat up, glaring down at him, as if he’d insulted her. “I’ll get the coffee ready for you.”

“You don’t have to –,”

“I’m already up.” Y/N let out a yawn almost unhinging her jaw like a snake. “Might as well save you some time.”

She was just about to slide out of the bed when he rose too, taking hold of her wrist. “I meant what I said last night. Every word.”

Ever so slowly, mind still addled by sleep, Y/N smiled, leaning back over and kissing him, not caring about either of their morning breaths. “So did I.”

Maybe Robby didn’t actually hate mornings. Not when she poured him his coffee to-go, not when she stood before him, mussing his hair a little and pressing her lips against his.

“I’ll be back by nine.” He wrapped his hands around her waist if only to prolong the time they had together. “And I’ll bring back some of those croissants from the patisserie down the block.”

“The Crème Brûlée ones?”

He hummed against her mouth in confirmation, before pulling away.

“You know, every day you make it harder and harder for me to let you go.” Y/N scratched the nape of his neck.

The smile he entered the ED with was idiotically big, so much so when he met up with Jack on the roof, the night shift attending couldn’t help but break his stoic demeanor.

“Jesus, brother.” Abbot dragged a hand down his face, a corner of his mouth pulling up in one of those rare smiles. “The girl’s got you whipped like a prepubescent teen.”

“I feel like a prepubescent teen with her around,” Robby laughed. “Keeps me on my toes, I’ll tell you that.”

Abbot just nodded, looking over the Pittsburg skyline. “Happiness suits you. You deserve happy.”

He could only smile, because the truth was, ever since the conversation they’d had before falling asleep wrapped up in one another, he was almost euphoric.

They’d been curled on her bed, her legs over Robby’s lap as both of them were engrossed in some form of literature – her in a fantasy book, the kind when he’d asked what it was about, she’d twisted the pages away from him, hiding her face that was no doubt heating up, while he was reading the newest of the medical journals.

It was almost on instinct how his hand rested against Y/N’s thigh, squeezing the flesh there, prodding against the skin where the cast met it when she huffed and squirmed away.

“Don’t," she muttered. “Because unless that hand of yours might slip higher up, you are not allowed to touch like that.”

His lips pulled, ego rising at her words. “I’m just checking if everything’s good here.”

“Everything’s good there,” her eyes drifted to her leg. “Besides, that’s just mean, what with you imposing celibacy on me.”

He threw his head back in a laugh, eyes closed tight at the motion, and he could feel her hand move to the back of his neck. He tilted his head to look at Y/N.

“I like seeing you laugh,” she scratched at the short hairs there, her Y/E/C eyes, a color that had quickly become his most favorite in the whole world, so incredibly soft as she looked at him. “I like seeing you relaxed. I sometimes think you forget how to be human. How to be just Michael.”

“Well, being with you reminds me of it.” He took her hand and pressed a kiss against her knuckles. “It’s easy with you around… it’s easy to be just Michael.”

“Yeah?” She tilted her head back to get a better look at him. “Is there a magic button I can push to turn off that doctor brain of yours, so you don’t worry about me that much?”

He gave her a small grin. “It’s not the doctor part of the brain that worries about you. It’s the one that’s slowly falling in love.”

Instantly, her whole body stiffened, mouth falling open.

And so did his, because fuck, he hadn’t meant to say it out loud. At least not yet.

Their eyes didn’t leave one another, but for a second there, Robby thought Y/N might not be breathing until air stuttered in her chest.

“Umm,” he cleared his throat and took out the novel from her hands, tucking her bookmark in it before closing the pages. “Look… you don’t have to say it back. I know it might be too soon, but it’s something I’ve been feeling for a while. And… it’s not something I’m gonna take back.”

“So…” Y/N swallowed hard. “So, these aren’t like empty words?”

“No.” Robby gave what he hoped was a warm smile, her eyes lowering to watch how he fidgeted with the corner of a page of his journal. Gently, her fingers slipped between his, easing the rising anxiety. “I mean every single one of it.”

Her little ‘okay’ was nothing more than a trembling exhale as he watched her mull over her thoughts. Just as he was about to say something to let her off the hook, to tell her anything that would interrupt the gathered silence, she spoke up.

“I mean, if you were fucking with me right now, it’d be like the meanest thing in the world.” She sniffled and wiped at the corner of her eye. “I uh… I can’t say I’m there yet, you know, but when I think about us… when I think about maybe a few years down the line it isn’t scary. Does that make sense?” She huffed, her fingers squeezing his tighter, as if afraid he’d disappear, and he squeezed right back, promising he wouldn’t. “Anytime I’ve been in a relationship, I’ve never really been able to see past the next few days. A few weeks maybe, but with you… I can see years. I can even see us with a cat.” Y/N let out a teary laugh, and Robby’s own bubbled up in his chest. “I mean if you don’t get tired of me before that.”

“I’ll never get tired of you.”

“You get what I mean.” She pulled up their interlinked hand and pressed a kiss to his knuckles. “I just… it’s a tangible future. A solid one.”

“And solid’s good?”

“Yeah,” Y/N wrapped her other arm around Robby’s back, holding onto his waist like he always did hers. Like she was the one terrified he might slip away. He’d never dream of leaving, not after knowing how it felt the first time. The two weeks of regret and guilt made him wonder if he had norovirus with the way his stomach constantly roiled. “Solid’s very good.”

Afterwards, they simply basked in the silence, and not before long, they were both side by side, covered by Y/N’s down duvet. He could tell she was just on the cusp of sleep when his words brought her back. “Cat? Singular?”

“Maybe two,” she shrugged in his hold, yawning. “Or more. It depends on how many tears it takes for you to adopt a whole shelter, and trust me – I took theatre in high school. I can cry on command.”

Robby snorted shaking his head.

“But honestly,” Y/N continued, “I’m down for almost like any kind of pet, as long as it’s not a gerbil or a Guinea pig.” He felt her frown against where her face was tucked in the crook of his neck. “Those things die traumatic and dramatic deaths, and, not to toot my own horn here, I think I’m traumatic and dramatic enough for the both of us.”

They fell asleep debating whether or not a landlord would allow them to keep a python as a pet, and Robby debated all the ways he could covertly block any search results on her devices about snake breeders.

It was the question he’d presented to Dana and Heather, by the time it was four in the evening and the ED had slowed down a bit, hoping to get some advice from the two women.

“Wait, don’t tell me you’re afraid of some little snake!” Heather pointed at him over the counter where he sat at the HUB station. “Dr. Robby! I didn’t take you for such a wuss!”

He removed his glasses rubbing at his eyes. “First of all, she said she wanted a cat at first. And now suddenly I have to contend with the fact I might have to live with a twelve-foot Amazonian predator?”

“Actually, royal pythons grow between three to six feet, not twelve,” Dana said. The two threw her a gaze, and she shrugged. “Kid’s going through a weird reptile phase, so I’ve been getting all kinds of interesting facts about them.”

“Do not let them interact.” Robby pointed at her. “They will only encourage one another, and then both of us will -,”

But his words were cut short as the pagers came to life, pulling all of the Pitt into action as a fire was happening in a local area, three ambulances inbound, five minutes out. However, any sort of thoughts about preparation for the incoming got washed away when the words Green Garden Glen came up.

Instantly, Robby’s blood ran cold, his head snapping towards Heather and Dana. “That’s Y/N’s apartment complex. That’s her address.”

“Robby, don’t go there,” Dana said, taking him by the biceps. “We don’t know anything yet, okay? Call her first while we still have some time. We’ll handle the prep.”

“Fuck!” he buried his hands in his air, eyes squeezed shut. “Fuck, yeah. Okay.”

It was a miracle his hands were steady as he fished the phone out of his pocket, years of conditioning taking over, even as his mind was like a ship being tossed around by a hurricane. But as the line kept beeping until an automated voice told him “The number you are trying to reach is unavailable,” he could feel the boat begin to sink.

“Did you get through?” Heather asked, a frown on her face as Robby shook his head. “You know it doesn’t mean anything. The cell towers probably just can’t handle the influx right now.”

But any words he might have, were stuck somewhere between his heart and his throat, as his brain mulled over what might’ve happened. Had it been her and Sara’s apartment? What was the damage? What was the cause? A candle? An oven? A stove? A forgotten hair-straightener?

Robby would have kept spiraling like that, had it not been for Collins who brought back his attention to the present as the first gurney got wheeled in, an elderly man on it.

He’d been around Y/N’s and Sara’s enough to recognize him as their first-floor neighbor, the one with a penchant for yelling at people who he believed were there to steal the roses he grew below his window.

Mohan and Whitaker were examining him as they got instructed to wheel him to room eight by Princess.

“Conscious and somewhat coherent,” Robby heard Whitaker describe while the neighbor kept rambling on and on about how the fire must’ve been set to kill his plants. “Surface level burns to the upper arm area and stridor in the lungs from smoke inhalation. Lidocaine was administered on the scene and continuous oxygen is being given.”

“Recommendations?” Mohan asked.

“Keep him on oxygen,” Mel piped up from where she’d joined the two. “Monitor the levels and if needed, prescribe antibiotics afterwards.”

“And the burns?”

“Given how it’s surface level, we’ll hook him up to an IV to replenish the fluids in his body, and wrap it up with some bacitracin on the affected area. A tetanus shot for precautionary measures,” Whitaker rattled off, eyes shooting between Mohan and Mel. “Is – was that right?”

“You’re doing good, kid,” Mohan nodded and with that, they all disappeared into the assigned room.

Robby’s eyes scanned the ED – Langdon was intubating a woman with the help of Mateo and Javadi, Dana had taken on a mother with a child, a bleeding burn wound to the kid’s leg, and Collins was coordinating with Princess and Perlah, all the while he stood there like a fucking idiot.

“Get it fucking together,” he muttered to himself. It would do nobody any good if he didn’t do his job. He was the attending, for fuck’s sake. People relied on him. And yet he couldn’t move. It was only when a voice he dreamt about sounded in the room.

Robby might’ve gotten whiplash from how fast he snapped his neck towards the entrance and saw Y/N get wheeled in on a gurney.

“I’m fine,” her words were muffled by an oxygen mask as Dana rushed for her. “Seriously. Just got my leg bumped against the doorway, but I’m alright.”

But the words had no meaning when Robby’s eyes zeroed in on her stomach.

Red. Deep, dark red seeped through her (his) shirt, the one she walked around the apartment with, the one he’d remove from his body on her request and lay on a chair for her to wear the next day. It was now covered with too much of her blood.

Why wasn’t Dana putting any pressure on it!?

He was just about to rush to her when Heather stepped in the way. “Robby, no. You shouldn’t do this.”

“The fuck I shouldn’t, I need to!” he exasperated, watching as McKay ran for her and together with Dana, wheeled Y/N out of his sight.

“You, know this better than I do, we’re not supposed to treat people we know and care about.” She once again got in his way. “Don’t give Gloria a reason to get on your ass about preferential treatment.”

“I don’t give a shit about Gloria or the administration!” He snapped. “Not when the woman I love is actively hurting!”

“Yes, you do,” Heather asserted. “And it’s because you do, you will let McKay and Dana take charge. You know she’s in good hands with them. And you’re no good to Y/N without a head on your shoulders.”

“Heather, please.” He dropped his head. “I can’t…”

He didn’t need to finish the sentence for her to understand what he meant, because he’d already said the quiet part out loud.

He loved her. Plain and simple. He wasn’t falling in love, not like he’d told Y/N the previous night. He already was in love. He just didn’t want to scare her away, by telling the true intensity of his feelings. And how could Heather or anyone ask him to step aside when his worst fears were coming true?

After he’d heard about her nightmares about how she thought her leg might spontaneously fall off, certain images had appeared in Robby’s mind during the darker times of the day – Y/N in his ED, hooked up to a million wires and tubes, a ventilator keeping her breathing, while a neuro told him there was no brain activity.

He’d woken up in a cold sweat that night, one of the few times they’d stayed separate. A full moon had blazed through his window as he’d made himself a cup of coffee and plopped down onto the couch.

Robby had debated about calling or texting Y/N, just to make sure it had been only his mind working against him when she’d called him first.

He picked up on the first ring. “Sweetheart?”

He was breathless to hear her voice.

“Sorry,” Y/N muttered. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t,” his reply came quick, soothing her worries. “I was already up.”

“Why?” He could hear her shuffling and huffing as she no doubt pulled herself into a sitting position. “Was it a bad shift? Need to talk?”

“No, no…” he shook his head, even though she couldn’t see. And it hadn’t been a bad shift. It’d been a usual one, though his mind did wander to Jack and how it was going now. The night brought out every type of insane. “ ‘S probably just the moon. I forgot to pull the curtains closed.”

“Ahhh.” Robby could practically see the grin stretching on her face. “So now you agree with me? That the full moon does make people crazy.”

He chuckled recalling the debate they’d had the previous day. “I never disagreed with you. Anyone that works in any type of social sphere, knows full moon equals trouble. I just said people are not like the ocean – we don’t get the water in our bodies pushed and pulled at like that.”

“Whatever you say, gramps. I don’t need you to confirm I’m right and you’re wrong.”

They’d spoken for well over an hour that night, falling asleep on the phone to one another’s breathing as their lullabies.

What if he didn’t get that anymore? What if he no longer had the chance to fall asleep next to her? To watch her put her makeup on? To help her wash her hair or curb her shopping addiction?

What if he no longer could have that solid future with a cat in it?

Fucking hell, he’d take a billion pythons if he had to, just as long as Y/N was there to help him with them.

He wanted to fight. He wanted to rage and shove Heather away, but he knew she was right, and as that settled in his mind, all the energy left him like a tidal wave.

Robby barely felt her pull his face to the crook of her neck, his hands weaving around her shoulders searching for any kind of grounding.

“I can’t lose her,” he muttered, tears he’d tried to suppress falling unabated onto her uniform, while Heather rubbed a hand up and down his back. “I don’t think I can get through that.”

“Look.” She pulled his face out from where he’d hidden it and made him look her in the eyes. “Go and help Santos. I’ll go talk with McKay and Dana, and see what the status is.”

And there was nothing more he could do than just nod.

It took her over three agonizing minutes, three minutes of him attempting to do his job as an attending, three minutes of challenging the decisions of his students, and making them explain their conclusions before Collins returned.

The rock sitting atop Robby’s chest finally rolled away when she said, “Y/N’s fine. McKay and Dana gave her a thorough examination, and apart from mild smoke inhalation, there are no cuts, no burns, no bruises, no nothing.”

“Thank you.” He pulled her in, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Thank you for being a sound voice when I couldn’t think straight.”

“She’s really important to you, huh?” Collins pulled back, teasingly emphasizing the word ‘important’.

“I yeah…” He dragged a hand down his face, the tips of his ears blushing, which meant he was probably as red as a fire truck already. “Yeah… She’s… something.”

Heather patted him on the arm. “I’ll help them finish up here. You go and check on your… something.”

He was never living down his words, but he didn’t care. By the time Heather had taken over, Robby was already halfway across the unit and entering the room where McKay and Y/N were conversing.

They’d switched out the oxygen mask for a nose cannula, which meant she had to be getting better, but the second their eyes locked, Robby was by her side, her cheeks in his hands as his gaze roamed over her face and body.

“Michael, look at me.” Y/N placed her palms over the top of his hands.

“I am.”

“No, you’re assessing me,” she countered him. “I said, I want you to look at me.”

“I’m…”

“Michael…” her tone was soothing. Warm. Comforting. And finally, he glanced at her. “I’m fine. And before you say or ask anything – it’s not blood.”

Her hand went to the back of his neck, scratching at the skin there, trying to calm him. He should be doing it to her. Y/N had been the one who’d just gotten rescued from a burning building. But he couldn’t tell her no, as her fingers wove through his messy hair, calming his racing heart.

“I was making dinner. Found that pasta recipe, the one I told you about when mom and I went to Valencia and got drunk off a pitcher of Aperol.”

“So, this is…” His eyes went to the large red stain on the front of the shirt.

“Tomato sauce. Poured the whole fucking jar onto myself when the fire brigade arrived. Sirens scared the shit out of me. Didn’t have time to change before I smelled the smoke and started on my way down.” Y/N smiled at him. Not a teasing quirk of the lips, but a reassuring one. She probably saw he wouldn’t be able to handle it in that moment. “It’s just tomato sauce.”

And as what she was saying, registered in his brain, Robby could note the tangy and slightly sweet scent of the fruit. There was also some basil and garlic in there as well. And the color? Yeah, as he looked it over again, it wasn’t the dark and rich tone blood had, but a lighter, more orangey one.

He looked up at her, her hand on his cheek. “I’m fine.”

It was enough for him to pull Y/N into an embrace, knowing it wouldn’t hurt her.

She was alright.

She was living and breathing.

Her heart was beating in a steady rhythm against his chest.

She was safe and in his arms.

As he catalogued these things, noting them down into the chart he had of Y/N in his head, Robby finally allowed himself to relax, as her hands moved up and down his back, dragging away the horrible images that’d invaded it.

It was McKay clearing her throat, that suddenly reminded Robby where he was. “I uh, I’ve scheduled an x-ray for that leg of hers.”

“Which I don’t need.” Y/N rolled her eyes.

“Well, as your doctor, I say you do,” McKay countered.

Robby intertwined their fingers. “Do it for me, please. All the jostling as you got down the stairs couldn’t have been good for the break.”

“Fine,” she groaned. “But honestly, I wasn’t doing much of the climbing. Halfway down a fireman got hold of me and I got carried the rest of the way.”

“Oh.”

That was all he said, but it was definitely the wrong thing to say, because of the way Y/N’s gaze snapped to his, scanning his face for something. And when she found whatever, it was, she was looking for (a slight twitch to his left eye), her lips pulled back into a ferocious grin. “Jealous?”

Robby sputtered before scoffing. “Of what? They were doing their job. If anything, I’m grateful for them.”

And he was, of course. The thought of the firemen not getting to Y/N in time as she clambered down her fourth-floor apartment with a broken leg, was terrifying. But he couldn’t do anything to stop the blush from rising, nor could he hide the way his eyes shifted to McKay who was grinning just as much as his girlfriend.

God, the Pitt would have a field day discussing him.

“Don’t worry.” Y/N leaned up and pecked his cheek. “I kinda like it when you’re jealous, but as much as men in uniforms are hot, I prefer mine in hoodies.”

A violent heat exploded through his body, especially as she looked him up and down like he was a walking-talking meal, and McKay didn’t do him any favors by letting out a low whistle and even pawing at him.

That made Y/N throw her head back in a laugh, only to elicit a big coughing fit. Immediately, his palm was pressed against her back, helping her ride it out. Her teary eyes lifted up to meet his, mirth still glimmering as he wiped a tear from the corner of it.

“Serves you right,” he mumbled, and chuckled, kissing the top of her head before helping her lay back.

As McKay went on to check with radiology and get her a gown so she could get out of the dirty clothes, Robby handed Y/N a cup of water, before asking, “Where’s Sara? Is she alright?”

“She’s fine,” she sighed, giving him back an empty cup. “She went out of town to visit her girlfriend’s parents at around two-ish? I don’t have my phone with me, though. Could you give me yours so I can give her a call?”

“Of course.”

“The apartment’s fine, by the way,” she said as she punched in Sara’s number. “The fire inspector said we’re okay to live there, as the only damage is the smell, but I’ll just air it out.”

He despised the words coming out of her mouth. The thought of Y/N in an apartment that smelled of fire and smoke, surrounded by danger – Robby’s brain simply couldn’t comprehend it, so his mouth moved before he could tell it not to.

“Move in with me.”

The phone in her hand clattered to the ground, but neither cared. “What?”

“Move in with me,” he said again, only a bit slower, to allow his head to catch up with what was happening. Not that it helped.

“Michael…” Y/N let out a nervous laugh. “We’ve been dating for barely a month.”

“I know, I just… I mean…” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Your place is ruined.”

“My apartment’s fine.”

“Okay, let me rephrase that – as if I’d let you move back somewhere fire detectors are more decorative than action figures.”

She raised her brows at that. “How’d you know the fire detectors didn’t work?”

“You said it yourself – the sirens scared you. Means the detectors didn’t do their job. The building’s definitely not up to code.”

“Look…” Y/N took one of his hands in hers, squeezing them whether to comfort herself or him, Robby didn’t know, but he held onto her touch nonetheless. “The only reason you’re asking me right now is because you’re scared. So please don’t get me wrong, when I say ‘no’, it’s not because I don’t want to. It’s because I want you to ask me when the time is right. Not after some emergency, but when you feel like you’re truly ready for it. I told you before – there’s no rush.”

His heart warmed at her consideration. They’d had a similar conversation before where Robby’d laid out his insecurities of him being older, of feeling like he had to play catch-up with the younger generation and the world that was constantly changing.

She’d thrown him the most epic side-eye she could muster while half awake and looking at him over the bowl of her oatmeal. After a long moment of silence, she sighed, chewed what was in her mouth and put her spoon down. “Do you really think I don’t feel the same way? I mean, you’ve done so much already in life. You have so much experience, and you’ve contributed so much good to the world. I constantly feel like I have to play catch-up with you. With proving my worth, with proving how even though I’m twenty-six, I’m worthy of you.”

“You are! Why would you ever think any different?” He was flabbergasted even at the insinuation she wasn’t.

She raised her brow at him. “Then why would you think that way about yourself?”

Y/N had him there. Michael chuckled and shook his head, raising his coffee in a toast. “Touché, sweetheart.”

Now, she was looking at him from the hospital bed, eyes just as kind as they’d been that morning. “When the time comes, I will say yes. But I want this to be something not done under duress. If it makes you feel any better, I can stay at yours for the night, but I’d like to go home and grab a few things before that.”

“I can lend you clothes if you need them,” he eagerly offered. Call him a simp, as the youngsters said, but he lived for seeing Y/N in his clothing. Once the cast was off her leg and she’d gone to at least a couple of rounds of physio, he’d get her to wear just one of his shirts with nothing underneath. And hopefully she’d allow him to peel that piece of clothing off too…

“Oh, no, that’s not… that’s not it.”

Robby’s brows rose at the sudden stuttering and shyness, her heart picking up its rhythm and announcing it to everyone through the monitor she was hooked on. Now it was his turn to grin. “So, what’s going on?”

Y/N buried her face in her hands. “You’re gonna think I’m weird.”

“Sweetheart,” he hung his head like it was a horrific prognosis he was pronouncing. “You already are.”

“Micheal,” she dragged his name through a laugh. “I’m being serious.”

“And so am I.”

“Alright, fine… Just please don’t laugh at me.”

“I promise.” Though it was tough as it was to keep the smile from his face.

She took in a deep breath as if steeling herself before nodding. “I uh, I got a weighted blanket.”

Robby’s brows rose. “Okay… I’m not sure why I would find it weird. I mean if you think I’m such a blanket hog, you could’ve just said so.”

“No,” Y/N shook her head, chuckling. “It’s not because of that. Though I have read that statistically, relationships where partners sleep with separate blankets, are healthier, happier and last longer, but it’s not because of that.”

“Then why?” He brushed a finger along her cheekbone. “You having trouble sleeping?”

He couldn’t remember Y/N tossing or turning much, though quite often if he got to her place after a prolonged shift, she’d already be in bed by then. Quietly, he’d shower and pull on a clean pair of boxers, before sliding into bed next to her. Like a magnet, she’d turn towards his chest, her good leg slipping over his hip and head moving to lie next to him on the pillow.

“You’re one creepy crawly,” Michael had once told her as they were settling in for the night, his arms in a tight hold around her waist. By the morning, it would be numb, but he’d take it if it meant she stayed close. “It’s like you’re trying to get inside my skin.”

So, he thought of that moment, when Y/N asked, “Do you remember that week when Jack asked to switch around for the day shift? It was literally the worst sleep I’ve ever had. And not because of anxiety or anything else… because I just can’t fall asleep normally without you.” She lifted her eyes to his and gave a shy shrug. “I can’t do it without your weight pressed against mine, or without feeling the dip in the bed when you sleep next to me. You… you’ve burrowed inside me like that.”

The night when she’d called out of the blue came back to him.

How quickly she’d sense him slipping into the sheets beside her.

That same morning when she said she wouldn’t be able to fall asleep after he’d woken to start the day.

So many little things fell into place.

“So yeah.” Her eyes were filled with hope as she looked at him. “When you do ask me to move in, properly ask me, I will say yes. Please don’t doubt that.”

Robby was sure his heart was about to burst from his chest.

On the one hand, he hated knowing Y/N couldn’t fall asleep without him being there. She shouldn’t be losing valuable time her body could be using to heal and rest, just because of him and the job he had.

On the other, knowing the impact he had on her life, knowing just how important he was to her…

Because she was that important to him too. Whenever he was too tired after a shift and went back to his place so as to not disturb her, his mind always remained there. He fell asleep to the image of Y/N playing behind his eyelids and woke up with her voice whispering ‘good morning’ in his head.

He craved her presence, craved her smile and looks. He wanted for her mornings and evenings, and happiness and pain she might have. And for once, he felt like someone craved him that way too.

“So…” Robby knew he must be red all over from the way his body felt on fire. “Can I ask you next week then?”

Y/N chuckled, pulling him by the sleeve of his hoodie, so he could lean over her. “You’re impossible. But you’re my impossible.”

Their sighs of relief mixed together, as their lips met.

He wouldn’t tell her he was in love with her. Not yet. There was nowhere to rush.

Robby was no longer Sisyphus, rolling a boulder up a hill, only to watch it crash back down.

He was Odysseus finally returning home to his Penelope.

Tags: @kathrinemelissa A/N: I don't feel like this is my best work. I've rewritten this like three different times, and I had a couple of ideas that at the time I felt I could combine into one, but I don't think this flows as good as I would like it to, but I just really wanted to write from Robby's perspective for this one :( Part 3 is already in the works, and I'm definitely feeling better about that one :)

If you wanna be tagged, let me know :)

809 notes · View notes

hyunebunx · 7 months ago

Text

˖˙ ᰋ ── hyunjin messes up and kkami helps him apologize

﹙ʚɞ˚﹚. genre: fluff (might be the cutest thing i wrote recently)

﹙ʚɞ˚﹚. a/n: this is definitely inspired by the new book i'm obsessing over right now so pls enjoy and let me know what you think!! <33

“Well, well, look who finally remembered he has a loving partner missing him at home.”

You hear Hyunjin sigh on the other end, sheepish, obviously expecting you’d cut him some slack for disappearing for days, like talking to him wasn’t the best part of your day. Touring was hard, and he’s been insanely busy from day one – you get it. That’s why, your tone’s more playful than intended, only being able to let the phone ring for two heartbeats before rushing to answer and let his velvety voice bring sunshine back into your dull life.

“Hello, the absolute love of my life I think about daily.” He clears his throat, brushing over your comment in hopes you’re not truly upset he hasn’t called in so long. Two days weren’t a big deal, but for clingy people like you and him, going 48 hours without hearing what the other has been up to was torture. It was just enough time for insecurity to creep in, feeding you lies upon lies about how he’d forgotten your relationship and was currently in the process of replacing you with someone else, someone better and more worthy of owning his heart.

Your heart flutters, a grin finding its way onto features despite your attempts at stopping it. “Hello, Hyunjin.”

“Who the fuck is Hyunjin?”

No longer able to keep the happiness at bay, you burst out laughing, the aggravation clear as day in the absence of his usual pet name. Hyunjin was your baby, nothing else. His name only ever left your pretty lips you couldn’t wait to press against his only when the situation called for seriousness.

Settling down, you ignore his displeased huffing. “The guy who hasn’t called me in a week. You might know him.”

You’re teasing. You both know it, just like he knows that behind your words, the only genuine thing is the longing and the wish to have him close again, missing the steady beat of his heart and his familiar warmth that usually lulled you to sleep, badly. Hyunjin has always been great at reading between the lines, figuring you out easily, like you were nothing more than an unchallenging puzzle he could solve with his eyes closed.

“A week? I know I messed up, love, but it’s only been two days. Not even, just about 45 hours.” You hear sheets rustling on the other end, helping you picture him lounging about in the hotel bed, hair most likely still damp from his previous shower. For once, the time difference was not absurd, allowing you to stare wistfully at the moon with certainty the other was doing the same, sharing stories of your love and trusting she’ll keep them safe.

“You counted?” You giggle, making yourself more comfortable on the couch, right next to Kkami who is sleeping soundly.

“I’ve been counting the hours until I can see you again the second I stepped outside our apartment.” He confesses, voice suddenly heavy with emotion before he gasps, ruining what could have been a sweet moment. “You’re telling me you haven’t?”

Of course, you have. Time seemed to go by incredibly slowly whenever he wasn’t near, the increasing distance causing his magnetic pull to grow weaker each day, but never diminishing, never losing its hold on you. That was impossible.

“No.” You lie blatantly, leaning back against the couch casually, one hand moving to slowly pet Kkami’s head whose slumber gave him the perfect excuse to ignore you.

“Liar.”

For the first time in your life, the fact that he knew you like the back of his hand was annoying.

“Don’t change the subject! You’re still not in the clear for forgetting about me for two whole days, Hyunjin.” You’re not actually mad, just feeling a little bit neglected. Hyunjin has never gone MIA like that, without even texting you brief updates throughout the day just so you’ll know he was still alive and kicking. Your boyfriend was thoughtful, sweet, and considerate – the radio silence you got for the past two days was very unlike him.

“I didn’t forget.” He counters, and you’re sure he’s shaking his head vehemently, denying all of your accusations. “I could never forget, not in this lifetime or any others.”

“Liar.” You mock him, making a face he can’t see and tease you about like he’d usually do. “You could have texted, at least. Let me know you’d be busy.”

“I’m sorry, love.” His voice is soft, apology genuine as can be when he doesn’t try to justify himself or find excuses. Hyunjin is aware that if the roles were reversed, he’d feel the same way you’re feeling right now, the anxiety and worry eating at him from the inside and leaving behind a restlessness he couldn’t shake off no matter how hard he tried to. And he does, to an extent. Not being able to contact you drove him on the brink of insanity, making him moodier and more difficult to work it, which was so unlike him.

“Can I talk to Kkami?” He adds, trying to make it up to you in his own, creative way you’ve come to love.

“What?” You can’t help but laugh, not sure you heard him right.

“Pass the phone to Kkami for a moment, please?”

Now you’re curious, wondering what that beautiful mind had in store for you this time. You’ve been dog-sitting Kkami since he left, sending him regular updates in hopes of brightening up his day and keeping the homesickness at bay. Your camera roll has been full of pictures and videos of Kkami - walking him, playing together and being cute just for Hyunjin’s delight. A small price to ensure your boyfriend’s everlasting happiness.

“Should I leave you two alone? Give you some privacy?”

He laughs, and you hear the sound of a bag zipping up. “Yes. This is just between us boys, sorry baby.”

Shaking your head with a smile, you do as he asks, lowering the phone close to Kkami’s ear like the pup could actually catch Hyunjin up on what’s been happening around the house since he left. At the sound of his owner’s voice, Kkami’s eyes open as his ears perk up, visibly excited to hear him after so long. With his tail waggling, Kkami listens attentively to whatever Hyunjin is telling him, sleep long forgotten as you start giggling next to him, not believing your eyes.

Kkami was not an affectionate dog, often biting or growling at your lover like he was sick of him. Hyunjin’s presence and fussing were a bore, the dog quickly growing tired of his excited nature, even though your boyfriend was the person he loved most in the world.

That’s exactly why, you’re taken aback when he sprints off the couch, running a lap around the living room before returning to jump at your feet, barking and licking the hand closest to him excitedly.

Dumbfounded, you bring the phone back to your ear laughing. “What did you say to him? He’s suddenly so happy to see me.”

“He’s groveling in my stead. I told him to show you how much I miss you.”

Your heart melts, and suddenly he’s all forgiven as tears well up in your eyes. “Hyun…”

“Actually, I asked him if he wanted a treat.” Your tears get absorbed right back as a laugh bubbles out of the both of you, with Kkami jumping into your lap to beg properly. “I guess he figured I wasn’t there to give him some, so now he expects them from you.”

“You set me up.” You say, voice laced with playfulness as you stand up, scooping Kkami with one hand to fulfill his request. A true glutton, he’d never forgive you if you denied him his beloved snacks.

“Maybe. But my words had the desired effect.” His tone is softer now, and you can hear the smile in his voice. “You’re laughing.”

Yet, the joy didn’t reach its full potential, and never will with hundreds of miles between you. Happiness in its truest form found you in a handful of moments, and for most of them, Hyunjin was right by your side, fueling you with the love and devotion he held for you and you alone. He made you happy like nobody else, helping you see color even on the darkest days. Your beloved loved painting, that’s what he did, you just never thought he could bring forth his talent and make you see beauty in everything, guiding you to see the world through his eyes that always sparkled like he held the entire galaxy in them.

“Baby.”

Hyunjin gasps so loudly, almost like he is on the verge of bursting with happiness, matching Kkami’s energy to a T, ready to jump through the phone to feel your love and affection again.

“Can we facetime? I miss your beautiful face.” You add once Kkami is back on his own paws, devouring the stinky treat in your hand as you crouch to his level.

“Facetime? Love, I’ll literally catch the earliest flight and be there in record time! This little screen isn’t cutting it anymore, I need to see you with my own eyes before I get so desperate I start walking back just to be in your arms!”

And that is your cue to get on a plane first and finally visit your boyfriend before he keeps his word and ends up at your doorsteps with nothing but a duffle bag and a sob story about how much he missed you to justify his careless actions.

2K notes · View notes

allllium · 9 days ago

Text

Just a Bit of Fun

[ Jack Abbot x Reader ]

~ Fluff, WC: 3749

~ Mostly gender neutral but there is a section using female pronouns, pls let me know if you want another version with other pronouns

-------------- banner coming soon -------------

- Reader is keeping a big secret from Dana, accidentally.

Fortunately, the ER today has been pretty slow. Not that you'll say out loud but only a couple people are left out in chairs. You're struggling to get a snack out of the vending machine. Everyone knows this one is a money thief but it's the only one with your favorite snack.

While you're distracted, Dana uses it as an opportunity to talk to Robby about her newest issue within the ER. It's not a real issue at all, but no one dares to say it to her face.

"Call me old school, but I don't understand it." She says, just directly out of your earshot.

"Well-" He begins, but obviously Dana cuts him off quick.

"Don't you call me anything with the word old in it."

"Oh, I wouldn't dream of it." Robby chuckles. "I don't get it either but it's not any of our business." He knows exactly what she's talking about. It's the only thing he's heard from her in a couple days now.

"Of course it is. This is my ER, all of its my business." He doesn't contridict that it's her ER, but he can't stop his grin at her dramatics.

"Stop being a gossip." He lectures her as usual. Of course it's not her fault, she gets bored.

"Hey, you want to know too. Don't even deny it."

"Obviously I want to know but I'm not gonna sneak around behind their backs." That and he knows more than he'll let Dana see. She'll have his head on a silver platter if she finds out you told him before her.

"What are we gossiping about?" You whisper from behind them. Not meaning to sneak up on them but they were standing right in your path.

"You're just as bad as Dana." Robby rolls his eyes at you. He does that a lot.

"Don't be talking shit out in the open if you don't want me to be curious." You tell him in a lecturing tone. "That's on you, Buddy."

"We were not talking shit." He hates when you call him buddy, that's why you do it. Robby isn't usually one to talk shit but on a few occasions you've caught it happening.

"Uh huh, quick defense there." You smile at his dramatic huff. Once you get to him, he's not nearly as intimidating. Now you can poke fun at him all you want.

He doesn't grace with you a verbal response before giving up and walking away.

"He's no fun." Dana mutters under her breath. You look over in her direction, forgetting she was there for a moment. You should know better, she's always there.

"That's okay, we're fun enough for him too." You walk around the counter to sit down and take a breath for a moment, while you can.

"What are you doing here, kid? I barely ever see you in the daylight." She takes a seat in the chair next to you.

"Filling in for Collins. Robby asked me to while she's on vacation. Night shift will do without me for a bit." You fidget by moving back and forth in the chair. You and Collins have bonded a lot through the years. The nature of her vacation isn't a happy one.

"I don't know." She immediately disagrees. "Abbot might fall apart without you by his side."

You can see the mischievous smile forming.

"What's that supposed to mean?" You turn quickly to face her head on.

"You know what I mean, I never see one of you without the other."

"He's not here right now is he? Besides we work different days a lot."

"Not if it's up to the two of you." She shrugs with a laugh.

"We work well together." You deflect in disbelief. What is she getting at right now?

"I bet you'd be good at a lot of other things together too." She keeps her head down as she says it, you know she's struggling to get the words out through her laugh.

"Dana it is way too early in the morning for you to be saying stuff like that." You tell her in astonishment. "Have you no shame?"

It takes her a full moment to stop laughing at her own words. You get the urge to walk away but you know she'd chase you down.

"I'm just saying, you two would be good together."

"Dana. You can't be encouraging me to have sex with my boss."

"Why not? It's never hurt nobody."

"I am walking away from this conversation right now."

"C'mon, hon, just live a little." She calls after you.

You shake your head harshly as you walk away and her laugh echos through the hall.

You know neither you nor Jack have actually told anyone other than Robby that your together, but you didn't think she would still be this oblivious.

You can't explain why you played along instead of coming out with the truth. At this point, you might as well have fun with it.

The next day, Dana seems to be just as determined to get answers as the last. Your reactions to her teasing certainly didn't help.

"I don't see what the big deal is." You and Dana are sitting in the lounge, trying to eat lunch while there's not too much work to be done. Knock on wood this next couple days will follow a similar pattern. "We work together so what? You and Robby work together all the time and I'm not pushing you two into each other." She immediately gives you a look of disgust.

"Don't even try that, it's different and you know that. Robby and I don't look at each other the way you guys do."

"We don't look at each other like anything other than good coworkers." You tell her confidently, perhaps taking the joke too far. Honestly if she hasn't figured it out by now, that's on her.

"You are so full of shit."

"I think the older you get, the crazier you get too."

"Did you seriously just call me old and crazy in the same sentence?"

"Hey I just call it like I see it." You raise your hands in a joking defense.

"Abbot's a good looking guy, I know you see that." She wiggles her eyebrows at you.

"Well I'm not gonna deny that."

"So why not take the chance? It doesn't have to be anything serious."

"I like things how they are." You shrug and pay more attention to your food than necessary.

Whatever she's about to say next is cut off by McKay running in.

You're not paying attention to anything they're saying but Dana rushes out quickly and leaves McKay standing in the doorway. Robby probably needed her help with something.

"Are you fucking with her?" Mckay laughs as she looks at you curiously.

"So I'm guessing you know?"

"You guys are very obvious. Has she not gotten it yet?" You get up to throw away your lunch trash while she talks.

"Apparently not. I guess she figured I was single and Robby didn't tell her otherwise." You shrug and walk with McKay through the hall.

"Strange considering he's such a gossip."

"That's what I'm saying!"

"Oh that's a really pretty ring." You're standing by your locker when Dana appears. It's day three of her pushing for answers and one of those rare times where you get off on time.

"Huh." You look down and see the ring Dana is referring to. It's on a chain around your neck that must've come out while leaning over so much throughout the day. "Oh thanks, I didn't realize it was out." You quickly tuck it back into your shirt, before Dana asks too many questions.

"What kind of stone is that? It doesn't look like diamond." Of course she's gonna ask a lot of questions.

"Oh it's not, I can never remember the exact name of this one but I'm not a huge fan of diamonds." You explain while grabbing your other clothes out so you can get home as quick as possible.

"Why do you wear it on a necklace?" She asks in a knowing manner.

"Cause' knowing this place it would get lost or ruined otherwise. I'd do it with my other ones too but I wear a million of them." No lie in that statement.

"So why wear it instead of keeping it with the rest?"

"It's my favorite. I just like having it so close to me." Also not a lie.

"That makes sense, it is really pretty." She turns to pull stuff out of her own locker.

"Thanks. Uh, you have any plans after this?" You try to change the topic as casual as possible.

"Lots of sleep hopefully."

"I think that's all we can hope for at this point." You also want to go home and sleep. Especially because the house will be empty all night.

"Sleep well kid."

"See you bright and early." As soon as you're changed, you walk out and leave Dana to herself.

You give a quick goodbye to Robby, who of course hasn't even gotten close to finishing up yet. And then make your way outside when you're greeted with a familiar face.

"How was it today?" He asks from his position leaning against the wall.

"Not to bad. I think you should have okay night." You smile at him which shows off just how tired you are.

"I hope so."

"Well, I guess I'll see you in the morning." You say with a saddened tone.

"Goodnight Dr. Abbot." He pulls you in for a swift hug.

"Goodnight- or goodmorning, Dr. Abbot. Whatever it is to you right now."

"Go home and sleep, you need it."

"Sounds good to me." You pull away from him and both go your separate ways.

"I can't believe it." Dana exclaims just moments after you left. She immediately found Robby to talk to about what she just saw.

"What are you on about now?" He sighs as he always does when putting up with the gossips in the ER, especially Dana's.

"She was wearing an engagement ring, oh how did we miss this?" She seems personally offended by this piece of information.

Robby tries as hard as he can to hide his grin. He didn't miss anything, but again, Dana would have his head if she knew.

"That's why she's been so put off by the idea of going out with Abbot."

"Maybe she's just not interested in him. She wears a lot of rings that could pass as engagement rings. You probably just saw it wrong." He tries to offer a reasonable solution. One that doesn't make her even more invested in your romance life.

"No, it was different than the other ones. And she was wearing all day under her shirt. People don't do that with any old ring." She follows behind him as he walks around trying to finish off his work for the night.

"Why didn't you just ask her about it? She has no reason to lie." He comes to your defense.

"I did! Discreetly but the point still stood. She just said it was her favorite." She comes off even more exasperated than before.

"And you don't believe her because?"

"She is not good at coming up with excuses, I can always tell when she's trying to come up with something on the spot."

"Dana, please take this advice I'm about to give you seriously. Calm down a little bit. If she's hiding something it's for a good reason."

"What reason would be good enough to not tell me?"

"Ask her." He practically begs.

She gasps suddenly, "Maybe Abbot knows."

For the ten millionth time that day, Robby rolls his eyes.

"She knows." You resign as he walks in the door.

"Who knows what?" You hear him move around the living room as he puts everything down from the night.

"Dana. I don't know what she knows but it's something."

"Okay? And this is an issue because?" He walks into the kitchen to greet you as he talks.

"You're the one that insisted on hiding this." You lean into him as he puts his arms around your waist.

"At first. If you want to tell Dana go ahead."

"I can't! It would be weird now. It's been years at this point." He chuckles from behind you.

"I don't think it's a big deal."

"So says you. You work the night shift, you don't deal with Dana's craziness like I do."

"You'll be back on night shift soon enough."

"Oh honey, it's funny you think that'll stop her."

He let's go of you to grab something to eat.

"I know it won't. But I'm not the one dealing with it."

"Be nice to me, Jack. I'm struggling here." You're being totally dramatic about it but oh well at this point.

"How dare she care about your life outside of work." He says blankly as he focuses on finding food.

"You're not gonna find anything in there, we need to go shopping."

He shuts the cupboard and focuses more on you. "I think I'll bring you lunch later."

"Honey, you need to sleep longer than a couple hours."

He rolls his eyes, "No I don't."

You head to the living room to grab the rest of your stuff for your shift.

"You don't need to bring me lunch, I'll get something." He follows you into the room and sits down on the couch.

"It might help with your Dana issue."

"Shes gonna hurt me, isn't she? She's a lot stronger than she looks "

"Most likely."

"Good to see how concerned you are."

"I try my best." You laugh at his words and finish grabbing your stuff before pausing for a moment.

"Wait a minute, why are you here so early. You're shift isn't over yet?"

He glances up at you for a second before looking back at the TV.

"Did you clock out early so you wouldn't overlap with Dana coming in?"

"Of course not."

You burst out laughing. He gives you an unimpressed stare.

"Okay sweetie, whatever you say." It's hard to believe this is the most intimidating guy in the ER. "If she wants to get you, she will."

You let out an embarrassing yelp as Dana quickly grabs your arm and pulls you into the empty on call room.

"Was that really necessary?" You exclaim while she shuts the door behind you both.

"Yes, I want the truth." She crosses her arms over her chest and stares at you pointedly.

"Don't we all." You sigh dramatically.

"Seriously, kid. Who gave you that ring? I know it's an engagement ring. I looked it up." You roll your eyes at her. Of course she's still on this.

"I didn't know you knew how to do that." You mumble under your breath and throw your arms across your chest.

"Don't sass me or I'll tell everyone."

"Tell them what? You don't know anything." She squints her eyes as she thinks of what to say next.

"I'm going figure it out. We can do this the easy way or the hard way."

"Dana, I'm not scared of you."

"Yes you are."

"I spend every night working with Abbot. You are not on his level of intimidation." You shake your head with a smile at her reaction to this whole situation.

You're not entirely sure why this is something she's so determined to figure out but it fills your day with a tiny bit of entertainment.

"Just tell me." She demands, staring into your soul.

"Okay fine, I'm married alright. Is that what you wanted to hear?"

Her face shows a mixture of confusion and happiness. Clearly she's glad to finally have a good answer.

"To who??"

"I have already given you more than enough." You brush her off and begin to leave the room she pulled you into.

"You're seriously not gonna tell me?

"I am seriously not gonna tell you."

"Wait, how long have you been hiding this?" She opens her mouth in shock.

"I haven't been hiding anything, you never asked. But it's been about three years now."

"You've only been here for two years. No wonder you've been so weird about Jack." She mutters to herself like she's finally putting the pieces together.

"Next time you won't assume I'm single will you?"

"No I will not." She laughs.

You walk off assuming that's the end of this particular conversation. You're not that lucky.

"So how does your husband feel about your relationship with Abbot?" She sounds very concerned. How the fuck is she not getting it right now?

"Well honestly he's not super fond of him." Why do you continue to make things harder for yourself. This would all be over if you didn't listen to Jack in the first place.

You know he was right to suggest it at first. Coming to work in a new place is hard enough without people knowing you're married to your new boss.

You really thought people would figure it out by now. But of course people never wanted to accuse either of you of anything, so they keep conversations quiet and didn't ask any questions loud enough for you to hear.

"I wonder why?" She asks sarcastically. She clearly sees something between you and Jack. What will it take for her to see what that something is?

"You are officially on my shit list!" Dana yells from down the hall.

"Oh yay." You whisper sarcastically. "What'd I do now?" You call back down to her.

"Someone is here to see you." She smiles scarily and pulls you by the arm for the second time today.

"Oh is my food here?" You're excited to finally eat and see Jack during the day. Although he's gonna get a very big earful about the importance of enough sleep, especially with a job as grueling as this.

"Yeah and you'll never believe who brought it to you." Sarcasm drips from her voice.

"The magic food fairy?" She's not impressed. You think it sums him up pretty well.

"Abbot. Dr. Jack Abbot. The man who worked all night and should be sleeping all day is instead here bringing you food. Why is that?"

"Do you need to sit for a minute? You seem a little worked up."

"I do not need to sit, I need to hear the explanation you two have been hiding from me." You accidentally let out a small chuckle at her antics. You don't know why this means so much to her.

"Why do you need an explanation for me to get my lunch?"

"First you hide your marriage-" You interrupt her quickly.

"I didn't hide anything."

"Then you admit your husband isn't real fond of Jack."

"Oh honey, you're getting so close." Will this be the moment she finally puts all the pieces together?

You look up to see Jack standing at the nurses station, smiling softly at you as you walk up. It's not big enough for most people to notice. Dana clearly, is not most people.

She stops walking, causing you to slightly bump into her back.

She turns around slowly to face you.

"Surprise?" You reveal, hoping she's finally figured out what's going on.

While she stands in her surprise, you walk over to your husband.

"I told you not to do this." You immediately reprimand him.

"Dana's glaring daggers at the back of your head." Is his simple response.

"Oh let her. She's having some big feelings and you don't get to change the subject that easily." You grab your food out of his hands.

"We haven't seen each other as much lately. Can't I do something nice?" He asks innocently.

"Don't act like you didn't want to see Dana's reaction." You place the food on the counter next to you so you can cross your arms over your chest. It's your power stance.

"What can I say? Karma for being a gossip."

You laugh aloud. "Says you! You listen to everything the nurses talk about and ask me about it later."

"That's not the same." You scoff at his denial.

"Uh huh, whatever you have to tell yourself sweetie." You smile widely at him. Suddenly feelings just how much you've missed him over these last couple days. "Go home and sleep. It's my last day on day shift for now."

"Good. Night shift goes a lot smoother when you're there."

"Aww are you saying you missed me?" You take a step closer to him and his awkwardness.

"No." What a motherfucker.

"Oh I see how it is." You feel Dana's presence come up beside you. "Get some good sleep so we can spend time together without you being such a grump."

"I am never a grump." He defends, his lip curling up just a smudge.

"Wow you're just full of jokes tonight, I see." He gives you a kiss on your head to hide his smile in your hair.

"Have a good shift." He tells you and gives a small nod to Dana before walking out the door.

"So? Figure it out yet?"

"How in the hell did I not know this?" She exclaims softly almost like she's saying it to herself.

"You never asked. No one did." You shrug with a chuckle.

"How long have you been together? He never mentioned anything." She plops down in a chair to continue the conversation.

"He's protective. He thought it would make things harder if people knew I was married to my new boss." You sit in chair next to her. You look around and see all the other doctors currently occupied.

"So as long as you've been here?" She chuckles quietly realizing all she missed over the years.

"Married for three years, together for six. We met at a bar when he was drinking in his sorrows." You remember the memory fondly. "I was gonna tell you when I realized you didn't know, but for some reason it didn't come out."

She laughs loudly at that. Loud enough that a patient to the left gave her a weird look.

"That makes sense. I'm just glad you're not having some weird affair with Jack."

"It's not an affair but it's definitely weird."

"Ha! Eat your lunch kid. I'm gonna hound you for details later." She stands up and gives you a pat on the shoulder.

"Wouldn't expect anything less."

~ low-key wanna write about how they met 🤔

456 notes · View notes

dior-luxury · 2 months ago

Text

You Call Them A Different Name To Get Their Reaction

Pt.2

( ✧ ) ────── boyfriend stories . drama - she/her .

- [𝐜𝐡.] azul . chen'ya . cater . rollo . floyd

- [𝐩:𝐬] nothing really just guys being jelly

Note: This is a very random line-up Lol, I'm also working on requests right now! but enjoy guys!

Azul Ashengrotto

Azul prided himself on maintaining composure, on being calm and collected in any situation. But the moment your lips uttered another name—someone else’s name—his entire world seemed to freeze.

He had been in the middle of discussing business with you at the lounge when it happened. You were laughing about something when, instead of calling him Azul, another name slipped out.

The conversation came to a standstill. Azul’s fingers tightened slightly around the glass in his hand, but his expression remained carefully neutral. Too neutral.

"...I beg your pardon?" His voice was smooth, but there was a dangerous edge to it, like a blade concealed beneath silk.

You immediately realized your mistake and scrambled to correct yourself. "I—I didn’t mean to—"

Azul’s eyes darkened, and he let out a soft chuckle, adjusting his glasses as if regaining his composure. "Ah, I see. A slip of the tongue, is it?" His tone was polite, but you could tell he was troubled by it.

He leaned forward, resting his chin on his intertwined fingers. "You wouldn’t happen to have someone else on your mind, would you?" His voice was light, teasing even, but the way he studied you—analyzing your every move—told you he was far from amused.

It would take reassurance, perhaps a bit of flattery, to mend his bruised pride. But one thing was certain—Azul would not forget this incident anytime soon.

Chen’ya

Chen’ya was used to teasing and playful banter, but he certainly hadn’t expected this.

You had been chatting absentmindedly when you called him by a completely different name. The moment the wrong name left your lips, the mischievous grin on his face widened.

"Oho~? What was that?" His ears perked up, and he leaned in, floating effortlessly beside you. "Did I just hear you call me someone else?"

You felt heat rush to your cheeks. "I didn’t mean to—!"

"But you did~," he sing-songed, lazily looping around you like a cat stalking its prey. "How scandalous! How cruel!" He dramatically clutched his chest as if he had been mortally wounded.

You groaned. "Chen’ya, please—"

"Ah-ah~! What if I just started calling you by another name, hm?" His grin widened even further, fangs peeking through. "Wouldn’t want that, would we?"

Despite his teasing, there was a flicker of curiosity in his eyes. He wasn’t angry, just… intrigued. Amused. Maybe even a little too entertained.

"You do know I’m the most charming one around, right?" he purred, poking your cheek. "No one else could compare, so I’ll forgive you—just this once~!"

Cater Diamond

Cater’s usual easygoing demeanor faltered the moment you called him the wrong name.

You were in the middle of scrolling through Magicam together when the slip happened. At first, you didn’t even realize what you’d done—until you noticed that Cater had completely frozen.

His smile was still there, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. "Heh… wait a sec." He turned to you, his head tilting slightly. "Did you just call me someone else’s name?"

Your stomach dropped. "Cater, I—"

"Yikes!" He let out an exaggerated laugh, but there was something unsettling about the way he kept smiling. "Like, what gives? I thought I was your fave~?"

You could tell he was trying to play it off, but beneath that carefree tone, there was something else—something deeper.

"Who were you thinking about, exactly?" His voice was light, but his fingers tapped restlessly against his phone.

If you reassured him, he’d eventually brush it off with a laugh, but later, you’d notice a flood of new selfies and posts with captions like "Cater Diamond, unforgettable as always~! #NoOneBetter #Right?"

You were definitely going to have to make it up to him.

Rollo Flamme

Rollo’s reaction was immediate.

The moment you called him the wrong name, his entire body tensed. His hands, which had been delicately adjusting the pages of a book, clenched into fists. His usually composed expression darkened as his lips pressed into a thin line.

"...I beg your pardon?" His voice was eerily quiet, and you could practically feel the shift in the air around him.

You gulped. "I didn’t mean to say that—"

"Who is it?" His gaze was sharp, piercing, demanding an answer.

The flames of the nearby lantern flickered violently, casting uneasy shadows across the room. Rollo exhaled slowly, as if reigning himself in. "I fail to see how such a mistake could occur," he said coldly. "Unless, of course… you were thinking of them in my presence."

The way he said it sent chills down your spine. He wasn’t throwing a tantrum or causing a scene—no, that wasn’t Rollo’s style. Instead, his displeasure seeped into the atmosphere, suffocating and inescapable.

"I do not tolerate being overlooked." His eyes met yours, unwavering. "Do not let it happen again."

You knew you had to be very careful with your next words.

Floyd Leech

Floyd’s reaction was nothing short of unpredictable.

One moment, he had been lounging beside you, playfully poking your side, and the next—his entire demeanor shifted the second another name left your lips.

His grin faded. His golden eyes gleamed dangerously as he tilted his head. "Huh?"

You felt your heart skip a beat.

"What did you just say?" His voice was deceptively light, but the way his fingers twitched against your arm sent a shiver down your spine.

"I—I didn’t mean to, it was an accident—"

"An accident~?" He let out a slow hum, his grip tightening ever so slightly. "Dunnooo~ I think my ears must be playing tricks on me. ‘Cause it sounded like you just called me the wrong name."

You quickly tried to backtrack, but Floyd was already squeezing you into a vice-like hug, burying his face into your shoulder.

"Maaaan, I dunno if I should be mad or just suuuuper sad~" he whined. "Should I bite ya? Or should I make ya say my name over and over till ya never forget it again?"

You yelped. "Floyd!"

At the sound of his name, he suddenly grinned, loosening his grip. "Hehe~ That’s better!"

#twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland imagines #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland scenarios #twisted wonderland headcanons #disney twisted wonderland #twst imagines #twst x reader #twst fanfic #twst headcanons #twst wonderland #azul ashengrotto x reader #che'nya x reader #cater diamond headcanons #cater diamond x reader #rollo flemme x reader #floyd leech x reader #𝐃𝐈𝐎𝐑-𝐋𝐔𝐗𝐔𝐑𝐘

986 notes · View notes

creature-wizard · 6 months ago

Text

Some ways to recognize AI generated images (other than counting the fingers!)

Hey folks! Since a lot of people out there are still getting taken in by AI images, I thought I'd do a post to help you spot some common tells in AI generated imagery. (All of these images come from Pixabay.) Since this turned out to be a really long post, I've put the rest of it under the cut.

Unnatural shininess and smoothness

AI generated images frequently have an unnatural smoothness to them. Here's a really obvious example:

These are supposed to be blueberries, but they're way too shiny. They look more like glass than actual fruit!

Here's an example that's a little less obvious:

At first glance, it's easy to miss that this is a procedurally generated image. But if you take a moment and look close, you can see an unnatural smoothness to this image. Compare with this real photograph below:

The real photo has a slight graininess to it, plus the berries themselves display more texture.

Here are more images displaying unnatural smoothness:

Exaggerated facial and body proportions

If a person or animal in an image that appears to be a photograph has cartoonish or caricaturish proportions, that's a sign the image is AI generated.

First, we'll start with a really obvious example. While I don't think the person who had this generated meant for it to be taken as photorealistic, it's still a good example of exaggerated proportions.

Now here's the less obvious example:

If you just glanced at this image, you might think this was a real child. But if you look for a moment longer, you'll notice that her head is slightly too big for her body proportions, and her eyes are slightly too big and round. (And of course, her toes are messed up.)

For comparison, here's a real child:

The real child's head is smaller, and the eyes don't have that cartoony look.

Here's an image of a baby that could pass as real at first glance... until you realize the eyes are too big and round, and it's making Dreamworks face! (Also, the brows and lashes are unnaturally smooth and the skin looks plasticky!)

For comparison, here's a real baby:

Melty-looking detailwork

AI images that are supposed to depict fantasy, divine, and historical figures often feature an extreme level of detailing. But if you look close, you'll see that this detailwork is usually a mess.

Here's a very obvious example:

If you look at her tiara, you can see that the center gem is actually floating above the rest, which is a dead giveaway that this is procedurally generated. Also, her tiara lacks symmetry and evenness where it should have it.

Here's another example:

Again, this is clearly a piece that should have symmetry in the metalwork, but has that uneven melty look so common in AI imagery.

And a less obvious example:

This one isn't as extreme as the others, but if you're familiar with the way AI "melts" details, you can recognize its work. (Also, her right earring is lower than it should be, and where her face is clearly meant to imitate an oil painting, her dress looks like a watercolor painting!)

Meanwhile, here's a real photograph of a tiara:

I'd also like to emphasize here that asymmetry on its own doesn't indicate AI! Many people create asymmetrical designs on purpose. The thing to really watch out for is melty-looking shapes and unevenness in things that shouldn't look melty or uneven.

Unnatural crispness and detail

AI image generators often lean toward high-contrast tones, which frequently makes images look unnaturally crisp. Here's a really obvious example:

Let's compare with a real photo of the Sphinx!

Quite a bit of difference, huh?

This faux Greek statue might be a bit harder:

This appears to depict a Greek-styled statue, but - look at the face! The crispness in the light and shadows gives this away as AI generated. (There's also no staining on the face, even though we see it on the next.)

For comparison, a real statue:

This has turned into a huge post, so I'm gonna call this good for now. Not each and every AI generated image will have these tells, but you'll be able to recognize a lot more AI generated images if you keep them in mind. If you'd like to get even better at recognizing AI generated images, you might go to the website I got them from - Pixabay - and search for "AI generated." Load the pictures at higher resolutions, pay attention to the details, and compare them with human-mage images. While you'll find that many AI generated images are very hard to distinguish from human-made ones, you'll start picking up on more of AI's idiosyncracies.

#ai imagery #ai art #recognizing ai images #recognizing ai art #critical thinking #anti ai #image heavy #discernment #recognizing ai

734 notes · View notes

brooke121000 · 5 months ago

Text

go to sleep, love. • s. reid

warnings: n$fw, f/m, p in v, dom!spence if you squint really hard, do a cartwheel and take your glasses off, aftercare! sleepy s3x

summary: wracked with migraines, you wake Spencer up with your crying. Overwhelmed and exhausted, he seeks the easiest possible method to make you go to sleep.

a/n: this did NOT seem as long when i was writing it.

———————————౨ৎ———————————

"ughh-" Spencer groaned, rolling over and rubbing his tired eyes.

you were crying softly, tears muffled into your pillow as your frame shook. Okayy, maybe you were being a tad bit dramatic.

"headaches again?" he murmured.

you nodded, rolling over to face him. enveloped in darkness, your eyes had to adjust to see him, but you were pleased when you did. his face was flushed from sleep, brows knit together and brown curly hair slightly tousled. "yeah." you replied solemnly. "and I can't sleep, at all. I woke you up. didn't I?"

he nodded, unamused.

"oh.. 'm sorry."

"it's okay," his face softened when he sensed how apologetic you were. "it's not your fault. can you sleep?"

your hand on the back of your neck, you shook your head again. he huffed in response.

"at all?"

"no, my head is killing me. You know what i'm talking about."

he sighed. "yeah, I do, but you need to sleep. we gotta go to work tomorrow."

Everything was too much. Your head hurt too much, you were too tired, you were dreading work, and Spencer's tone was much harsher then usual. Like a neglected pot on the stove, all of your emotions boiled over at once and you began to cry once again.

"oh-" Spencer was disheartened at your recurring tears. He scooted over and brought you close to his chest, resting his chin on the top of your head. "Please don't cry."

you sniffled. "I'm soo t-tired, i just want to sleep.."

"I know you do," he consoled you. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

"...no.."

His next words came in a whisper. "..I could.. you know, try something to help you sleep."

that was enough to stop your crying for a second. sniffling your tears away, you pulled your head up and met his downcast brown eyes. "..what are you suggesting?"

" 'm not suggesting anything. I'm just reminding you, Orgasms release chemicals like Oxytocin and Prolactin, which can lower stress levels and induce drowsiness. They also temporarily reduce the bodies cortisol levels, whi-"

"prove it?" you smiled and cut him off, a little lost for words.

he stalled for a second. "oh... okay."

he quickly got to work, sitting up and grabbing his glasses off the nightstand. you quirked a brow.

"You're putting your glasses on? interesting method of foreplay."

"no, its just- I wanna be able to see you clearly." he cleaned the lenses with the collar of his shirt, slipping them on. "Y'know, when I make you cum?"

you just kind of stared up at him, dumbfounded. it looks like the night brought out a whole different vocabulary in this man. managing an eager nod, you got closer to him.

he slipped under the blankets, and you felt his warm hands on your legs, eliciting a shiver that ran through you like lightning. You were a little disappointed he chose to hide under the covers, but accepted the warmth.

this man wasn't wasting any time. Your already-on-edge nerves felt a string of warm, sloppy kisses up and down your thighs. You slept in only a t shirt and underwear, most nights- including this one, so there was little barrier between you and his lips.

god, those lips.

He considered this quick and anticlimactic, but the little teasing he was performing was driving you crazy. your legs shook in anticipation, and you tried your best not to cry out in joy when you felt his hands hook under your panties and slide them down, down, down, all the way to your ankles- one hand trailing along your leg in this fluid motion.

finally, god, you felt a small, polite kiss pressed to your clit. you practically could have come undone right then and there, if not for a pang of sharp pain hitting your head at the same time, a small 'ah!-" escaping you.

"I know, cm'on. shh." He said from under the blanket, rubbing deep circles into your hips with a free hand.

He licked a lazy stripe up your core, the lightning-strike of pleasure hitting you once again.

"mm- fuck-" you whispered, a quiet plea for only him to hear. He licked another long stripe, patiently anticipating more moans, which he received.

pressing small circles into your most sensitive spots, he eagerly worked you up to the edge. this teasing was driving you crazy, and your breath was quick and harsh.

"spence!" you whined, and heard a groan from him, his grips tightening on your thighs. The tip of his nose pushed against your clit as his tongue dipped and swirled, and you swear your vision went blurry for just a second.

"cm'on-" he murmured.

Your approaching climax was painfully obvious to you, every muscle in your body clenching as he worked magic on you. a hand flew under the covers, intertwining with his hair as a desperate moan poured from your lips. with that, you came, your head flying back to rest against the pillow as your frame shook.

he pulled his head out from under the covers, a smile spreading on his features. "Satisfactory, hmm?"

That was intense. If anything, you were more awake.

"I.. I think i'm less tired."

his brows knit together as he wiped some of the liquid off of his chin, licking his fingers clean for the sole purpose of tasting you.

"ah. I guess you'll just have to cum again."

unable to retort, you simply nodded and watched greedily as he tossed off his shirt, making quick work of his pants and boxers. He captured your waiting lips in a messy kiss, trailing little pecks up and down your cheek. He settled atop you, gazing into your flushed face for just a second.

"I love you." he mused.

"...I love you, too."

he placed more kisses to your neck and collarbone as his free hand aligned himself with your entrance, and you both held your breath. when he pushed into you, feeling your warmth envelop him, you both gasped at the same time.

"fuck-'

'ah-"

he rested his head in the crook of your neck, pushing allll the way inside you. when he was satisfied you had adjusted, he began moving at a punishingly slow pace, butterflies flittering about your stomach once again.

on hand beside you, one on the headboard, he pushed into you again and again, taking up a punishingly fast speed. you simply laid upon the pillow, a moaning shaking mess.

"so, so perfect 'f me, god-" he groaned.

wishing to be somehow deeper inside you, he abandoned the headboard and grabbing your hips, knees planted in the mattress for stability. you put a hand in your hair, a feeble attempt to ground yourself. as if things couldn't get any better, his hand slipped between you two- rubbing fervent circles on your clit, eliciting a string of desperate noises.

after what very well could have been an eternity, you both approached the finish. he gripped your hips desperately hard, his breaths coming shakily.

"oh, my- Spence!"

he buried himself deep into you as you two finished in unison, breath fleeting from your lungs as your head swam with pleasure- and the glaring absence of a migraine.

' "m gonna pull out, okay?"

"mhm- o.. okay."

he slid away and resumed his place beside you. pulling the covers over the both of you and placing a soft kiss to your temple, he sat up momentarily to remove his crooked, now fogged up glasses.

As you came down from your high, the shaking in your legs and the rushing of your pulse calming, you felt your eyelids droop. He pulled you closer to him and left a kiss on your lips, tinged with the soft sting of finality.

"go to sleep, love."

———————————౨ৎ———————————

#criminal minds #spencer reid #fluff #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader #smut

1K notes · View notes

dostoyevsky-official · 3 months ago

Text

not only did the NYT propagate anti-trans stories feeding today's EO ban and refuse to acknowledge elon's nazi salute, they went vichy-media mode by banning paul krugman from the op-eds:

Last month I retired from my position as an opinion writer at the New York Times—a job I had done for 25 years. Despite the encomiums issued by the Times, it was not a happy departure. [...] I believe that the story of why I left says something important about the current state of legacy journalism.

[...] During my first 24 years at the Times, from 2000 to 2024, I faced very few editorial constraints on how and what I wrote. For most of that period my draft would go straight to a copy editor, who would sometimes suggest that I make some changes — for example, softening an assertion that arguably went beyond provable facts, or redrafting a passage the editor didn’t quite understand, and which readers probably wouldn’t either. But the editing was very light; over the years several copy editors jokingly complained that I wasn’t giving them anything to do, because I came in at length, with clean writing and with back-up for all factual assertions.

This light-touch editing prevailed even when I took positions that made Times leadership very nervous. My early and repeated criticisms of Bush’s push to invade Iraq led to several tense meetings with management. In those meetings, I was urged to tone it down. Yet the columns themselves were published as I wrote them. And in the end, I believe the Times — which eventually apologized for its role in promoting the war — was glad that I had taken an anti-invasion stand. I believe that it was my finest hour.

So I was dismayed to find out this past year, when the current Times editors and I began to discuss our differences, that current management and top editors appear to have been completely unaware of this important bit of the paper’s history and my role in it.

[...] In 2024, the editing of my regular columns went from light touch to extremely intrusive. I went from one level of editing to three, with an immediate editor and his superior both weighing in on the column, and sometimes doing substantial rewrites before it went to copy. These rewrites almost invariably involved toning down, introducing unnecessary qualifiers, and, as I saw it, false equivalence. I would rewrite the rewrites to restore the essence of my original argument. But as I told Charles Kaiser, I began to feel that I was putting more effort—especially emotional energy—into fixing editorial damage than I was into writing the original articles. And the end result of the back and forth often felt flat and colorless.

One more thing: I faced attempts from others to dictate what I could (and could not) write about, usually in the form, “You’ve already written about that,” as if it never takes more than one column to effectively cover a subject. If that had been the rule during my earlier tenure, I never would have been able to press the case for Obamacare, or against Social Security privatization, and—most alarmingly—against the Iraq invasion. Moreover, all Times opinion writers were banned from engaging in any kind of media criticism. Hardly the kind of rule that would allow an opinion writer to state, “we are being lied into war.”

I felt that my byline was being used to create a storyline that was no longer mine. So I left.

That’s my story. What are the broader implications?

[...] What I felt during my final year at the Times was a push toward blandness, toward avoiding saying anything too directly in a way that might get some people (particularly on the right) riled up. I guess my question is, if those are the ground rules, why even bother having an opinion section?

[...] On a somewhat different issue, it became clear to me that the management I was dealing with didn’t understand the difference between having an opinion and having an informed, factually sourced opinion. When the newsletter was canceled, I tried to point out that I was almost the only regular opinion writer doing policy. Their response was to point to other writers who often expressed views about policy, economic and otherwise. I tried in vain to explain that there’s a difference between having opinions about economics and knowing how to read C.B.O. analyses and recent research papers. It all fell on deaf ears.

417 notes · View notes

darkmatilda · 4 months ago

Text

𝐟𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐫 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬 | 𝐬.𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: the death of your father brings you back to your hometown, straight into the grip of a long conversation with an old friend, during which you both rediscover who you truly were and how differently you remember certain events.

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬/𝐭𝐰: spencer reid x female!reader, childhood friends, flashbacks to times when they were 12-14, an alcoholic father, the father's death, brain tumor, death of both parents and grief, lots of inner rage, reader has actually a whole backstory so you need to immerse yourself, father is referred as "y/s", an open ending

𝐚/𝐧: my keyboard was burning as i wrote this

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 9k

Spencer had always found a certain comfort in nights spent aboard the jet.

In the dim light, with its warm, amber glow spilling softly into the shadows, there was a kind of serenity. A quiet that didn’t invite troubling thoughts to creep in but was instead punctuated by the gentle reminders of his team’s presence. The low hum of JJ and Elle’s tired but easy conversation, occasionally broken by soft laughter or the sound of cards hitting the table. The faint whisper of music leaking from Derek’s headphones as he drifted in and out of sleep. The rhythmic rustle of papers as Hotch worked methodically through them.

Usually, in this specific moment, Spencer felt relaxed. The case was behind them, and they were heading home. But that day, an unshakable knot lingered in his stomach.

He tore his gaze away from the chessboard. For a while now, he had simply been staring at it, his mind abandoning any effort to determine the next pawn move. He tried to snap himself back into focus, to analyze the game so far, find the weak spots, formulate a strategy... but he just couldn’t.

Leaning over the table, Gideon shifted back a little, propping himself on his elbow as he studied Spencer carefully.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

Spencer, after a prolonged moment of silence, shrugged.

“I’m still thinking about your last move. Of course, for obvious reasons, I’m not going to tell you what conclusions I’ve drawn, opponent...”

“No, Reid, I’m asking what’s wrong,” Gideon repeated, nodding slightly in his direction. His voice softened a bit, as if trying to give Spencer space to open up. His eyes held their characteristic mix of curiosity and concern. “With you, kid. You’re acting strange.”

“According to some, I always act strange,” Spencer tried to shrug dismissively, forcing a small joke. He exhaled heavily afterward.

“But not like this. You’re not hesitating on your move because you don’t know what it should be. You’re hesitating because you’re distracted. You can’t focus, not even on chess,” Gideon stated with certainty. Spencer wanted to shrug again, but he knew repeating the gesture and his disoriented behavior wouldn’t ease the older man’s worry. Instead, he kept staring at the chessboard, avoiding direct eye contact.

“I’m going to ask you one question,” Gideon said, his tone steady yet gentle, “but I don’t want you to feel like you have to answer it. I just want to see your reaction—the rest I’ll figure out myself.”

Spencer couldn’t hold back a genuine chuckle, brief but sincere.

“Are you profiling me, Gideon?”

“That skill isn’t limited to catching serial killers,” Gideon replied evenly. “So, here’s the question—does the way you’re feeling have anything to do with the death of Lieutenant Y/S?”

He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. A resigned sigh escaped instead. He abandoned any attempt to deny it, to change the subject, or even to lie—it was too precise a hit. A blow too accurate to defend against.

“How do you know?” he asked, genuinely intrigued.

“You usually read through entire newspapers as if they were single-page pamphlets in a doctor’s waiting room. Today, you stared at it for a good fifteen minutes. Then you slipped one of the pages into your jacket pocket. My eyesight isn’t what it used to be, so I couldn’t make out which one exactly. But considering Y/S was from your hometown…you knew him. That much is clear.”

The curse of being surrounded by profilers: they noticed everything.

But eventually, Spencer gave a small nod, conceding the point. Deep down, he supposed he did want to talk about it—with someone he trusted, someone who knew him well enough to piece together his worries from something as small as lingering too long over a newspaper.

“He was my neighbor,” he began cautiously, unsure where to even start unraveling the story. Slowly, he reached up to remove his glasses, pressing the bridge of his nose in thought. “His whole family, actually. His wife and…and their daughter.”

Gideon raised his eyebrows, as if everything suddenly made sense. And, knowing him, it probably did.

“An old friend, then,” he said, his voice carrying a faint note of melancholy. “How’s she handling her father’s death?”

Spencer shook his head.

“We…we’re not in touch anymore.” The words felt strange on his tongue, as if he hadn’t said them out loud in years. And perhaps he hadn’t. No one had asked about her in a long time. The words didn’t fill him with sadness exactly—maybe too much time had passed for that—but there was still that odd sensation in his chest. A warm ache, tinged with something like regret. He pushed through it and met Gideon’s gaze. “But I’ve been thinking about her. Ever since I found out.”

“Understandable. Especially since you were so close,” Gideon replied.

There was a hint in his words, a suggestion that settled into Spencer's mind. He truly knew everything.

“I’ve been wondering if I should reach out to her,” Spencer suddenly blurted out. The idea had come to him earlier, spontaneously, and hadn’t let go since. “Maybe not meet up, but…maybe just call. Garcia could probably find her number…What do you think?”

“Maybe it’s because I’m from a different generation,” Gideon started slowly, taking on a more serious, almost fatherly tone. “But to me, things like offering condolences shouldn’t be done over the phone. Especially when that person means so much to you.”

“She doesn’t—” Spencer began, but the words died in a sigh. He couldn’t say she meant nothing to him. Still, he sensed that Gideon had formed an image of their relationship that wasn’t quite accurate, and he felt the need to clarify things. “Listen, I had feelings for her, that’s true. I’m not…not ashamed to admit it.” Why, then, did his cheeks begin to warm? “But what I feel now has nothing to do with that. Above all, she was my friend. And her father…I spent a lot of time at their place. Actually, it was because of him that I even started thinking about going this route. You know, the FBI. I just feel…I feel like I should do it. Reach out to her, I mean. Say I’m sorry, listen to how she’s doing. For both of them.”

When he finished speaking, he felt a slight out of breath, like he’d just run a mile. Well, okay, maybe it was more like he’d climbed the stairs faster than usual. He stared at Gideon, waiting for the next words. But Gideon’s face remained unreadable, his posture still.

Spencer blinked, a bit desperate.

“What? You got me to say all that, and you’re not even going to give me any feedback?” he asked.

Gideon watched him for a moment, then a small smile appeared on his lips.

“Spencer, you’ve already figured it out for yourself. There’s nothing I can add.”

He frowned in confusion. He started to think about it and didn’t even notice when they returned to their chess game. Surprisingly, he managed to move a pawn at last; his mind actually felt clearer. His opponent leaned slightly over the table again, unmoved, pushing the queen despite it being a risky move, one that could change everything.

“Did you tell her how you feel about her?” he suddenly asked, as Spencer remained lost in thought.

Spencer winced slightly, not understanding the question. Before the other man could repeat it, Spencer suddenly understood, and a short sigh escaped his lips. Oh.

He mumbled an unclear confirmation. He had to swallow to clear his throat.

“I did,” he admitted. A deeper breath, as if to wash it off. So much time had passed, he should have done it long ago. He looked more confidently at Gideon, his expression showing some finality, something unquestionable. “But she didn’t feel the same. And that’s…completely okay. Can we get back to the game?”

Gideon agreed, of course. But before doing so, he once again scanned his face. He didn’t smile, didn’t say anything, but despite that, it was clear.

Clear that he truly cared about him.

You couldn’t remember the last time something as simple as sending an email felt like such a challenge. You also couldn't remember the last time you'd written so many versions of a single message, all with the same goal in mind—agreeing to meet up. With someone you hadn't seen in years.

You alternated between typing and holding down the caps lock key, deleting everything. In recent days, you’d been replying to a mountain of messages, not even trying to hide the falseness of it all or force a smile of gratitude when someone insisted on hugging you, offering their deepest condolences. You surrendered to it all like some kind of medical procedure, while feeling the weight of eyes on your face, searching for traces of tears and the despair behind them. Searching for proof that it mattered to you. That you were conforming to their image of no one else but your father. The Lieutenant, repeatedly decorated for his service, who passed away shortly after retiring due to unspecified health reasons (such a nice euphemism for the pulmonary embolism caused by years of alcoholism). A daughter, humbly lowering her head at his funeral, eyes filled with tears, accepting all words of comfort with graceful charm. It perfectly fit the romanticized image of the person your father was.

That bitterness toward the entire situation grew stronger within you with each passing day. At the funeral, you’d been too disoriented to notice it. You felt like an empty field where any thought or conclusion simply withered in its infancy, never able to fully blossom. Too disconnected from reality, too preoccupied with logistics to cry.

But putting aside this self-analysis of your grief (you never bought into the whole five stages theory—though you didn’t deny it might work for some people. You just thought it was too complex a process to be summarized into bullet points), you agreed to meet with Spencer. His message pulled you, however briefly, out of that apathetic void, leaving you genuinely surprised. Only later did it occur to you that this was normal—old friends often reach out after years apart. They comment on vacation photos with flame emojis or laugh-reacts. They send generic birthday wishes. They ask how you're doing when your father dies. Normal stuff.

There had been no falling out between you. Sometimes people are simply separated by distance, by different stages of life, of career, and contact becomes more sporadic until, eventually, it fades. The moment it happens is easy to miss, and you’d missed it entirely. The last time you’d spoken face-to-face was right before you left for a college far from your hometown. Six years ago. By then, Spencer had already accumulated a staggering number of academic accolades, advancing at a pace that matched his brilliance. During your first year apart, you exchanged a few messages—it seemed like the right thing to do. But you’d never been good at maintaining long-distance friendships, and soon enough, his presence was relegated to that most worn-out folder in the archive of your life, simply labeled as childhood.

You had no real reason to turn down the meeting. You were curious about the kind of person Spencer had become. Still, you couldn’t deny, even to yourself, that your primary motivation was to escape spending any more time in that desolate house. A house that bore visible signs of use yet stood conspicuously empty of owners.

You couldn’t shake the feeling that it didn’t much like you. The house, that is. As though it harbored a grudge against you for deciding to leave, and now, upon your return, it had no intention of welcoming you back.

Any excuse to get away from it was a good one.

Your area didn’t offer many options for meeting places, so you suggested the first one that came to mind—a bar. As you walked inside, your eyes scanned only for a familiar face, paying no attention to the mahogany nooks and crannies of the place you knew all too well.

You exchanged a touchless greeting—two polite smiles, nothing more.

And then, the silence settled in, thick with awkwardness.

"I’m sorry I couldn’t make it to the funeral," he said finally. The words tumbled out, and he winced the moment they did, likely realizing that opening the conversation this way was steering it down a less-than-pleasant path. He sighed but pressed on, determined to explain. "I only found out about it, well, through the paper. By the time I knew, it was already too late to even think about it. Plus, work…"

"You’ve changed," you cut him off mid-explanation with a simple observation that seemed to spill out of your mouth unbidden. "Maybe that’s where we should start. It’s good to see you, Spence."

The use of his old nickname seemed to throw him off balance.

"Sorry," you added quickly, breaking into a small laugh. "I forgot how much you hate small talk."

"No, it’s fine," he assured quickly. At the sound of your laugh, he shifted in his seat, almost distracted. Even though you weren’t exactly an expert at reading people, it was clear that something about that moment had triggered a wave of warmth in him, the sharp and tender grip of nostalgia. You could almost see the memories flickering across his mind—the two of you racing your bikes to the library, abandoning them haphazardly near the entrance, and bursting through the doors with a triumphant shout of first! Or maybe one of the countless other small moments, fragments of your shared past that sometimes surfaced in your own mind like snippets of a forgotten commercial.

He shook his head, pulling himself out of the haze, a faint smile curving his lips. "I mean, I’ve come to realize small talk isn’t always the enemy. Sometimes it’s just…part of connecting with people. It doesn’t have to feel like this desperate attempt to keep a conversation from flatlining."

You ordered a beer—not because you wanted to drink it, but to have something to fidget with. Still, at his words, you raised it to your lips in an overly dramatic gesture.

"Wow. Words like that coming from Spencer Reid. Who would’ve thought?”

He spread his arms as if wanting to join in on your question. The initial awkwardness between you both seemed to be fading, and it felt like you were both becoming more relaxed.

"You said it yourself, I’ve changed," he reminded you, then raised an eyebrow. "Well, I just don’t know if you meant for the better or for the worse."

You adjusted your posture, like some professional judge preparing to deliver their verdict. The chance to scrutinize him had presented itself, and you were ready to take it.

You'd known each other since you and your family had moved to the house on the outskirts. You weren't exactly a little kid by then, but in hindsight, you weren’t sure you even had memories before that event. If you did, they were insignificant. Anyway, you had always been fascinated by how friendships were formed when you were kids. As an adult, it’s incredibly difficult and usually based on shared interests. You meet at work, a manga club, or a Pilates class. You have to have something to talk about. It’s best when your sense of humor aligns, or at least doesn’t offend each other. Shared views are nice, though some people claim to enjoy a bit of difference for expanding their horizons. But it’s always just a bit.

Well, that’s how it was with you two. You were the little, mischievous adventurer, and he was the know-it-all shadow behind your back. Somehow, he always agreed to your silly ideas, the ones that later got you both into trouble. But despite the differences, every summer morning one of you would show up at the other’s door. It’s hard to compare him to his childhood version when the last time you saw each other, you were both eighteen. But even compared to that, the man sitting in front of you was different. Still young, but with more mature features. His hair was neatly styled, instead of the shapeless mess of long strands. He wore a side parting now. His dressing style, once a bit granddad-ish, was still polished, but it now had the feel of someone who might, at any moment, be heading to the garden to transplant a fern.

That much hadn't changed, you thought, noting his navy cardigan and the collar of his shirt peeking out with a tie. You glanced at his shoes—no Converse or any kind of sneakers, but proper dress shoes.

Then, the last thing—his eyes. The most striking feature of his face, drawing attention like two slightly melted pieces of chocolate. They were penetrating, yet once upon a time, they allowed you to peer into his inner world and his feelings. At least, that’s how it was back then. Now, there was more calculation and seriousness in them. Only after a moment did you realize that the coolness in his gaze was likely a result of the years spent working around the horrors of violent crimes.

You cleared your throat, realizing that your staring had gone on longer than necessary.

"I don't think I can really judge," you finally said, trying to stay diplomatic. "But I'm glad you didn’t give in to the contact lens trend. You've always looked good in glasses."

Spencer gave you a doubtful look.

"When I started wearing them as a kid, you laughed and said it sealed my nerdy reputation," he pointed out.

"I don't remember that," you replied innocently.

"I do. And I think that's enough evidence," he snorted. "I have to admit, though, I did give contacts a try for a while. Just out of curiosity, to see if they were more comfortable and how I'd look in them."

You pointed a finger at him.

"Poser."

He rolled his eyes, amused. This word in combination with someone like him was so absurd that he wouldn’t have been offended even if you’d said it with the utmost seriousness.

"Classic me," he sighed. His gaze had been drifting toward you for a while now, darting away whenever you caught him. Eventually, though, it settled fully on you. "You've changed a lot too. Which, I guess, is obvious considering how much time has passed. Still, it surprises me more than it should. You’ve finished school by now, right?"

"Right. Though I feel like I should be asking you which degree you’re on now."

That sent the two of you down the path of catching up—old-fashioned life updates that somehow didn’t feel tedious or like either of you wanted to change the subject. It turns out, when you’re interested in someone enough, even hearing about their Thursday trips to the farmer’s market for fresh eggplants to make some fancy casserole can feel fascinating.

With genuine curiosity, you caught up on everything that had happened over the years, growing more relaxed as the evening stretched on. Question, answer, sarcastic jab, playful comment. Anecdote, opinion. Gratitude that you’d chosen to come out for this meeting instead of barricading yourself at home, surrounded by the thoughts you still hadn’t confronted and the walls steeped in the lingering presence of your father. A desire to capture your shared laughter, to trap it in time. A tightening in your stomach—though maybe that was just you.

Nostalgia was a dangerous pursuit. It stretched like a rubber band, reaching deeper and deeper into the past, plucking out the good parts. But at some point, it always had the potential to snap back, hitting you square in the face.

“You know,” Spencer started suddenly, his tone quieter, more thoughtful. “I really hate that it took something like this for us to meet again. And that it’s been so long.”

You shrugged, letting out a soft sigh.

“Well, it’s not like you made much of an effort to stay in touch.”

The words landed like a pebble dropped into still water, rippling outward. Both of you stiffened in your seats, and you both noticed it. A part of you regretted saying it, but another part—heart pounding in an inner applause—did not.

Even though you hadn’t delivered it with sharpness or cutting sarcasm, you could see from the way his expression tightened that the atmosphere around you had shifted.

“You didn’t, either,” he pointed out. His tone was calm, almost detached, but above all, honest.

You shifted in your seat, trying to shake off the weight of your own hypocrisy. For a moment, the two of you just stared at each other in silence.

Spencer opened his mouth as if to say something, then shut it again. When he finally spoke, his voice was softer, almost a whisper, carrying an undertone of apology.

“I just want you to know…it’s not like I stopped thinking about you. It wasn’t the news about your dad that reminded me you exist.”

"Spencer, please… don’t lie," you blurted out almost involuntarily. You squeezed your eyes shut tightly for a moment, your temples tensing. Of course, you couldn’t just enjoy a pleasant evening—you had to let your inner frustration spill out. You wouldn’t be yourself otherwise. Biting the inside of your cheek, you pressed on despite that or the expression on his face.

"I mean, I know that’s exactly how it was, because it was the same for me. You crossed my mind a few times, sure, but let’s not kid ourselves. If we had really meant that much to each other, we’d have met up long, long before now."

He shook his head as he listened to your words, simultaneously rejecting them and admitting their truth, as his tense jaw suggested.

"I went to see your parents," he confessed suddenly, hesitating as he wet his bottom lip with his tongue, a faint, somber smile touching his face. "It was actually the only time I came back here, after my mom… after I placed her in a sanitarium. I was hoping to run into you, but your dad said you hardly ever came home."

"Was he sober when you talked to him?"

"It was lunchtime."

You couldn’t hold back and let out a short laugh.

"Oh, boy, you missed a lot."

His eyes softened yet stiffened at the same time in a paradoxical way. You saw how he straightened slightly in his seat, as the saliva that had long been gathering in your mouth threatened to spill. You weren’t sure what you hoped to achieve by bringing up your father. Maybe you were trying to make some twisted, clumsy argument, or perhaps, after everything that had revolved around him in the past few days, your mind instantly turned to his figure every time you were too exhausted to pull up anything else. It was easy. Silence, awkwardness, pain. The memory of your father, the immediate understanding directed toward you. Almost pity, but dressed up in a more pleasant package.

"Do you have any idea what was going on with him in the last few years?" you asked, empty.

"He had a problem? You know, with drinking?"

You tried not to snort in contempt at the question.

"He’s always had a problem," you stated, your hands tightening slightly on your chest under the table. You'd never spoken to anyone about this aloud. Any grievances you had with him were always kept in your head, knowing you wouldn’t find understanding from people who hadn’t lived with your father every day. Who knew him as a cop with an iron fist, but with a big heart for suffering, innocent people. "Well, I don’t know if you remember. Beer as an inseparable part of the day. Or maybe more of the evening. But he had a stressful job, right? It’s normal to have a drink or two in front of the TV, isn’t it?"

Spencer’s lips pressed together tightly.

“He saw a lot of crap every day, so of course, he’d take it out by yelling at his wife,” you continued, not stopping the bitterness building up inside you. It had been there for so long, but never formed into one angry thought. It surfaced every time someone spoke of him in glowing terms, patting you on the shoulder and pitying your loss with a tear in their eye. “Or at his daughter. He had to control everything, right? After all, he worked hard. He deserved to come home to a perfect family, in a perfect house, with no complaints.”

You stopped, closely watching his reaction. Maybe you'd said too much, unloaded too much all at once, putting too much pressure on him.

“I remember when we were thirteen,” he suddenly spoke, in a strangely detached tone. It was as if he was talking about something that had unexpectedly lodged itself in his mind and couldn't wait. “And he let us try beer.”

Well, that wasn't the response you'd expected. But really, what did you expect? You'd told yourself countless times that someone's sympathy wouldn't change anything about your situation. But still, you felt a sting, as if he was changing the subject and brushing off your words.

“He let you try the beer,” you corrected him automatically. Yet, despite your grim mood, the corner of your mouth quivered involuntarily. “But you gave it to me because you didn’t like it.”

The memory flooded you, bringing a wave of others with it.

Another summer evening filled with shouting.

You waited until the two arguing figures disappeared into the kitchen walls before quietly slipping through the terrace doors. You’d started doing this a while ago. Your father had always been strict, making sure your mother sent you to bed at the designated time—unchanged since you were seven. And that year, you were twelve. Anyway, one evening, you lay trembling under your blanket. Even the smallest argument seemed like a horror story in a child’s eyes. You saw the light on at your neighbor’s house—Spencer’s and his mom’s. Knowing that after drinking, your father’s vigilance and control weakened, you decided to take the risk.

You managed to sneak out unnoticed once, then again. Soon, it became normal. You’d return about an hour later when the situation calmed down, and his drunken anger had finally shifted to drunken sleepiness, and he wouldn’t notice your return. You never asked about it directly, but your mom probably knew.

“Can we watch something normal, just this one time?” you whimpered at the sight of another nature documentary on the TV in the Reid’s living room.

Spencer, lying on his stomach on the carpet, jumped slightly, startled when you slipped in through the glass terrace doors. However, he was starting to get used to your evening visits and quickly shook off the shock.

“There’s nothing more normal on earth than the processes that happen on its surface,” he said, turning his gaze back to the TV.

You raised your finger, sticking out your front teeth.

“There’s nothing more normal on earth than the processes that happen on its surface,” you repeated, mimicking his pretentious tone in an exaggerated way.

“Go away.”

“Then give me the remote.”

You chased each other around the living room, trying to wrest the remote from each other’s hands. Your squeals, arguments, and laughter never seemed to disturb Spencer’s mom, which always puzzled you. She didn’t even come out when you accidentally knocked over the bookshelf, sending several shelves of books crashing to the floor, which you both scrambled to pick up in a panic.

You often wondered that every day, Spencer watched those science programs, alone in the living room, with the terrace doors open. The darker thought would occasionally cross your mind: What if, just that one time, someone else had barged in? What would have to happen to pull Diane Reid out of one of those strange states she sometimes slipped into, when nothing around her mattered, not even her own son? But, as you said, those were very rare thoughts. After all, you were just a kid.

“Why can’t you watch TV at your place?” Spencer asked, pouting his lips.

He lost the fight for the remote, and you were now watching cartoons. His eyes absorbed them with interest, even though he denied it.

“Evenings, the TV belongs to my dad.”

“Couldn’t you ask him to let you watch something sometimes?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because no.”

“That’s not an answer!”

But even though he pretended to be unhappy, the terrace doors remained open every evening.

You confessed to Spencer that your father had always been like that. He pretended to be fine, then would crack, and afterward deny everything. You saw hesitation on his face as he listened, especially when you described how things were during your childhood. Spencer Reid liked to be right, and he absolutely trusted his own judgment. He hadn’t been a direct witness to those events, unlike you. Your father had always adored him—the small, smart neighbor kid who skipped grades and always asked so many questions about his work in the police. Of course, he had always been the best version of himself around Spencer. You also suspected that he probably always wished for a son.

His assessment, therefore, might not have been objective. He hadn’t seen what went on behind closed doors. For a moment, fear crept up on you. Did he even believe your words? Or did he think you were just fabricating a tragic story to explain a real problem that, in reality, hadn’t started until after you moved out?

Spencer just gave a barely noticeable nod, his forehead tense.

"You spent so much time at our house," he said quietly, uncertainly. "Why...why didn’t you ever tell me what was really going on? Back then and later on?"

You shrugged. Inside, you could have easily mocked your father’s addiction, but in reality, you were still deeply ashamed of it. Like any family of an alcoholic, hiding his bottles, lying that he was sick when unexpected guests came over, never calling the problem by its name.

"I don’t know. You liked him so much." A moment of silence, swallowing hard. "And he liked you."

"I respected him. Like I think everyone did."

One of Spencer's most painful yet beautiful childhood memories was that one specific moment during the holidays. He always spent them only with his mom, who wasn’t always feeling the best, but that one moment stayed with him as something special. When they stepped out onto the terrace, where they had the perfect view of the terrace of the neighboring house. The family that lived there—mom, dad, and their daughter—would also lean out, and they would all sincerely wish each other a Merry Christmas.

Their house was always decorated with colorful lights and those slightly eerie garden gnomes in the night light. They stood on their doorstep, the three of them. Neatly dressed, their daughter in a red dress with a large bow in her hair, clinging to her mother's side. They always seemed so happy, so perfect to him. A strange feeling would arise in his chest, and he’d move closer to his mother’s side, but that only intensified the sensation of something missing inside him.

"You looked up to him."

"Because I was a kid. Look, just because he had an impact on me, on my future…it doesn’t mean I’m diminishing what you or your mom went through," he finally explained, his voice tinged with a slight crack. His gaze was both confused and sad, still processing everything he’d just heard. "It’s really awful, and no one should go through that. I can’t believe I didn’t see it. Or maybe I did, but I didn’t want to? Anyway…I’m sorry for being so clueless."

"You weren’t clueless," you assured him, a weak smile forming on your lips. His words echoed in your mind. “You were just a kid. And I didn’t bring this up to make you feel bad. I’m sorry if that’s how it came across. I just...I wanted at least one person, besides me, to have the full picture”

He nodded, but not in the mindless way that merely signals someone is paying attention. This was different—a deep, understanding gesture, replacing the words that had been growing more difficult to say. You both sat there in silence for a moment, your fingers mechanically tapping out a slow rhythm on the dark wood of the table, while his rested motionless on his knees. It was hard to return to that relaxed, pleasant conversation you’d started with.

“I’m glad we could meet,” you said simply, but honestly.

Usually, saying something like that signals the speaker is preparing to leave. You had already spent a lot of time in the small bar, and with the evening progressing, the crowd hadn’t really changed—only a few more people had trickled in. The thought of going home wasn’t so bad anymore, but still, you hesitated before getting up and grabbing the coat hanging on the back of his chair.

“I am too,” Spencer admitted, briefly rubbing his forehead above his glasses. “But before you go, please, tell me—how’s your mom handling it? Maybe you should give her my regards. I hope she’s...”

He stopped mid-sentence, reading the expression on your face, and immediately understood.

"When...when?"

There was something unbearably unsettling about the plastic chairs in the hospital waiting room. At the same time, you could feel your legs completely numb from sitting in them, yet you also felt you didn’t have the strength to get up. You were effectively stuck, like a prisoner awaiting their sentence. In some ways, that’s exactly what it was.

When you were fourteen, your mom started acting strangely. She got sick—started with mild symptoms like headaches and nausea. Then, she lost consciousness at work, and that’s when they found the brain tumor.

When people hear such news about their loved ones, they often completely change their lives. They pull themselves together to be a support for them, they face the painful reality, and they find the strength to fight their own demons, like quitting alcohol. But your father, he took an entirely different route. It seemed like he was sinking deeper into it. No one really reacted. After all, he was a man facing tragedy; surely, it was okay for him to have one too many drinks. Previously strict with his parenting, he no longer seemed to care much about you.

This threw you into a state of confusion. At that moment, more than ever, you needed an adult, a parent, even if they were the most controlling person in the world. Actually, rules might have even helped keep your family in check, maintaining the appearance of normality.

For the first time, you felt the urge to confide in someone, but you had no one. Spencer had started college, which still seemed absurd to you, considering you were the same age. Your contact with him had dwindled, just when you started thinking of him as a true friend—not the ironic, childish kind. You met from time to time, of course, but it was always hard to open up, especially about what was happening at home. Maybe, if he’d been around, he’d have noticed your dad’s decline. But he wasn’t, and it felt silly to even entertain alternative theories, as if they could change the past.

Your knees shook involuntarily, your fingers almost breaking through them. In the room next door, they were performing the surgery to remove the tumor, which was located in a difficult spot, as the doctor, with a gentle yet experienced face, explained to you in a tone that almost sounded apologetic—as though it was his fault. Your dad had been there with you earlier, but you had no idea where he went with the passing of time. Did you even want to know? No. You wanted to be with your other parent—your mom. You didn’t want to leave that room for a second; you wanted to be the first to hear any news, whatever it might be.

The empty chair beside you was suddenly occupied by someone. You kept your gaze fixed on the floor, staring at your shoes, trying not to suffocate on your own breath. You didn’t notice who it was.

"Two years ago," you informed him. After those words, there was always silence—people calculating in their heads whether two years was enough time for you to have pulled yourself together, or if they should treat you like a fragile porcelain figurine at risk of cracking. You always helped them, softening the tension that followed with something disarming. "But don’t worry. We weren’t really in touch by then, so you don’t have to feel bad about not knowing."

Okay, that was one of the stranger things you could have said. Spencer must have thought the same; his mouth literally fell open in disbelief.

"Of course I feel bad," he managed, his voice a mix of a sigh and an incredulous scoff, shaken yet laced with growing pain. He quickly shook his head, as if trying to snap himself out of it. "Of course I feel bad. I—I don’t know why you’d think I wouldn’t. She’s your mom."

Someone’s hand awkwardly reached out to take yours.

You glanced to the side, realizing with disbelief that the person who had sat down next to you was Spencer.

The boy who would get goosebumps at the mere thought of germs. Who openly mocked the idea of drinking from the same bottle, sometimes blurting out that kissing was safer than shaking hands—only to blush furiously when he realized how that sounded.

And yet, he did it. Hesitant, of course, but he reached for your hand, giving it a gentle squeeze to disguise the trembling. You barely noticed it. Your hand was shaking too.

Modern-day Spencer rested his forearms on the table, leaning forward. The return of your mother’s tumor had been a blow, and her passing, another. Time, however, had marched on, and you had learned to move through life with that weight. Thoughts of her hadn’t brought tears to your eyes in quite some time. But at the sight of his reaction, the familiar sting returned.

To him, she hadn’t just been your mom. She was the woman in whose house he had spent a significant part of his childhood. The one who always stopped herself at the last moment from enthusiastically hugging him on his birthday, remembering his aversion to touch. The one who listened to him with fascination, praising his brilliance while gently, softly asking how his own mother was doing. The one who loved to sit wrapped in a blanket on the porch with a book, watching as the two of you played a self-invented version of chess that involved running laps around the yard before each move.

You leaned back from him, blinking rapidly to dispel the swell of emotion.

Your mom was to stay in the hospital for a while longer. Night had fallen, and though you couldn't remain until morning, your dad was still nowhere to be found. Instead of fruitlessly searching for him, you and Spencer decided to walk home. The empty streets of the suburbs seemed to meditate in the stillness between you, adjusting to the rhythm of your silence.

Your feet, however, led you both to the playground—a place you hadn't visited in years, having convinced yourselves that you were too old for such things. Even though it was summer, a strange chill settled over your shoulders as you sat in silence on the two solitary swings. Each motion forward felt like it brought you closer to the stars.

It wasn’t that night, specifically, but sometime shortly after, you began to realize that you were starting to feel something more. Lightly, in that innocent, teenage way, you found yourself falling for your best friend. At first, you would have rather died than admit it, but the feeling lingered.

Over the next four years, you saw each other regularly but rarely due to his studies. But you awaited each of these meetings with the greatest impatience, while simultaneously becoming more and more terrified of your own feelings.

"I'm so very sorry I wasn't here then," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. You wanted to shake your head in understanding, to reassure him, but he cut you off. "Not even just at the funeral itself. Just...with you."

"Stop," you pleaded weakly. "You didn’t know. I didn’t tell you. I probably missed a lot of things that happened in your life along the way too." You swallowed to wet your dry throat. The words came out with difficulty, your voice trembling slightly. "At some point, we stopped talking to each other—not the first childhood friends to drift apart and definitely not the last. It just.. happens."

"That doesn’t mean it was right," he replied without hesitation, tilting his head, clearly convinced of the truth in his statement. You weren’t so sure, given your hidden feelings, ones you had no intention of revisiting. Not then, not in that moment, not in that bar. During a meeting that was about to end.

"I’ve known you forever. Well, okay, not literally, but I’ve known you since my brain was forming the most—frontal lobes developing and…what I mean is, you’re really important to me. And I wasn’t there for you when both your parents…"

You let the completion of that sentence fade into the space around you. In the bar, which seemed to exist only in the space you occupied. Breathing more heavily, you recalled all the moments over the past six years when you missed him, wondering what he was up to and how he was doing. Which usually went hand in hand. Sometimes he would cross your mind when you saw kids playing chess in the park, other times you simply thought of him, unable to attribute the guilt to any particular association.

"You’re here now," you said gently, unable to say anything else.

He was still slightly leaning over the table, towards you. Suddenly, as if he realized his position, he slowly leaned back into his chair, exhaling more heavily after a long moment of silence.

You were unable to move, the growing sense of guilt shaping on his face. And when he felt guilty, so did you.

Your goal was to rise from the chair, but your body, against your will, made a different move. To both your surprise, it reached for both of his hands resting on the table, clasping them gently. You tried not to focus on their texture, not to compare them to how they had been before, not to search for that familiar feeling, not to flow with the current of any memories.

Simply to keep him in place for a moment.

“Thank you for being here today,” you whispered, gently squeezing his hands. His fingers, initially limp in yours, were slowly beginning to reconnect, though there was a certain confusion in them. The same confusion was in his eyes. “Thank you for coming as soon as you found out. It really means a lot, Spencer. It really does to me.”

For a moment, you both stayed silent, looking at each other. You both thought you would say something more. You would expand on the thought, maybe call him the best friend you've ever had. Perhaps, without thinking, you'd mention that once you had loved him in a way that might have seemed unexpected. Well, both those options passed through your mind like shadows.

“It’s late.” The third option won. If you had a watch, you would have glanced at it dramatically. That was all that was missing to complete this scene. “I really should be going.”

He opened his mouth to protest, but no sound came out. In the end, he just nodded with silent understanding when he noticed what time it was. Though, it wasn't the time that was the problem. After all, you were both adults who didn’t have a curfew. You could have stayed there until morning. But would that really be good for you?

Slowly, you pulled your coat over your shoulders.

Spencer didn’t move. You wondered if he planned on staying there.

"Do you... do you want me to walk you home?" he asked suddenly, hesitating.

You looked at him, unsure, slipping your hands into your pockets.

"I’m heading the same way," he added quickly, slowly getting up from his seat, even though you hadn’t agreed yet.

You raised an eyebrow in surprise, then remembered that the Reid house hadn't been put up for sale and had been sitting empty for years. You waited until he had put on his coat, and then both of you were exposed to the crisp night air. As you crossed the street, an occasional car passed by with its headlights on, making you both squint. You couldn’t help but think how you never expected that if you ever found yourselves together, side by side in your hometown, it would feel like this. Perhaps you hadn’t even thought that you’d never see each other again. After all, it was quite possible you’d run into each other a few more times. People often bumped into their neighbors from the same apartment block on the other side of the world during vacations, fate had a wicked sense of humor. What you didn’t expect, however, was how present the ghost of your childhood, and the memories it carried, would be during this encounter.

Your steps were oddly small, as though your feet had shrunk. Unconsciously, you extended the walk, turning into a wrong street, just like when you had returned from the hospital after visiting your mother.

“Are you stopping here?” you asked, your gaze absently drifting to the empty swings on the playground you passed.

Spencer’s eyes followed yours in that direction, and his steps even slowed a little. He probably would’ve stopped if you hadn’t kept moving confidently ahead.

“Just for one night,” he replied, adjusting his glasses on his nose. There wasn’t much enthusiasm in his voice. Sometimes, returning to the family home didn’t bring joy to grown-up children, especially when the house had been empty for a long time—or unbearably loud, depending on the family. “I’m actually flying out tomorrow. I just...really wanted to talk to you.”

You nodded, briefly asking about his mom, then about work, though not in a probing way—just the steady rhythm of a lazy conversation. Slowly, the familiar neighborhood began to shift into the one etched deeply in your subconscious, the one you had both memorized long ago.

Eventually, you both found yourselves forced to stop, mainly due to the sight of your family homes. Standing steadfastly side by side, just like you both had during that entire walk.

“Maybe we should meet up,” he suggested quietly, stopping in front of you. “You know, tomorrow. Just for a moment.”

Staring at his face, bathed in the orange glow of the streetlight, you gently nodded.

“And...maybe sometime after that,” he added.

You were a little short of words, but not because you didn’t want to see him again. It was simply that you didn’t like making promises driven by the moment. For now, you both drowned in nostalgia, unwilling to part ways and disrupt it. But who knew? Maybe once you disappeared from each other’s sight, you’d forget each other’s phone numbers again. Your hesitation seemed to stir something on his face. Perhaps he took it as a refusal.

You sighed deeper and rose onto your toes, wrapping your arms around his neck. It was a very slow, lazy embrace, gradually melding into his body as the scent of his clothes began to tickle your nostrils, and your chin sank deeper into his shoulder, like it was a pillow.

Spencer remained stiff for a moment. You’d only hugged before once, when you were packing your suitcase into the car before leaving for college, as far from your hometown as possible. That hug had been difficult for you. This one, although it too was a form of farewell, felt pleasant and hard to break. Especially when he pulled you closer, wrapping his arms tightly around your back, almost lifting the tips of your fingers off the ground. You heard a soft sigh escape his lips before you pulled away to arm’s length.

"So...see you," you muttered, slowly stepping back, heel to heel. You felt like a magnet being forcibly pulled away from a fridge, shaking your head to get rid of the pull.

Two more small steps back, you should have already turned towards home, but his expression stopped you. Full of hesitation, with a clenched jaw, as if he really wanted to add something, but wasn't sure if he should. You were already half-turned with your back to him.

"Would...would things have been different between us if I hadn't given you that letter back then?" he asked finally, pushing his hands deep into his pockets.

The words seemed to bounce off your ears but didn’t fully reach you. At least not completely. Your posture straightened, freezing in place, facing him once again.

"Well, you know," he tried to explain, forcing a small smile. "We would have stayed in touch more over the years."

"What...what letter, Spencer?"

His brows furrowed, his lips parted, but no sound came from them. Suddenly, he froze, expressionless.

"Did you send me a letter?" you tried, completely not understanding what he meant.

Maybe he had written down your address wrong, and it ended up going to someone else who threw it away. Maybe you had actually received it, but tossed it somewhere in your dorm room, too busy to read it. Then, while dressing, you accidentally knocked it behind your dresser, where it gathered dust through all your years of studying, never meant to reach you again. The cobwebs covering its words, whatever they might have been.

"I left you a letter," he finally said, his voice so fragile that you could almost feel it in your chest. "I knew I wouldn't be able to say it to you. And, well...you were leaving, and I had no idea when we'd see each other again. I just...I didn't want to keep it to myself anymore."

A lingering moment of silence.

"I left it on your terrace," he finally added, barely opening his mouth as he spoke.

You pressed your fist to your chest, closing your eyes for a moment.

"I never got it," you confessed hoarsely, still not looking at him, trying to process what you’d just heard. "On the terrace...God, Spencer. It should've been obvious that someone would throw it out. My mom or dad. Especially him."

He suddenly chuckled, but there was no trace of amusement in it. A bit of absurdity, yes. But mostly, the realization, after all these years, that he had messed up and had no idea about it. On the contrary, he had been under the impression that you knew.

"What was in that letter?"

You felt like you wouldn't go back home until you knew. Spencer, however, shook his head in disbelief, his eyes wide with shock.

"You have to tell me," you insisted firmly. "Whatever it was, please. Even if it's no longer relevant. I just want to know...what you wanted to say to me back then."

His temples tensed as he squeezed his eyes shut. A few breaths later, his muscles loosened. Meanwhile, your body remained still, waiting for what you'd hear.

"I liked you," he finally managed to say. A rush of sound filled your ears. Spencer suddenly let out a bitter chuckle. "It was a love letter. As deep as an eighteen-year-old can get. Maybe...maybe it's better you never got it. I’d be so, so embarrassed by it now…"

"You liked me?" you interrupted him.

You had been enchanted by him for years, not even realizing it for most of that time. Spencer, however, was a complicated teenager, both close and distant at the same time. He was reserved when it came to emotions, impenetrable. Sometimes he’d blush, but never once made a move, never.

He shrugged.

"Well, I guess it doesn't really matter now," he replied. He tried to smile, attempting to wipe away a certain sorrow that still lingered beneath the surface of his expression. "Back then, it didn't really matter much either. But...maybe it's good that you know now. You have...the full picture."

You laughed in a way that was almost tearful, surprising him. He shifted uncomfortably, trying to figure out what he had done wrong to provoke such a reaction from you.

"I think we should talk," you finally said, nervously nodding toward your house. "Maybe...maybe you could come in?"

With held breath, you waited for his response. You felt the suggestion was a bit silly. No conversation could change the course of the last few years, force its direction or undo what had already been set in motion. But you no longer cared about changing anything that had happened between you two. What was in the past was probably already irrelevant. What you wanted now was honesty. The full picture, as he had said. You wanted both of you to have it.

"I don't think so," he replied, taking an unsure step back. A nervous laugh escaped him, probably to loosen himself up. "I mean... I don’t even remember what was in that letter anymore, if you're still curious. It doesn't matter at all... we don’t have to talk about it. You don’t have to feel like you should…”

"I liked you too"

Spencer stopped in his tracks, his hands slipping out of his pockets where he had been nervously hiding them.

"I really think we should talk a little more," you added.

It turned out that those hours spent talking in the bar, just the two of you, hadn’t been enough.

You watched as his chest rose and fell, his head nodding slowly. He agreed.

taglist: @she-wont-miss @mggslover @nyeddleblog @dylanobrienswife0420 @wmoony

@heddgie @khxna @marauder-exe-old @yujyujj @charleyreid @kitty-kai @sp3ncelle @pleasantwitchgarden @beesin03 @misserabella @re1dsb1xch @trulymadlydarling @cynbx @penelopegarciaismygf @awordsmith

#i'm so unwell #spencer reid angst #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid criminal minds #spencer reid fanfic #dr spencer reid #spence reid #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you

427 notes · View notes

im-so-normal-iswear · 5 months ago

Note

Hi.... can I ask for a shadow x reader who is afraid of them

A/n: this was a bit rushed.

Shadow x Reader Who Is Afraid of Him

When you first met Shadow, his presence was overwhelmingly intimidating. Its just everything he has going on. And honestly, you aren't entirely wrong to be scared of him.

Shadow isn’t oblivious to your fear. the way you distance yourself, voice dropping to a mutter when around him, etc. all of it is painfully obvious to him. At first, he’s indifferent. Your fear doesn’t bother him, he’s used to it. Most people fear him, so your reaction isn’t new.

Though, it comes to a point it starts to irritate him. When he approaches, you flinch. When he speaks, you stiffen. Even when he’s doing something as mundane as sitting quietly, you seem on edge. This begins to bother him in ways he doesn’t fully understand.

Shadow isn’t the type to openly comfort anyone, but he starts making subtle changes to his behavior around you. He softens his tone when speaking to you, ensuring his words aren’t as sharp. Approaches you more slowly, giving you time to adjust to his presence. If he notices you startle when he moves too quickly, he’ll try to keep his movements deliberate and less abrupt.

Despite his efforts, Shadow finds it difficult to change who he is. He’s naturally intense, and suppressing his instincts is frustrating for him.

He often wonders why he’s going to such lengths to make you comfortable. The realization that he cares about your opinion (about how you see him) unnerves him. It’s not something he’s used to.

Shadow begins observing you more closely, trying to figure out why you’re so afraid of him. I mean, hes supposedly fixed (to the best of his ability) everything that freaked you out about him. Why were you still scared?

He watches how you interact with others, noting the ease with which you speak to them, and comparing it to the guarded way you act around him.

He doesn’t understand why you treat him differently. Are you afraid of his power? His reputation? Or is it something deeper?

Though he has innocent intentions, you do notice him kind of stalking you, which does NOT help with your fears.

One day, Shadow decides he’s had enough of your fear and confronts you about it. His approach is… not gentle. "Why are you so afraid of me?" he asks, his tone as direct and intense as ever.

Your immediate reaction is panic, which only frustrates him further. He doesn’t mean to scare you, but his impatience gets the better of him. When he realizes he’s only made things worse, he backs off.

If anyone else notices your fear of Shadow and tries to tease you about it, Shadow shuts them down immediately.

He doesn’t care what others think of him, but the idea of someone making your fear worse infuriates him. He’s quick to silence anyone who dares to make you uncomfortable.

If you do start getting more comfortable around hin, hes secretly happy, nit tgat he will tell you, or show it at all. Hes still just look like hes silently brroding like usual. But is happy about it though regardless.

#fanfic #shadow the ultimate lifeform #shadow the hedgehog x reader #shadow x reader #shadow the hedgehog #reader who is scared of him #reader who is afraid of him #reader who is afraid of them

406 notes · View notes

kcrossvine-art · 1 year ago

Text

Hi fellow adventurers!! A few weeks ago i caught wind of "Delicious in Dungeon". I'm not really an anime person, but I am a TTRPG, CRPG, and cooking person- . And holy shit. It is so good i convinced my partner to binge read the whole thing. I'm caught up on dungeon meshi, the anime, and just yesterday i also finished dungeon meshi, the manga.

Its rare to come across a serialized story that is so thematically cohesive and knows its characters so well. All of the bonus content like the artbooks and monster tidbits are just the icing on top.

So, inspired by Ryōko Kui's writing and illustration I'm going to attempt to create a recipe for every single Delicious in Dungeon recipe!-

Today that means Huge Scorpion and Walking Mushroom hotpot is on the menu!

(As always you can find the cooking instructions and full ingredient list under the break-)

MY NAMES CROSS NOW LETS COOK LIKE ANIMALS

SO, “what goes in to a Huge Scorpion and Walking Mushroom hotpot?” YOU MIGHT ASKThis is one of the pricier dishes until we get to the kelpies and dragons of the menu-

Rock lobster tail

Porcini mushrooms

Shiitake mushrooms

Snow fungus

Small potatos

Fensi (glass noodles)

Water

OPTIONAL: your choice of dipping sauces

There was a crossover/promotional event in Shibuya which featured various realworld dishes from the series. They had one for Huge Scorpion and Walking Mushroom, but they used prawns. while those cook better in a hotpot, they also didn't look enough like the scorpion for me, they also used udon noodles for the slime and a seaweed/kale(?) mixture for the algae. If you're looking for substitutes due to price or availability i would start with those ingredients.

AND, “what does a Huge Scorpion and Walking Mushroom hotpot taste like?” YOU MIGHT ASKI hope Senshi would forgive me for technically cooking the lobster outside the pot, once he tastes it.

Okay im always partial to veggies but wowowowowowowoowowowow the snow fungus and the mushrooms tasted soooooooooooo good in the lobster stock

A nice delicate layering of different flavors

Try to get a bite with the lobster meat and shiitake together, dip in butter then chili- trust me

Its up to you what texture you prefer if you want to put the noodles in at the end or put them in halfway through the meal. Either way dont go for eating those first as theyre very filling

I think this would pair well with a citrus drink, something light and clarifying

This would also pair well with being extremely high and hungry (if you feel safe cooking while inebriated lol) very calorically dense

For the trial run I did one lobster tail in the pot with everything else, and one lobster tail off to the side to be picked apart. The former is more in spirit with a hotpot, but it got rubbery as the meal went on and lost its nice taste. The latter may be a bit more work but all you have to do still is boil it and set it aside. I found it held up much better. It was also easier to get inside the shell.

. If you have hardshell maine lobster available, i think it would be superior to rock lobster (keep in mind crustaceans will get rubbery if cooked too long in the pot) . Green onions and/or lotus root would make excellent additions

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

From getting the ingredients out to sitting down and eating, id say it took maybe 30 minutes max? It'd vary on how fast you can prep vegetables and get the various implements heated.

Hotpots are not something i do very often as i'm usually just feeding myself. I think thats why a hotpot makes perfect sense to start the series off. If you want to set the tone of "take care of yourself, eat food with others, and use what you have" (generally speaking) there is nothing more simplistic, flexible, and defeats-the-purpose-if-you-eat-it-alone than a hotpot. Gather around and let your friends bring ingredients to the pot if you want to fill your heart up extra full <3

I'm doing something different here because unlike previous recipes where i used a bunch of different sources and made my own recipe out of hodge-podging it, or just used another persons recipe entirely if they did it really well, i made this more whole-cloth based off of what i had available, what I could discover through research, and my existing knowledge. Instead of the recipe being 50/50 original, this one is more 20/80. So. I'll pass the final verdict off to you guys :D

What would you rate this recipe out of 10? (with 1 being food that makes one physically sick and 10 being food that gives one a lust for life again.) Did you love it, did you hate it? What're your thoughts on what I could do different, and what would you have done instead?

🐁 ORIGINAL RESIPPY TEXT BELOW 🐁

Ingredients:

2 Rock lobster tails

3 Porcini mushrooms

2 Shiitake mushrooms

Snow fungus (a good handful, should rehydrate in the hotpot)

2 Small waxy potatos

Fensi (glass noodles)

Water/lobster stock

Method:

Lightly rinse all of your vegetables beforehand and let them dry.

Vertically slice the porcini mushrooms. Cut off and dice the stems of the shiitake mushrooms. You can slice the tops if youd like.

Peel and cube the potatoes, roughly an inch each.

For the lobster tails; Boil a pot of salted water. Keep the shell on. Weigh the largest tail and add 1 minute of cooking time for every ounce of weight.

When done, strain the lobster from the water. Pour the water into your hotpot as the base. Serve the lobster on the side so people can pick the meat out to dip into the hotpot.

Bring the hotpot to a simmer. Add the potato cubes, snow fungus, mushrooms, and noodles.

OPTIONAL: this wasnt in the show, but its fun having sauces on the side :) i had oyster sauce, dry seasoned chili dip, melted butter, and soy sauce available

#dungeon meshi #delicious in dungeon #cooking #digital art

1K notes · View notes

daisymbin · 6 months ago

Text

do you like me? - yoon jeonghan

warnings: as usual, alcohol as it is part of the drunken series , use of "she"

pairings: yoon jeonghan x reader

genre: friends to lovers, tiny bit of fluff, jealous jeonghan

wc: 2.2k

a/n: i cant believe its 2.2k wc, i was only aiming for 1000 minimum LOL. also im sorry yall, I feel like this fic didn't show more of 'drunk jeonghan' but I tried my best so I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing this one! also I miss yoon jeonghan :(

drunken confessions masterlist

check out my masterlist! // hannie's m.list

jeonghan had always been playful with you. his teasing was a daily occurrence, a steady rhythm in the chaos of your shared lives. whether it was his shameless compliments, sly smiles, or that way he always seemed to invade your personal space, it was his favorite game; to make you blush, to get you stumbling over your words. he was drawn to the way you’d turn red, to your quiet flustered reactions. for him, each shy smile, every averted gaze was a little victory, he savoured each & every one of them.

but today was different.

you’d bitten off more than you could handle, volunteering to organize tonight's dinner without realizing the work it entailed. you thought it was easy; I mean, its just dinner right? but you forgot the part where its for 14 people. part of you wanted to ask jeonghan for help, he was resourceful, organized, and probably the best person for the job. yet, just the thought of sitting with him, of his teasing comments while he leaned close to look over the details, made you anxious. you could already imagine his smirk, the inevitable, “oh, so you do need me,” that would tumble from his lips. the thought alone had your cheeks heating up, so instead, you turned to seungcheol.

“hey, cheol,” you called, catching his attention. “could you… help. me with tonight's dinner planning? i’m a little overwhelmed.”

seungcheol looked at you with an easy smile. “of course. what do you have in mind so far?”

you settled beside him, going over the checklist you’d made. seungcheol was focused, nodding along, giving practical suggestions. his presence always easy and comforting for you.

meanwhile, jeonghan had wandered into the room just in time to see you sidle up to seungcheol. his eyes narrowed slightly, taking in how close the two of you were, your heads bent together, deep in conversation. you laughed at something seungcheol said, and jeonghan felt his chest tighten. he was used to your flustered, shy reactions, but this was different. with seungcheol, you looked comfortable, relaxed: in a way you never were around him.

the more he watched, the more that flicker of irritation grew, a quiet jealousy simmering just beneath the surface. he didn’t realize he’d been clenching his fists until he caught seungcheol looking at you with that friendly smile, his hand resting casually on the back of your chair. something inside him snapped.

walking over, jeonghan put on his usual casual smile, but there was a tightness to it. “am i interrupting something?” he asked, his voice light but with a sharpness that made you and seungcheol look up.

seungcheol raised an eyebrow, not missing the tension in jeonghan’s expression. “just helping out with the dinner tonight,” he said, meeting jeonghan’s gaze evenly. “she needed some help.”

jeonghan’s gaze flickered to you, his brow furrowing slightly. “really? you needed help?” he echoed, the emphasis on ‘you’ just sharp enough to make your cheeks flush. he turned back to seungcheol, his voice dropping. “you must be really busy to spare the time, huh?”

seungcheol gave a small chuckle, clearly unfazed. “never too busy for a friend,” he replied, his tone pointed, as if daring jeonghan to say something else.

jeonghan’s jaw tightened, and he forced a thin smile. “that’s good,” he said, his voice deceptively soft. “after all, friends should help each other, right?”

he moved closer, positioning himself between you and seungcheol, and leaned over to glance at your notes. “you could’ve asked me, you know,” he murmured, his tone a mix of annoyance and something sharper. “i thought you knew i’d make time for you.”

you looked down, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks. “i… i just thought you might be busy,” you lied, not daring to meet his gaze.

“busy?” jeonghan echoed, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, though there was no humor in it. “funny. because it looks like you had plenty of time to find seungcheol.” he let out a low chuckle, but it lacked his usual warmth, sounding more like he was biting back something he didn’t want to say.

seungcheol raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms as he watched the exchange. “jeonghan, if you wanted to help, all you had to do was say so,” he said, his voice calm but pointed. “i don’t mind stepping aside.” seungcheol; knowing jeonghan's crush on you, was annoyed that jeonghan saw him as a threat.

jeonghan’s gaze hardened for a split second, and he gave a stiff shrug. “no, don’t worry. wouldn’t want to step on anyone’s toes,” he replied, a hint of sarcasm slipping into his voice. he turned back to you, his expression softer but still tinged with frustration. “but angel, just next time, maybe try asking me first?”

he glanced at seungcheol, a flash of irritation crossing his face as he noticed the small smile on seungcheol’s lips.

dinner

dinner that night started lightheartedly enough, filled with jokes, the clinking of glasses, and shared laughter. you were seated across from jeonghan, who seemed quieter than usual, eyes not quite meeting yours. the earlier tension from the day still lingered like an invisible thread between you.

as the evening went on, seungcheol seemed to gravitate towards you, his hand resting casually on your shoulder as he laughed at one of your jokes. every now and then, he’d lean in close to say something only you could hear, his warmth pressing into your side. it was the kind of natural, friendly touch that seungcheol was known for, but tonight, under jeonghan’s watchful gaze, it felt heavier.

jeonghan’s eyes darkened each time seungcheol’s fingers brushed yours or his arm draped over the back of your chair. his usual playful smirk was replaced by a tight line, the humor in his eyes dulled with an emotion he didn’t bother hiding anymore. the casual sips of wine he’d been taking turned into longer, more frequent gulps, his hand clenching the stem of the glass as if it were the only thing anchoring him.

“you’re really good at making everyone laugh, you know that?” seungcheol said with a grin, giving your shoulder a gentle squeeze. you giggled, warmth flooding your cheeks at the compliment, oblivious to the way jeonghan’s jaw clenched from across the table.

“cheol, i think its just you, no one else thinks that." you said as you hit seungcheol's chest playfully. & by "no one else" you really only meant jeonghan because he's sitting there, not a hint of humour on his face. but your gesture towards seungcheol & the added alcohol in his system, heightening his senses only made jeonghan’s frustration spike. the easy way you interacted with seungcheol, so comfortable, without a hint of the nervousness you usually had around him. it felt like salt in an open wound.

jeonghan finally set his glass down with a sharp clink, drawing everyone’s attention. his smile was there, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “seungcheol, you’re really good at making everyone feel special, don't you?” the question was laced with a bitter edge, masked just enough to pass as playful to anyone who wasn’t paying attention.

seungcheol raised an eyebrow, sensing the tension but choosing to play along. “well, someone’s gotta keep the mood up, right?” he chuckled, his arm going back to rest on your shoulder. the familiarity in his posture made jeonghan’s blood simmer.

“right,” jeonghan said, his voice deceptively light as he pushed back his chair and stood up, the scrape of wood against the floor sending a jolt through you. he rounded the table, stopping just behind your chair, his hand landing on the back of it with a grip that made you glance up at him in surprise.

“mind if i steal her for a second?” jeonghan’s tone was polite, but the look he shot seungcheol was anything but.

seungcheol’s eyes narrowed slightly before he let out a short laugh, leaning back and lifting his hands in mock surrender. “by all means,” he said, but the knowing glint in his eyes spoke volumes.

jeonghan leaned down, his face close to yours, voice low enough that only you could hear. “we need to talk,” he murmured, and the way his fingers brushed against your shoulder sent a shiver down your spine.

“o-okay,” you managed to say, your heart thudding in your chest as jeonghan’s gaze bore into yours, filled with an intensity that left no room for argument.

the room around you seemed to hold its breath, the chatter and laughter fading as jeonghan’s jealousy, simmering all night, finally bubbled to the surface.

jeonghan stepped closer, the intensity in his gaze weighing heavily on you. the lighthearted banter that usually flowed so easily between you was replaced by a thick tension that felt almost suffocating. you could feel your heart race, unsure of what was coming, but dreading it all the same.

“i need to get this off my chest. it’s been eating at me all day.” he said, his voice low and shaky,

you swallowed hard, the unease swirling in your stomach. “what is it?”

“do you like seungcheol?”

“what? no, he's just a close friend.” your voice loud and clear.

“good. i don’t want to see you with anyone else,” he confessed, the liquid courage had him spilling words out in a rush, as if he couldn’t hold them back any longer. “not seungcheol, not anyone. it kills me to watch you laugh with him, to see you so at ease when you’re with him.” his eyes glassy.

you opened your mouth to respond, but he cut you off, frustration lining his features. “do you have any idea how much it hurts? every time you go to him instead of me, every time you ask him for help instead of me? it feels like you’re choosing him over me, and i can’t stand it!”

the heat of his words struck you like a slap, and you recoiled slightly, your heart aching at the rawness of his confession. “jeonghan, it’s not like that. i didn’t mean-”

“but it is!” he interrupted, his voice rising with emotion. “why is it so easy with him for you? you say he’s just a friend but when you need help, he’s the first one you think of? when we were sitting round the table for dinner, you just had to sit beside him? i’ve tried to brush it off, to act like it doesn’t bother me, but it does. i like you. like. a lot. i really really like you. and seeing you with him makes me feel like i’m losing you, which is stupid because you were never mine to begin with but it feels like you’ll never see me as anything more than just a friend. and it tears me apart. it just. hurts. do you even think of me? do you even think about me?”

his voice cracked on the last words, the vulnerability laid bare in front of you. your chest felt heavy as you took in the pain etched across his face. “jeonghan, i-”

“no,” he said, shaking his head, anguish flooding his expression. “you don’t have to say anything if you don’t feel the same way. i just… needed you to know how i feel. i’ve been holding this in for so long, and it’s exhausting. i can’t keep pretending that it doesn’t matter to me when it does.”

your heart raced as you processed his confession. you could see the hurt in his eyes, the fear of rejection bubbling beneath the surface. “i… i do care about you,” you finally managed, your voice trembling. “but i was scared to admit it, we’re so…different.” jeonghan’s eyes softened for just a moment, but the hurt was still there, lingering. “then what do we do now?” he asked, the vulnerability seeping back in, but now mixed with an edge of despair. “because watching you be happy with someone else… i don’t think i can handle that anymore. so tell me, do you…do you like me?”

his question brought silence, it hung between you, thick with tension and jeonghan's raw vulnerability that shows his uncertainty, but within it was a glimmer of hope because jeonghan knows what your answer is when you locked eyes, he saw the way you looked at him. the world around you faded away, leaving just the two of you in a moment that felt both terrifying and exhilarating.

whatever was in the magic somaek as mingyu called it when he handed it to you was definitely working, because out of all the times jeonghan teased you to no end & his endless friendly flirting that left you shy & red, this has got to be the one time you really ought to be running away with the way he's looking at you.

so tell me, why is it that when jeonghan pulls you closer by your waist and looks into your eyes as if asking for permission for god knows what, why do you nod your head twice with great certainty? & when jeonghan smiles so wide, bringing his left hand up to your neck to pull your body flush against his own and kisses you on your lips, why do you kiss him back?

#seventeen #seventeen fluff #seventeen imagine #svt fluff #svt #svt x reader #svt angst #fanfic #seventeen x reader #seventeen angst #yoon jeonghan #jeonghan seventeen #jeonghan imagines #jeonghan fanfic #jeonghan angst #jeonghan fluff #yoon jeonghan x reader #jeonghan x reader

588 notes · View notes