I am?

i think i am at least. 21. maybe. how would you know, really.

[evilwrongdoer]

[evilwrongdoer]

i love tumblr bcs i can write whatever and no one will see it anyway if someone does end up reading this get ready for something generic. i am so sad and alone and i miss him more than ive ever missed anyone god i wish he were here i mourn all of the things we didnt get to do and its all my fault that it ended and it always will be. even if he forgave me somehow it would still never be the same between us. i didnt know what i had and i wasted my chance with the only person worth keeping around. i cant do or say anything anymore ive wasted my shot and lost the best person ive ever had in my life, someone who actually cared about be and saw me in a way no one has god i miss him so fucking much idk how im gonna spend 4 days around my extended family without any access to alcohol or other. how am i gonna have my nightly mental breakdown with my grandparents asleep in the next room AAAAAUGH.

[evilwrongdoer]

i wanna do everything ever but also do nothing and every time i try to do something i get bored really quick or like lose focus unless its EXTREMELY easy. just moved out, dont wanna gather my sewing stuff from boxes.. but have to. and want to. but dont do it. WHYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY.

[i-am-a-fish]

I love to eat an entire loafe of bread, and a whole pizza, and bacon and eggs, and I would like steamed vegetable, and tater tots please

[i-am-a-fish]

oh hold on this isn't fridge

[evilwrongdoer]

fridgelr

[evilwrongdoer]

aemond is so pumped up kicks "dont come to school tomorrow" coded istg

[evilwrongdoer]

tbh the fandom content that i have seen so far regarding house of the dragon DOES NOT do the show justice bcs wdym im not even done with the first season and this show has made me discover new forms of suffering. like its genuinely so fucking gut wrenching and insane i love it so much like.

[catcrumb]

[evilwrongdoer]

nothing surprises me more than reading my old unfinished fanfics and realizing that 16yr old me was actually good at writing. anybody want to read a stalker!harry hook x reader?

[evilwrongdoer]

i love talking to myself haha i will post it (if i ever finish it)

[evilwrongdoer]

nothing surprises me more than reading my old unfinished fanfics and realizing that 16yr old me was actually good at writing. anybody want to read a stalker!harry hook x reader?

[johnny-depp-is-loved]

via tcdrawadventure on X/Twitter

[i-am-a-fish]

I love music, it's great

[sentientsky]

repeating this to myself forever and ever

[evilwrongdoer]

Pink in the Night

Notes: i wrote this like... a year ago ish? dont remember everything abt it and im not about to proofread it again because i KNOW i did at least once or twice, anyway yeah this is inspired by pink in the night by mitski, enjoy. edit: i tried reading it actually its so cringe wow i hate this but like idk someone else might like it? also the projecting is craaazzzyyyy.

wordcount: 2.7k

synopsis: reader is an unclaimed demigod in the cabin of hermes, lost in life and fucking exhausted in general. unexpected claiming by an even more unexpected goddess. self love and that.

warnings: mentions of suicidal thoughts, attempted suicide, self harm if you squint and general self hatred depressed teen stuff.

^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_

I awoke.

In the morning sun, my skin seemed to almost glow as I stared at the ceiling in awe.

Another day at camp, another day in the Hermes cabin, unclaimed and unknown, just like so many other children here. They sleep in bunks or on the floor, just as alone and longing as I am. It makes me sad. It makes me feel almost loathing for the godly parent I am supposed to have, supposed to know, and supposed to attempt to please.

I rise from my bed, in the same way I have done for almost a month now

At sixteen years old, it's almost impossible to think there ever will be a purpose for me.

A demigod child, forever hunted, unclaimed and unloved by anyone who isn't here in this forgotten camp alongside me.

A family and a life I never thought I would have. I would have hoped more for myself. Instead, now, a long forlorn high school education lies behind me, one I will never pick up again. A future and a life I will never be able to bring to fruition in a world where no monster in a hundred mile radius doesn't come looking for me. Sometimes, I wish they'd come. Sometimes, I wish I would let them take me, bring me to somewhere where maybe I would have a shred of peace and be able to rest.

But instead, I sit here, at the foot of my bed, surrounded by sleeping bodies of all ages and an endless void of silence.

I head down to the community showers after picking up my toiletry bag with a quiet sigh.

The water is warm, as expected, after I meticulously cleaned the entire cabin yesterday morning.

I let the water run over me, the feeling of it against my skin softer to the touch than anything had been in the last year.

For a moment, I can almost pretend as if the world is mine. As if I am but a simple mortal girl taking a shower before beginning her day in a world that doesn't hate her for simply existing, a world that lets her live in peace.

Nearly a month, I have been here, and still, I haven't gotten used to it. I should be grateful for having a safe place to stay, a roof over my head, and food to eat. Yet I feel only resentment. for the gods, for the abominations in Tartarus that have hunted me for so long with no luck in finally killing me. Still, there are children in the Hermes cabin who have been unclaimed for longer than I have, so maybe I should be more hopeful for the future that lies ahead.

But really, how hopeful can I be? what kind of twisted future could possibly lie ahead of me, someone who is hunted more often than not, to the point where my sword feels heavy in my hand with the lives I have taken.

I should think I am a child of someone who wields much power in olympus, with the things that have been chasing me for so long, but something inside me tells me that's not true. Something tells me I'd know exactly who my godly parent was if only I looked for the signs instead of letting the world decide for me. But what good is knowing if I am not claimed, if my godly parent clearly doesn't care enough to say it to my face?

I rinse the remainder of suds off of my skin before turning off the water, squeezing my wet hair to remove as much moisture as I can from it.

I exit the shower stall, pulling the curtain shut behind me, and pick my large pink towel off the hook on the wall. I wrap the towel around my body, reclaiming my decency on the off chance that someone might walk in while I am still exposed for the world to see. I gently scrunch my hair with my other towel, the smaller one I use for my head.

I made the conscious decision to swing by a bed, bath and beyond and pick up everything I'd need of toiletries before coming to camp, so as to not have to use some crusty towel or cheap shampoo from the big house storage just to get myself clean. I ended up with a set of two large pink towels and two small pink towels, as well as quality shampoos and conditioners and all kinds of other things stolen from the department store.

The Stoll brothers suggested that I might be one of the Hermes kids after I casually mentioned the numerous heists I had performed on my way to camp, but we determined that if this was the case, I would've probably been claimed by now.

I dried my hair with my blow drier, also pink and stolen from bed bath and beyond, and got dressed in my camp shirt and some baggy, knee length shorts.

I curled some pieces of my newly dyed black hair, an impulse I acted on in a random gas station bathroom on my way to camp. When I finished, my bangs were curled perfectly, cupping my head, and my face framing bits were twisted away from my face, making me look poised and well put together even in my camp outfit and in the harsh light of the bathroom mirror.

I returned to the Hermes cabin and put away my things, hanging up my towels on the drying rack outside before entering.

Now, all that was left was my makeup, and I'd be ready for another day of activities and training.

I sat down at the only vanity in the entire cabin, conveniently placed there by order of the other girls in the cabin after they claimed that there was simply no good place to get ready in here. The Hermes counselor, Luke, begrudingly had it put there after his statement that 'The bathroom mirrors are perfectly good for getting ready.' had accidentally started a dispute between him and the girls.

I chuckled quietly at the thought as I plucked my makeup bag from my travel duffel and sat down at the vanity, spreading out my various makeup products on the table in front of me.

Before beginning my routine, I gave myself a look in the mirror.

I looked beautiful

I always seemed to look that way. So put together and elegant even in the worst hours of the night when I pulled my hair out of my scalp strand by strand and wished I was only a spirit and not a person with a body. This godforsaken, cumbersome, and heavy body. This body betrays me with every heartbeat and every sign that I am, somehow, still alive.

I stare in the mirror as I tell myself that I love myself.

I love her, despite everything she's been through; despite the hatred and pain she's suffered. Despite all the times I've almost suffered death at my own hand. Despite all of the wounds that healed almost too perfectly. I shine.

I tell myself I love me.

I love you.

I even say it in my head, over and over again.

I love you, I love you. I love you.

Even whisper it quietly.

I love you.

Finally, the cabin around me begins to wake and starts preparing for the day, just as I have been for the past hour.

I pick up my primer and begin carefully tapping it into my face, watching as my features garner a soft glow.

Then, I swipe just a bit of concealer over the various imperfections on my face. Everywhere but the eye bags. They are my defining characteristic. They frame me for what I am, a demigod. A tortured child of the gods, just like everyone else here.

Almost the whole cabin is awake now, buzzing around me carefully as those who have yet to rise still snore softly.

I apply my mascara and the light eyeliner I wear every day.

I dab on some red eyeshadow right under my water line, careful not to get it in my eye.

Then, I spritz on my favorite perfume, it smells like sweet, sticky summer popsicles and an unrequited love I can never seem to forget. It smells like silver hoop earrings, sunglasses, and hard lemonade on the beach at sunset.

I finish up with my favorite lip tint, a soft, almost blood like lip oil with a glossy nonstick finish. It's the one I've been wearing for years, my perfect color, it matches my skin tone perfectly and compliments all my other features, making the green in my eyes pop, and it's pretty much the same color as my eyeshadow.

As I carefully tap it onto my lips with my finger, I notice it looks slightly pink.

Pink? Did I accidentally pick up the wrong tint? No, I can see the red color clearly under the pink.

..Under the pink?

The entire cabin is awake now as I finish up my makeup, buzzing around me with a sort of eager drowsiness, ready for the day ahead of them.

I squint at my lips in the mirror as I move my finger away to get a better look at them. A soft, pinkish glow seems to be emitting from my lips?

I look up into my eyes, only to notice that they are also emitting a soft, pink hue.

In fact, a halo of pink surrounds my hair and pierces between every strand. It shines through my curtain bangs and covers my shoulders like a soft glow.

It looks almost like an aura. I'm not in front of a white background, though? And even if I was, I know for a fact my aura is not pink.

The pink around me seems to be growing stronger and stronger, almost as if it's coming from inside of me.

For a split second, I wonder if my eyes are playing tricks on me, if I've finally gone crazy to the point where there is no turning back.

I begin to feel the glow, surrounding me with the powerful scent of my memory filled perfume and the warmth and safety of a home I haven't seen in ages.

I feel it on the inside, too, filling my heart and my hollow chest with what feels like knowledge. Something I know, something I've always known but never knew that I knew. You know?

I look down at my hands and see the pure pink glow surround my fingers, growing deeper and brighter with every second. For a second, I almost wonder if I'm about to explode like a glitter bomb.

Maybe this is a prank? Another one of those stupid kid's jokes that the Stoll brothers always pull. I look up in the mirror again and realize I am quite literally bursting with pink light, the feeling both on the inside and outside of my body amplifying with every second I sit here and stare at myself.

I get up in a rush, pushing the chair out from under me with a jarring scraping sound, and turn around.

I am once again staring at my hands as I face the rest of the cabin, and when I look up, I realize Luke is looking straight at me.

So are the Stolls, Chris Rodriguez, and everyone else.

Good, they see it too.

I'm not crazy.

They all ogle at me, eyes wide and mouths lightly agape.

In that moment, as I stare at the eerily quiet Hermes cabin before me, I hear a whisper.

It somehow manages to be in my ears, in my head, and coming from right behind me all at the same time.

The voice of a woman, sweet and tender, almost like a mother.

She whispers one word, more softly than I could ever fathom.

"Aphrodite."

Then, the glow begins to fade quicker than it ever came to be.

And finally, I understand.

I've always known, truly, I was just too scared to say it to myself. To admit defeat.

Luke walks up to me, my shocked face now matching everyone else's as I stare him right in the eyes, desperately looking for some comfort or reassurance or something.

Instead, he stands next to me and grabs my hand, pulling it into the air with his own as he yells out pridefully,

"Aphrodite!"

The entire cabin cheers as they begin to crowd around me, picking me up and carrying me out into the center of the cabin lot.

Chiron stands in the middle, looking mildly confused as the Hermes kids drop me on my feet right in front of him, with Luke materializing at my side in seconds.

"Chiron, she's been claimed," He says, determined.

The centaur scratches his beard, looking me up and down, deciding what to say.

"Aphrodite?" He asks Luke, and he nods.

"Yes, sir, just as we thought."

Huh?

Wait. He knew? They all knew?

Why didn't they tell me?

I mean, I probably wouldn't have believed them.

Despite everything, despite all the signs.

Looking back, I realized just how many signs there had been.

Like every time I did my friends' makeup and they ended up looking better than they ever had before; or when that very same makeup stuck with them for several days at a time, sometimes even weeks.

The popularity I gathered at school because of my polished fashion and makeup senses.

The way I always knew what clothes looked good and what didn't.

And the way I was always able to tell when someone was in love.

It was all there, right in front of my eyes, yet I refused to look past the big picture and focus on the details for once.

Chiron told me to get back to the Hermes cabin and gather my things,  I was to move to the Aphrodite cabin, effective immediately.

Some part of me was nervous. What if I didn't fit in? Maybe I wasn't like them. Maybe the Aphrodite kids would reject me, and I would forever be an outcast, just like I was in my mind.

The nerves that hit me were the same ones that hit me when I first started high school, when I first arrived at camp, or in the Hermes cabin.

I was a little scared.

I mean, how could I not be? Then Aphrodite kids were beautiful, surrounded by love and passion everywhere they went, and I supposed to be one of them now?

I returned to the hermes cabin and hastily packed my things, including the makeup I had left strewn on the vanity table earlier.

Passing glances still caught my eye as I stuffed my things in my duffel bag. Had they all known? Even the Stolls looked very self-satisfied, or at least Travis did, as Connor begrudgingly handed over some drachmas to him.

I got up, bag in hand, looking around to make sure i hadn't forgotten anything.

I walked up to the Stoll brothers, flipping a drachma in the air before placing it in Connor's hand with a smile.

"So? Who's kid did you think I was?" I asked, hoping he had higher expectations for me than his brother.

"Athena. You're too smart to be an Aphrodite kid..." He frowned at his brother, who was still smirking, seeming very proud of himself.

He slapped my shoulder reassuringly, his features now strewn with a sort of compassion.

"You'll do just fine, kid. You're one of the realest Aphrodite kids I've ever met."

I smiled, feeling comfort in knowing that even if I somehow wasn't accepted in the Aphrodite cabin, at least Travis Stoll, of all people, had my back.

His brother shoulder-bumped him before chiming in.

"Hey, would you tell Marié about me? Y'know, boast about how cool and strong I am?" He flexed his nonexistent muscles, earning a resounding laugh from his older brother.

I chuckled softly, promising that I'd tell Marie all about how cool and strong he was after I met her.

Waving goodbye to the few people from the Hermes cabin I had managed to make friends with over the past month, I took a deep breath.

I made my way up to the Aphrodite cabin, stopping in front to admire the beautiful building.

Who would've thought that a normal day and a normal routine would end like this?

I should've known, probably.

Goddess of love, huh?

Passion, beauty, and fertility. Maybe there was something waiting for me in the future after all?

The fight isn't all there is.

[evilwrongdoer]

you ever feel like everything you do is wrong and bad and life isnt worth living anymore

[evilwrongdoer]

nevermind im okay now

[evilwrongdoer]

NOPE BAD BAD BAD BAD BAD BAD BAD

[evilwrongdoer]

laughed at seeing this post actually, i feel better now.

not best obviously but better than i did then yk?

[evilwrongdoer]

pookies its bad again. someone tell me why i feel so empty rn???

[evilwrongdoer]

i need something to live. i can't live on nothing. yet i push myself to the edge like it's a game. i do my best. to live instead of just survive. but it's hard when there's nothing to live for.

[evilwrongdoer]

i am sad. i feel unworthy and not enough in every way. i just want to sleep.

[evilwrongdoer]

nah im cool now (only cuz im dealing with a weird situationship and we all know i love those)

[evilwrongdoer]

weird situationship over. baby is not gonna focus on love anymore (baby is gonna try) ill update on how that goes but for now im fine, just warm and bored 😋

[evilwrongdoer]

I GOT MYSELF BACK, FAGS!!!!

[evilwrongdoer]

erm. idk. i feel, fine i guess? i dont know, im working real hard and focused on that and not love or feelings or whatever. just werk.

[evilwrongdoer]

LIFE IS LIFE. NANANANANA! jk life is like fully on one of those balance scale thingys but like. is okay sometimes? i mean im basically just always either super depressed. lowk chill and out of it, extremely happy, or hollow like a drum. so like super empty but loud abt it lol. anyways maybe ill go to therapy or maybe ill get in another relationship. or maybe ill move out. or maybe ill dye my hair? or maybe ill just like keep living like this until i break. also alcoholism is an option.

[evilwrongdoer]

HI. my brain is fried, i work extremely long hours, and have somehow managed to lose BOTH my passion for cooking AND my passion for writing. but! i have made the sexy mistake of telling one of my coworkers about my writing dream and also this random american lady at a bar? anywhoes, everyone i meet is basically either pursuing their passion or a total bum and since i dont wanna be a total bum because thats lame and everything, also because posting on here feels like screaming into the literal void, ive decided im gonna start writing like... whatever? short stories, maybe fanfic oneshots, something or other as long as i write. i need to get better and i genuinely cannot tolerate standing around and waiting for hell to freeze over anymore. hello again tumblr it is i evilwrongdoer and i am here to fucking write dumbass shit that no one will read simply for the purpose of writing.

i hope you hated scrolling past this and also idk

if no one reads this, ive succeeded :D

[ghoulbunni]

brian moser x psychiatrist fem!reader

tags 🔪⋆.*:･ֶָ֢ explicit sexual content, 18+, kidnapping, acrotomophilia, sexually charged dismemberment (you survive but he takes a piece of you), horrorporn, medical kink, possessive behavior, body worship

You're a psychiatrist who works at the same hospital as Dr. "Rudy Cooper". And though Brian doesn't really like you, he is oddly obsessed with you. Maybe because you know he's somehow a fake, though you just can't say how, and don't fully realize how deadly a fraud he really is until it's too late. Not even after a masked man kidnaps you, and only lets you free after taking one of your legs.

Suddenly that odd, handsome prosthetist you work with is all kinds of helpful in crafting and personally fitting you with a new one. And somehow, even though he's helping you, it feels like he's fucking with you. Getting inside your head.

note: i gave you a surname because i hate 'yn ln' so you are officially known as Dr. Rose

chapter 1: no more coffee

No one else seems to see it but you. But there’s something so haunted about the new, handsome prosthetist you work with at Mercy Hospital; Rudy Cooper.

“Please,” he’d said when you first met him, dark eyes shining bright, “Call me Rudy.”

You must be the only person in the world who doesn’t trust him.

For one thing, his smile isn’t genuine. His gaze so often creased with an affable curve, yet their bedrocks are always dull and black. Cold. Unfeeling. Not at all matching that attractive, fake smile plastered so easily on his face.

He’s hiding something. 

At least, you suspect he is.

Maybe you think this because of your background in psychiatry; his depthless gaze ticking so many boxes for potential sociopathy. Not that that is inherently a bad thing, but…

No, it isn't just that. Some instinct in you insists that there's more, but whenever you think you have a grasp on it, it slips right out through the door. Leaving you thinking you must just be paranoid. Suspicious about nothing.

It's probably nothing.

But, still…

Something about him–nothing, apparently–it puts you on edge, even so. 

That nothing about him. It seems, somehow, to wear the rest of him like a skin. Makes him feel like a shadow pretending so well to be human. Like he’s hiding something in plain sight–something only you appear disquieted enough to see. And whatever he needs so much to hide, to bury some place so deep beneath this handsome charade, so masterfully that no one would ever think to peel it back and discover what was hiding underneath…

Something about that puts you on edge. Something about him does. Which is, of course, crazy–he's perfectly charming and everyone you work with loves him, all of his patients adore him. You're the only one whose thoughts twist up at the mere mention of his name or glance in his direction.

It really shouldn’t bother you as much as it’s started to. Maybe you’re developing some sort of complex. I mean, plenty of your patients are hiding things. Masking. Pretending. It’s human nature to bury the aspects of ourselves we don’t want others to see. But none of your patients do so quite as convincingly as he. None of them make you question yourself like he does.

Maybe you’re on edge for absolutely no reason.

You don’t remember when he started bringing you coffee almost every morning.

It had seemed so harmless at first. 

What are you talking about–it is harmless. It’s coffee. And he’s always so nice when he brings it.

But.

Still.

Something about him…

To be honest, and if we’re overlooking the whole ‘you’re being paranoid’ thing…

It’s almost like he knows you suspect him of something. 

Like he’s trying to ‘win’ you over. 

Like your suspicious nature’s a challenge. One that he and all his mastery of playing people must beat. Either due to whatever he was seemingly hiding, in and of itself, or because it was merely a game to him; a game that he must win. Simply to prove that he could, that he will. That nothing–not even your wary, questioning nature–could stop him from championing.

Paranoid or no, one thing was certain; you’re sick of him gallivanting around your office all the time, being so friendly. And yes, you’re fully aware that makes you some kind of an asshole, seeing as how he’s done absolutely nothing to earn your distaste. But you have enough to worry about in life to also be constantly questioning just what the fuck this loveable, good-looking colleague could be hiding beneath all that seems faked.

This is why you’ve decided to put an end to it, regardless of whether that makes you an ‘asshole’ or no.

No more friendly outings to lunch together, no quick stops to the cafeteria or employee lounge. No more stopping by your psychiatry office unannounced, no more gossiping about the higher-ups. And definitely no more coffee.

He stops by your office again, as he so often does since he started working here a mere few months ago. He was the talk of Mercy Hospital for a while–that young, yet extremely talented prosthetist–with such a promising career, and did you hear that he’s single?

Most people thought that was a good thing, but you just saw a red flag, even if it was the same sort of flag you saw in you, being single yourself. Because why is someone as dashing and accomplished as he still on the market? He was certainly flirty enough to have someone on his arm, and yet the only person he ever bothered was you, and he never once asked you out. If he had, you could have turned him down already. It makes what you’re going to do this morning so much more awkward when you don’t have an aversion to romance as your scapegoat for sending him out. ‘You just give me a weird, creepy, somewhat… ‘I don’t even know what to call this but you seem like you’re hiding something’ vibe’ doesn’t exactly ease off the tongue sounding right.

Sunlight dazzles in through the small, bay window of your psychiatry office, lightly warming your chestnut desk, and… yep. Here he comes. You hear his footsteps drawing, and then he pops into your opened doorway like a handsomely budding rose.

He flashes that smile that wins everyone other than you over, though you’ll admit it at least speeds your pulse. You’re not blind, after all.

Speaking of roses.

“Dr. Rose,” he kindly greets, far too chipper for this early in the morning. Two coffees in his elegant hands, of course, and you ignore the pang of guilt that raps upon the walls of your heart.

It’s better this way. He can stop wasting his time pretending to be something he’s not, buying you coffee, and you can stop questioning his seemingly innocuous and nothing but friendly motives in a fit of rising paranoia. Win-win.

With it still being early enough for this uncaffeinated version of you to feel like a walking corpse, the little smile you offer in return across your desk feels forced. 

Guess he isn’t the only one masking things this morning.

“Dr. Cooper,” you begin, and see his handsome smile falter.

“Uh oh,” he muses, lips pursed as he lingers in the door. “This can’t be good.”

He reads you so well. 

Too well. 

He’s a prosthetist, he’s not in psychology, so why is he better at unspooling people’s minds than even you are?

You stuff that into the column of reasons for why you’re justified to end things like this.

“We should talk.”

He quirks a brow. Leans one shoulder against the doorway; white lab coat stretched taut across the bridge of him. “Why do I feel like you’re breaking up with me?”

When that inexplicably warms your face, he kindly laughs.

“Relax, doctor,” he needles with a grin, “I’m just kidding.” His expression falls more grim. “But, seriously… what did you wanna talk about?”

You sigh. Feeling even more like an asshole than you have all morning anxiously reenacting this awkward encounter over and over in your mind.

Just say it just as you rehearsed it. It’s not that hard.

“You really don’t need to keep bringing me coffee every morning.”

That is not how you rehearsed it–you were supposed to say to never stop by your office again unless it’s for a professional reason! You’re already fucking this up!

His face dons the lightest, speculative frown. “I know, but…” He offers the smallest shrug from his casual slouch. “I like to. And I don’t mind. You’re like a zombie without it, so I’m just doing my part in keeping my colleagues in line…” 

He laughs at whatever your constricted face is doing.

“It’s really not a big deal,” he assures. “I buy Gus in Housekeeping one, too. Black with a dash of irish cream. I don’t mind.”

Guilt creeps its spiderlegs over your mind. You really are an asshole. But you’re not backing out of this. You’ve been amping yourself up enough to actually go through with it for quite a while.

“Look…” you begin, and see his brows furrow. Rubbing one wrist sheepishly beneath your desk as you add, “I really appreciate the, um… The…”

A little smile creeps upon his face the longer he watches you floundering like the world’s most awkward, dying fish.

“The coffee?” he asks, and you’re forced to suppress how your ears heat up.

“Yes,” you say, more succinctly; adopting your psychiatrist’s tone. “Yes, the coffee. I appreciate it, and your, um… your friendliness, but…”

He exhales something like a laugh, tilting his head. “So you are breaking up with me.”

“There’s nothing to break up!”

His forehead’s creased at your heightened tone, and you yourself don’t fully know why you’re so defensive, other than for how embarrassing this is. You don’t have a good reason to end your friendship with him. But you’re ending it all the same.

“Look,” you try again, tucking your hair back a bit more tensely than what’s required. Not really meeting his gaze as you say, “I don’t really have time for relationships of any kind outside of work, and that includes fraternizing with colleagues.”

He eyes you for a moment in speculative silence. Seeming puzzled. A brand of suspicious all his own. 

“What’s prompted this?”

You blink a few times at the question. Forced to consider his fluid, unreadable tone. “I beg your pardon?”

His dark eyes drip across your features as though searching for something. Uncharacteristically solemn, though he doesn’t seem sad or anything; he seems…

…You have no idea what he’s thinking. He’s perhaps the only person who comes in here who so effectively closes you off from their thoughts.

Just one more tally in the ‘remove this weirdo from your life’ column.

“I said,” he repeats, quite clearly; eyes never leaving the discomfort of yours. “What prompted this? You ending things?”

He waits while you can’t seem to answer. Impatient enough to add:

“I’ve never hit on you.”

Your face warms up again. “I know that.”

One brow slowly rises. “So is it because of that…? Or–”

Your embarrassment won’t allow you not to cut his line of questioning off.

“Look–this has nothing to do with you personally–” 

Lies.

“–Or with whether or not you’ve hit on me, or…” 

Why is this the most humiliating conversation ever?

You straighten yourself behind your desk. Run your palms flat across the length of your dark, pencil skirt beneath your chestnut desk.

You’re a professional. A decorated, medical journal-published doctor. Act like one.

“Dr. Cooper,” you try again, doing your best to sound calm, though it’s hard with that clever little smile of his this inspires, like he knows it’s all a front.

“Dr. Rose,” he returns, just as cordially.

You swallow your inhibitions. “I’m afraid I don’t have time for any outside fraternization while I’m at work beyond what’s immediately related to my patients and the psychiatry department at large.”

He scoffs at you.

The bastard scoffs at you, before flashing that handsome smile of his as though nothing’s wrong.

“So no more friendly hospital outings or professionally courteous coffees, then,” he wonders casually, “I presume?”

He’s really good at making you feel like an overly-cautious asshole, isn’t he?

“I’m afraid not,” you say, “and it’s nothing personal. I just… need to stay focused on my work. I have a research paper coming up.”

More lies. But what does it matter–he doesn’t know. Though you can’t help but think that those wheels spinning in his mind might suspect so.

If he does, he doesn’t note it. Merely smiles, before pushing up straight from his previous lean against your office doorway.

“Well,” he remarks, “I’d just hate to get in the way of all of that with a harmless, annoyingly friendly gesture.”

Your insides squinch up. “It’s not annoying, I just…”

He waits for you to continue, but you’re not about to tell him what this is all really about. You’ll sound like one of your overly paranoid patients.

He slowly smiles, though it feels performative, like so much else he does. A mask of playing nice. And for a moment, you both just watch each other like that. Both biting back your hidden thoughts. Yourself, too uncertain and unwilling to press on, while he…

…You still have no idea what he’s still doing here. Nor what he’s thinking at all.

“I’ll gladly pay you back for the coffee,” you say to excuse him, but he just kindly waves the offer off.

“No need, Dr. Rose,” he says, as charming as ever, though it barely scrapes the surface of his eyes. “I was happy to do it. And if you ever need some comradery or caffeine…” His olive gaze slowly creases. “You know where to find me.”

He leaves your coffee on the bookshelf by the door, which lampoons you with even more guilt than you’re already wracked with. Though it’s hard to regret your decision to finally go through with this with the way his parting glance raises every hair on your nape. With how it somehow makes you feel hunted.

[zovas]