Warning: not proofread and Irene’s is slightly NSFW.
Molly Hooper:
You met Molly at the lab. Earlier that day, Sherlock stopped by your home inviting you to work on a case and to be a stand in for John who was out of town. During the case, Sherlock took you to the lab to examine specimens from the crime scene. Molly caught your eye. You found her awkward mannerisms adorable.
Your first meeting was slightly awkward, since it was apparent to you she fancied Sherlock. You took a chance and hit off a conversation with her anyway, and asked for her number.
She was flattered to receive attention from someone so attractive. At the time, Molly took your number to spite Sherlock. However, your suaveness caught her attention and you soon took over her thoughts.
Irene Adler-
You met Irene as one of her clients. Having a politician as a parent, despite being an adult, impacted your dating life negatively. Ironically, you heard rumors about ‘The Woman’ circulating around the political world. Feeling lonely, and considering your unusual taste in women, decided to pay her a visit.
She immediately found you unusually attractive, making it hard to maintain the distance of professionalism. She absolutely adored your secret submissive side, which complimented her desire to dominate and inflict sweet torture. After you left, she could not leave your next encounter to fate, and took matters into her own hands texting you an invitation to dinner. Throwing all prior precautions to the wind.
Greg Lestrade
You met Greg on a blind date. Your last long term relationship ended in disaster and left you bitter and jaded, and in no hurry to meet anyone new. One of your close friends, who wanted to see you happy and back in the world of dating, tried to set you up with her colleague Greg.
For a while you resisted the idea, resenting the idea of accepting help to find a new partner.
Once you finally caved into meeting Greg, you wished you accepted your friend’s attempt to set you up, sooner. Not only did you find him attractive but he turned out to be the perfect gentleman. He charmed you with his cute awkwardness, sincerity, and kindness, easily luring you in for a second date.
James (Jim) Moriarty
You met James at a concert. There was no denying your favorite band members were getting older and had an aging fan base but nothing could stop the power of music.
As fate demanded, a charming dark haired man stood next to you. Matching your excitement and enjoyment of the band’s music. He introduced himself as James, and you both spent the rest of the concert dancing and singing along with your favorite songs together. Afterwards, you exchanged numbers. The night ended with you unwittingly getting involved with a criminal mastermind.
Mycroft Holmes
You met while having lunch with Andrea. Typically, you both spend your lunch hour away from the office, sitting at a cafe, exchanging gossip, and scrolling through your phones. On this particular occasion, you and Andrea decided to order delivery. Finding yourselves too lazy to venture from the office.
Andrea took the initiative to order lunch for her boss as well. You asked if Mycroft would be joining you. Andrea brushed off the question telling you that Mycroft preferred to eat lunch alone in his office.
When your food arrived, you decided to extend a polite invite to Mycroft to join you and Andrea. At first, Mycroft considered declining the invitation, knowing it was extended as a curtesy, but something about you intrigued him and he accepted the invitation.
Although you do not immediately exchange numbers, Mycroft made a mental note to put more effort into interacting with you in the future.
Sherlock Holmes
You met Sherlock at a restaurant. You both frequented Angelo’s for a late night meal. In the past, you spotted him sitting in the corner and eating alone. You thought he was handsome, but never gathered the courage to approach him.
Sherlock had caught you staring at him a few times. Unused to the attention, and certainly not expecting positive attention, presumed you were staring at him because you thought he was weird. As a result, he did not know how to approach the situation and actively ignored you.
One night, after drinking with friends, you stopped by Angelo’s for a meal. In your impaired cognitive state, you finally gathered the liquid courage to scribble down your number and hand it to Sherlock with a messy wink telling him with slurred words to call you.
Your odd detective finally pieced together the clues when smacked with the answer, and realized you had a crush on him. Some time later the next day, Sherlock sent you a text, partially as an experiment to satisfy his curiosity, but also because you managed to catch his eye.
John Watson
You met John at a boots. You were standing at the checkout when you recognized John Watson standing in front of you. You would never admit it, but you recognized him as “The Bachelor, John Watson” from the newspapers. From his pictures, you found him attractive and found him to be more so in person.
John turned around and noticed you checking him out. He was flattered and gave you a shy smile before greeting you with a simple hello. Finding you attractive, he struck up a small conversation before asking for your number.
T.K.'s dying of hypothermia, and Carlos regrets the words he never said and the relationship that fell apart.
------
Well, I stepped into an avalanche
It covered up my soul
-------
The water steams as it comes out of the faucet, and the ice of Carlos’ fingers swirls at the drain in dirty droplets. He’s tempted to steal heat he doesn’t deserve for just a few moments longer, but the water is starting to burn, and he doesn’t want to be far away from T.K. for too long. Not that he has any right to be near T.K. They’ve tacked a horrible prefix onto something so precious. Exes, that word makes Carlos feel like he’s licking a cheese grater every time he says it. But if it means T.K. can cheat death another time, Carlos will lick that cheese grater for eternity like Sisyphus pushing a boulder up a hill. It’s better than the regret burning his fingers, which remembers the warmth of T.K.’s skin against his. Carlos turns off the water, pulling his hands away. He imagines plugging the sink, letting the water overflow, and turning the bathroom into a pool. He thinks about floating on his back as the water eases the stiffness of his body. Waves crash over him, washing the heaviness out of his mind.
He pushes his head under the water for a few moments, counting how long he can hold his breath. The water’s gone cold. He shivers, but he stays in the tub, stealing moments of peace beneath the surface. Under the water, everything is slow and echoey. T.K. can’t hear his mom trying to make calls in the kitchen, competing with the droning T.V., Breaking News banners pounding at the screen. Under the water, worry is a thing for the acuity that has risen to the surface with the soap. There’s a comfort in being below it all, settled at the bottom with the dirt.
Under the water, T.K. remembers being five. He was such a baby at five, round cheeks and a lisp. He couldn’t hold his breath because he didn’t start swimming lessons until he was six. He’d thought that swimming meant wading in the kiddie pool, splashing the water carelessly as his mom carefully watched. But that’s not swimming. That’s just kid stuff. He’s smarter now.
His pruned fingers shake from the chill. He didn’t know how cold it could be when he was five, either. When he went out in the winter, his mom always made sure he was bundled up with a coat, gloves, and a hat. Snuggly and warm, He’d make snow angels and build igloos for ants that disappeared in winter. When his body started to tense, his mom would rush him back inside, and his dad would put a plastic Toy Story mug of Swiss Miss in his hands.
T.K. pushes his head up, breathing in more air before he goes down again. He hears the phone click on the receiver, and his mom’s heels clack down the hallway. He’s about to go back under when his mom peaks into the room and rushes to the tub. “T.K. honey, what are you thinking? You’re freezing.” She’s wrapping him in a fluffy towel. “You could have—” she closes her mouth, and she squeezes him tight. “It’s past your bedtime.”
“Where’s Daddy?”
His mom tenses. She kisses his head. “He’s at work.”
“When will he be home?” T.K. notices his mom is holding her breath.
She exhales unsteadily. “You know how we had that talk, and I told you that a lot of people needed help today?”
He nods. He saw it all on the news, and he can see that his mom is scared. But he still doesn’t understand.
“Your daddy’s helping them.” She says as she shuffles him into warm pajamas, even though it’s not winter yet, barely even autumn. She leads him to his room and tucks him into bed, adding an extra blanket on top of him, the baby blanket with firetrucks from his godfather. T.K. said he was too old for it last May, but he’s missed it. He doesn’t want to sleep, but he’s tired, so his mom lays down next to him on the bed. She’s quiet, doesn’t even read him a story, but she holds him close, and she stays there until he falls into the black water of sleep, his blanket rippling around him and water droplets dripping into his hair.
Carlos wipes his eyes as Nancy hands him coffee. He gulps it too fast, and it burns his chest as it goes down. He closes his eyes and pushes the pain into his stomach with the coffee. “That’s hot.”
Hot water pouring over the dirty dishes, the sink competes with the back and forth.
“Everything’s the wrong way around. Texas is a snow globe from hell, and the hospital coffee’s actually hot.”
Wet eyes and crossed arms, vulnerable and guarded all at once.
Carlos thinks of the falling roof and the girl stuck under the collapsed, icy building. “We’ve had one surprise after another.”
“We’ve had a lot of surprises lately,” Nancy agrees. He knows she is talking about the breakup. She gets that same look in her eyes every time she asks about it.
“Where is this coming from?” Neither of them knows the answer to the question. It’s suspended in the space between them.
“Do you think now’s the time to talk about this?” What good does it do to keep talking about something that won’t change?
“It’s anarchy out there and not much better in here.”
The water is rising in the sink, hissing and splattering as it reaches the top of the basin.
“He never told you what happened when we broke up, did he?”
The water stops with a thud on the nob.
She shakes her head. “I nearly had it when I held his favorite hoodie hostage, but even that didn’t get it out of him,” and because it’s Nancy, Carlos can’t tell if that’s a tactic she’s genuinely tried or if she’s just trying to break the tension. Either way, he laughs; it’s faint and clipped, but it’s still a laugh.
Carlos sighs. “He doesn’t want anyone to pick sides.”
“Our whole life is together.”
“No one’s going to do that,” Nancy says. “You’re both our friends.”
“It was my fault,” Carlos admits. He takes another gulp of coffee, closes his eyes again, and lets the pain pass.
“Nothing is going to change between us, sweetie,” Gwyn says. “We’re family. We all still love each other. But daddy is going to move out.” T.K. cries and asks a bunch of questions that his mom can’t answer. He wonders where his dad is— if he’s already gone or if he’s gone forever. He doesn’t want to cry, so he runs to his room.
“T.K., wait!” his mom calls. “We have to talk about this!” He doesn’t want to talk. He doesn’t want to think.
He slams the door behind him and hopes his mom won’t come in. He cries anyway, and he’s lonely.
The only reliable company he has left is his fire truck, a familiar friend. He spends all afternoon with it. He puts himself to sleep when he gets too tired to play any longer. He refuses his mom’s goodnight kiss. In the morning, he wakes up to his parents’ anger, and he hides under the covers, muffling the yells about him and wondering how to get rid of the guilty feeling in his stomach. He ruins everything.
“You can’t blame yourself,” Nancy says when Carlos has given a rough sketch of what happened. “Sometimes things just go wrong, dude. It sucks, but that’s how it is. This could all be fixed with communication.”
“It’s not that easy.”
“Do you love each other?”
“But I love you.” They’ve said those words too much. It’s like when they were stuck in the fire. They stopped to say, “I love you.” T.K. did at least, and Carlos tried. They did it because they weren’t sure they’d say it again. To Carlos, they’re still in the inferno, saying, “I love you,” not knowing when the last “I love you” will be. Carlos can’t say it. He can’t say, “I love you too,” not when it’s nothing more than a deferred goodbye.
“It wasn’t that we stopped loving each other.”
“Then it’s easy. You two are—were that couple that disgusts everyone else with how much you love each other.”
“And look where that got us.” He tries not to be bitter about it, but he thought they’d have all their future milestones together.
“Why won’t you talk to me?” This becomes a nasty chorus.
His dad doesn’t answer the phone. His parents got him a cellphone when he panicked anytime they went anywhere and wanted them constantly around him. They promised the phone would keep them close. It’s Owen’s turn to spend time with T.K., but Owen hasn’t answered T.K. in nearly two days. Owen gets a nasty phone call from Gwyn when he finally answers calls, but he never calls T.K. back.
When fire and ice meet, all you get is destruction
T.K. thought that when his dad moved out, his parents would stop fighting, but they try to reconcile for his sake, and they forget everything that went wrong between them until they hate each other more than ever. They’re nice for a while. They laugh and share jokes, but then they start to yell. He hates it. He needs to get out, but he has nowhere to go.
“We keep having this same stupid fight.”
“I don’t know how things got so bad.” There wasn’t a big blowup that ended it all. Small things started breaking, and before they knew it, it was all breaking, and there wasn’t enough glue and tape to hold it all together.
“Don’t torture yourself trying to figure it out. Life is already hard enough.” Carlos remembers the nightmares. He still has them on a rare occasion, but mostly, he pities himself until he falls into a dreamless sleep. But when he dreamt, he dreamed of T.K. burning in the fire, and he dreamed it so much that even in the daytime, he couldn’t look at T.K. without seeing him burning. Then, he barely saw T.K. at all, and it was a relief because his fears couldn’t haunt him.
“I should have noticed he was pulling away.” Or maybe he was pushed away. Carlos can’t make sense of who did what to who. It’s all a jumble of defensive mistakes.
T.K.’s quiet now. “You won’t say anything!” It’s a last-ditch plea on ears that only hear insult.
“We’re getting a divorce, T.K.,” his mom tells him shortly after his dad leaves. He also remembers the groundbreaking words his mom says next, which happen months later but just one ripple away. “T.K., I want you to meet someone." T.K. stands, arms crossed, as he looks at Enzo. He hates the look of that man, standing tall and handsome next to his mom. “Say hello.”
The room is so still, and Carlos can’t stand it. T.K. just crosses his arms. “Why are you mad? Because I didn’t want to talk at your pace? You can’t just force me to say what I’m feeling.”
He doesn’t have anything to say to Enzo, so he keeps his mouth shut, and he makes an extra effort to say nothing when Enzo bribes him with toys and candy from international travels. He only opens his mouth to eat the candy and talk to action figures from Japan. It takes ten visits before T.K. greets Enzo without being forced. He says, “What are you doing here?”
“I tried! For months, I tried, but I don’t know what to say anymore. I can’t speak for both of us.”
“Rough patches are normal after everything you both went through.” Nancy gives him a serious look. “Did you try, like, therapy?”
“Nance, it wasn’t that kind of problem.” It’s not like he’s against therapy, but he’s never felt bad enough to warrant all that fuss.
“I went to therapy after Tim.”
“This isn’t like that. No one died,” Carlos says, the word “Yet” peaks out at them.
“No, but you went through a trauma. Even if you didn’t, lots of people go to therapy just to talk through shit.” He doesn’t see why everyone wants him to talk about his problems. Talking doesn’t make anything go away.
“Don’t you see? Everything’s changed.”
His mom suggests that he goes to a ball game with Enzo, who has season tickets. T.K. hates the idea. The only interest he has in sports is his dad likes to go with him. Ball games are something he should be doing with Owen, not some cheap replacement. He only goes because the stress melts off his mom’s shoulders when he agrees. She’s sick of him hanging around her all the time, probably.
“I just don’t think therapy would have done anything.” He takes another sip of coffee. It’s cold now. “Why are we even talking about this? T.K.’s right there, barely alive. None of what happened before makes a difference now.”
Nancy shrugs. “He’s not getting worse from us talking.”
“I’m trying to make this work.”
“I’m afraid to go in there,” Carlos confesses.
“I’ve been trying, too.”
“What’s keeping you?”
“Why is this so hard?”
T.K. may agree to spend time with Enzo, but that doesn’t mean he has fun. He’s a brat. He yells loudly near Enzo’s ear, but Enzo’s cheers are just as piercing and so are those of everyone else in their section. Apparently, sports fans like that. It’s been so long since he’s been to a game that he doesn’t remember.
His first attempt at being obnoxious has failed, but he’s got a better idea for his second. When Enzo asks him if he wants a hot dog, T.K. says he wants a hamburger, and when Enzo brings gets him a hamburger after a long wait in line, he says he wants a hot dog. T.K. ends up with both, and Enzo doesn’t seem deterred. T.K. asks for a drink, and that’s a whole saga on its own, but Enzo laughs. He laughs! Like they’re sharing a cute little joke.
And Enzo never makes a single comment about having better things to do. He doesn’t talk about what’s going on at work unless T.K. asks— T.K.’s a brat, but Enzo’s a more exciting lawyer than T.K.’s mom, so he can’t help but ask a few questions.
“Don’t you have actual friends?” T.K. asks when the conversation gets too pleasant, hoping that comment will be the thing to push Enzo out of his life forever. He’s always been good at pushing the right buttons. But Enzo just smiles. He hates that easy-going smile. “We’ve got friends all around us here.” He points to the other team, “and some foes.”
After the game, T.K. keeps going on outings with Enzo because he’s determined to find the button that finally makes Enzo stay away. For whatever reason, Enzo doesn’t give up. Every Saturday that T.K.’s dad works, Enzo takes him somewhere. They go to parks, museums, and places from Enzo’s list of must-try restaurants, the nice restaurants that make T.K. feel like he’s grown up and important. T.K. hates himself for having fun, for betraying his dad. After all, Enzo is a Mets fan.
“You gave up. When things got hard, and you couldn’t handle it anymore, you gave up!”
Carlos can barely say what he’s thinking. “I gave up.”
“It seems more complicated than that.”
“We can’t keep fighting for something that’s not going to work.”
“T.K. was right. I was pushing him away.”
“And he pushed back by the sounds of things.”
“Are you trying to end this?” End this now or be done with it.
“It’s not too late,” Nancy says, patting his shoulder.
“He’s dying.” He nearly loses it, but he’s not going to cry in the middle of the hospital.
“I don’t want to keep fighting with you.”
“Than fight for us!”
He’s in the hospital. He fell climbing a tree and won’t wake up. He’s outside his body, watching his thirteen-year-old self. The injury looks worse than it is. He hasn’t woken up, and his mom won’t stop asking the doctor questions. His dad is at work. He doesn’t know that for sure, but his dad is always at work. When the doctor excuses herself to tend to other patients, T.K.’s mom begs him to wake up.
“Please, just fight a little harder. Do it for me.”
This moment is crystalline in his memory. Even as he wakes up, he wants to go back to sleep because everything’s too busy in real life, loud and upsetting. His mom is clicking on her laptop, and he likes that better than when she frets over him like he’s still eight. If they know he’s awake, they might send him home, make him go back to school, and insist he stay out of trouble when trouble’s the only thing that numbs the anger burning in his core.
T.K. hears heavy footsteps, and he snaps his eyes open, thinking his dad has finally come. He refuses to waste a single moment of his dad’s time. “Hey, kid.” It’s just Enzo. Will they believe him if he closes his eyes and pretends to be unconscious until Owen really comes? Owen won’t come if he’s not on death’s door, so if he closes his eyes and holds his breath for long enough, Owen might come. But he knows he can’t hold his breath for that long.
“You’re haunted. I can see it in your eyes. You’ve been distant since the fire.”
Kyle hands him a pill; Kyle’s mother just had surgery, and she’s decided she didn’t need the pills. T.K.’s taken pills before, not like this one, but they dull the edges of his thoughts, and these pills can’t be that bad if they’re something that doctors give to people who are in pain. He’s in pain. He met Kyle at a party, and they’re not that close, but he trust Kyle enough to swallow the pill. “You need it,” Kyle coaxes. “You’re always upset. Relax.”
T.K. nods, “Okay.”
Kyle offers vodka to swallow it down, but T.K. takes water instead. He wants to see what the pill’s like on its own. He waits for it to kick in, and when it does, it makes T.K. feel like he’s ducking his head under the water again, just like he did when he was little, but he doesn’t have to hold his breath. Everything he doesn’t want to think about is dull, and it’s so nice. Calm. Until he’s fully conscious again, and he longs to slip back under.
“He only wanted to help me.”
“You’re falling into a pit, Carlos.”
“I’m fine.”
He’s been in the hospital so many times that it’s hard for him to remember which one this is. He’s sixteen. His parents know about the pills now. They’re freaking out.
“You’re not fine. We’re not fine.”
“We’ll get you help,” they say, oblivious that they are the problem—part of it.
“Let me help.”
“Whatever it takes, son,” and his parents don’t sound like themselves. They’re on the same page. They can only agree that they don’t want him to die.
“Leave it alone.”
“It’s my life. I’ll do what I want,” T.K. tries to say, but because he’s seventeen and wants his parents’ affection more than he’ll admit, so he lets them try to help him. He doesn’t stop the drugs then, but he learns how to hide his problem better until he realizes that it’s been too long since he’s come up for a breath.
“Nothing is wrong.”
Nothing’s right.
When he wants to be a firefighter, he has to get serious about recovery, not just the half-attempts he’s had in the past when he got scared and broke down to his parents in a moment of weakness. His dad helps him, and it’s the closest they’ve been in years. T.K. doesn’t want to mess up, but he knows he will eventually.
Hot eyes turn cold and defensive. “Answer one thing. Do you still love me?”
“Things went bad, but I still love him so much.”
“Yeah, duh,” Nancy says. “He loves you too. His eyes get glassy when he thinks of you.”
“But has he been okay?” He swallows the lump in his throat. “I mean before now.”
The second overdose isn’t on purpose, but it’s not an accident either. He plunges into his favorite ocean, and when he thinks about it, they’re all really the same ocean, connected but using different names. He’s wanted to see how far he could sink, touch the very bottom of the murky getaway, and if he doesn’t come back to the surface, who would care? Would anyone reach down and pull him out? He’s falling, deeper and deeper. His toes have only just grazed the floor when he’s ripped out of the water with an injection in his thigh and a shock to his heart.
“He’s right there, Carlos, Nancy points at the room just beyond them. “Go see for yourself.” What is there to see other than the horror of watching someone you love slip away. For all the nightmares of T.K. dying in a fire, it’s the cold that’s taking him now.
He’s in Texas, and at first, he hates it. Doesn’t understand why he’s here. But then he falls in love. It’s reluctant. He doesn’t want it, just like he didn’t want to move to Texas. Things have a funny way of happening in ways you don’t plan.
“I shouldn’t even be here. He wouldn’t want me in there with him.”
He slips back under the water, sometimes, but mostly he swims above the surface. He keeps his head up because it’s nice in Texas, and he doesn’t want to dull the memories he has here. He likes to keep them crisp because soggy memories fall apart too easily.
“Carlos, today’s been a disaster. We need to get through this as a family, slightly estranged or not.”
For the first time, he’s happy. Not the kind of happy he always wanted—the endless kind without any ups or downs, but he’s learned the happiness he dreamed of is just numbness. He’s the kind of happy where the joy outweighs the sorrow.
Carlos shakes his head. “Marjan told you about that?”
“Dude, you arrested her.”
“Jail doesn’t scare, Marj.”
He’s not trapped in the oscillation of feeling everything and feeling nothing.
“I know.” Nancy nudges him. “Stop stalling. I’ll wait here. Give you some time with him.”
He’s warm without burning. He’s cool without freezing.
Carlos takes a breath. “Yeah, okay.” He’ll hate himself if he doesn’t go into that room. He gathers his courage and walks into T.K.’s room. If Carlos is honest with himself, he’s afraid to get too close. T.K. looks like a ghost with a bunch of tubes keeping him tethered to Earth.
He’s safe.
He’s wanted.
He’s loved.
Carlos and T.K. have gone out of their way not to speak to each other, but now, T.K.’s completely silent. T.K.’s so quiet in the hospital bed, and all Carlos can hear is the whir of the machines keeping him alive. When T.K. gets so upset that he doesn’t have the energy to hang onto his defense—red, hot anger—he gets quiet, the sharp quiet of icing everyone out.
But all that is fading. He’s sinking into the cold water, and it’s freezing around him.
“Don’t ice me out, Carlos.”
Carlos stands at a distance, not knowing what to do.
The world is hazy, muted, and T.K. isn’t sure where he is, but he’s watching himself. Gwyn is sitting next to him, but it feels like they’re on a split-screen. She’s not looking at him. Sometimes, she’ll look in his direction, but she doesn’t acknowledge him. He tries to speak, but his words come out in garbles, bubbles coming from his mouth.
“You’ve got to get better, T.K. This will kill you if you don’t.”
“I’m talking to you, T.K. I’m listening. What more do you want?”
His mom turns to where T.K. sits, but she still stares past him. “You never made things easy for yourself,” she says sadly. “Why can’t you accept love without running away when it gets hard.” He reaches out, but she’s gone before he can touch her. The room is empty and blindingly bright, and T.K. wonders if this is a sign of the end.
“I want to be your boyfriend.”
“You are, babe.”
T.K. looks away. “You’re avoiding me.”
Carlos isn’t anything to T.K. now, but he steps closer one step at a time, and it’s terrifying.
The ice is heavy around him, so T.K. lays on the ground, body weary, and cold radiates through his toes. He can’t get up. He doesn’t want to. It’s too hard.
“I can’t do this anymore.”
Carlos stops in his tracks, but his feet squeak against the linoleum with the jolting halt.
Tommy turns around and gives him an understanding look. She’s barely left T.K.’s side. Maybe it’s because she’s thinking of Charles dying all alone. Maybe it’s because she feels responsible, or maybe it’s because she misses her daughters and can’t safely get to the ones she wants to be near the most. The thought makes Carlos’ throat tighten because of all the people he cherishes, T.K.’s the one he most wants to pull into his arms after the tragedy of his day.
Tommy rises from her chair, meets Carlos halfway, and pats his shoulder.
“Go on. Don’t be afraid. I’m going to get some coffee.” There’s not enough coffee in the world for the T.K.-Tommy-Nancy trio. “I’m sure he’ll appreciate that you’re here.” Tommy meets Nancy in the hallway, and Carlos is left alone, feeling like a coward. Walking through the small space between him and T.K’s bed is like trying to run through water. The air pushes against him, but he muscles through the resistance.
Carlos takes T.K.’s hand. The cold of it makes Carlos want to pull away. It’s an ice cube that doesn’t melt into Carlos’ touch. It is stiff and lifeless.
T.K. feels a spark of something; he doesn’t know what, but he’s can’t move, can’t even turn his head to look around.
Carlos doesn’t know what he expects. Of course, T.K. doesn’t wake up with one touch. One warm touch can’t cure hypothermia and the related injuries. Carlos sighs. He didn’t expect a miracle. It takes a long time to thaw the hurts of the past, and expecting instant results is like throwing a frozen turkey in a fryer, dangerous and bound to explode.
But Carlos feels a surge of warmth squeeze his chest and pinch the corners of his eyes. Water pours down Carlos’ face. “I love you,” he says because he doesn’t want T.K. to die before he says it again. Boyfriends, ex-boyfriends— it doesn’t matter. Carlos still feels the same way as he always has. Always will.
He feels a drop on his face. The ice is melting into water. He has to be careful. Water can still kill him as it soaks into clothes and his body loses heat. Water drips into his mouth. “I love you too,” he sputters, trying to make his last words good ones because the water is pooling around him, and it isn’t going to stop.
“I’m sorry things happened the way they did.” Carlos is sobbing now, and his only solace is that T.K. still doesn’t stir. He tries to wipe his eyes to no avail.
The water is submerging him. It’s devouring his body and covering his face. He tries to keep his head up, but more water is coming, and he’s getting weaker the longer he tries to stay afloat. He’s forgotten how to swim, and he can’t fight this for long.
“You’ll be back on your feet in no time,” Carlos promises, and it’s self-indulgent, but Carlos imagines T.K. standing next to him.
T.K. remembers that you can drown in less than two inches of water. The water is deeper than that. He’s falling under it. He won’t even get to say goodbye. The water will take him before he apologizes for being selfish, needy, and insecure. But this is a problem that he can’t run away from. The water rages over him, chilling him to the bone.
“I’m sorry for hurting you and pushing you away.” Carlos lowers his voice. The tears are still coming out, and he can barely speak between the sobs and snot. “I was scared, so scared.” Carlos has never lost it like this. He’s skilled at keeping his cool, putting his feelings in their proper spots for optimal functioning, but the emotions are pouring out of him, and no the more he tries to stop it, the less together he feels. He hasn’t felt this way since his abuela’s funeral. He was only seven, but he felt like less of a man for sobbing next to his stoic father.
The ice around him loosens from T.K.’s body and plonks in the water, but he doesn’t move.
“Come on, Tiger. The world needs you. Just wake up. It doesn’t have to be now, but please, just wake up.”
It’s just a kiddie pool, three feet deep. He laughs at that, sucking in more water and coughing it out. He’s drowning when he could just stand up.
Carlos takes a breath, and now that he’s let them all out, the tears are less angry, and the sobs are less violent.
He rises to his feet, and the water is still rising around him, melting from his body, still so cold. But if he can withstand the cold, just for a while, he’ll survive. He clenches his bare hands together, and they feel warm. He braces himself for the same drowning feeling he’s had so many times before. He waits for the water to test him.
“You’re going to be okay,” Carlos says, stroking T.K.’s hair.
T.K. feels heat on his neck. The water is getting higher. It’s at his knees now. The fear makes his body quiver. Higher and higher, it rises.
“Hold on a while longer. You’ll be better soon.” Carlos prays he’s not deluding himself.
The water gets to his neck and then to his mouth. His head slips under, but the stream of light points to his feet, and he reaches towards the ring of the stopper. His hands narrowly miss, rigid from the cold. He’s in a tub. Not an ocean, not the deep end, not even a kiddie pool. Just a tub. He reaches again, but he’s running out of air. One more chance to get it right. One last reach, and he tugs the plug free. The drain opens, the water rushes down, and T.K. can breathe again.
because why fucking not its the only thing pinging around in my empty shell of a noggin
Alex is a best selling children's author
Willie is his illustrator
they’ve known each other since college when they got paired up as roommates
Neither of them got along at first but they grew on each other
When they graduated, Alex started work on his first book
Marge’s Monster Mission is about a little girl (Marge) who is trying to help her new monster friend get back home
Willie has a major in art
he’s the first person Alex thinks of when he’s ready to get the illustrations done for the book
They live on opposite sides of the country now (Alex is in NY and Willie is back in Cali) but Willie is more than willing to help out an old friend
Alex is in love with his concept designs and they get to work immediately
they manage to get it all together, with Willie’s name just as prominent on the cover as Alex’s
They self publish together
the book sells out the first 3 days
kids love it for its fun pictures
parents love it for the storyline and the morals it offers
(also because of the pictures. Willie’s art is popular)
they get an offer for a 3 book deal
Willie offers to move to NY, but Alex misses home and the beach
and secretly Willie
Alex moves in 3 apartments down from Willie, completely accidentally
It gives them more than enough opportunities to work together
they meet Reggie, Luke and Bobby a few weeks after Alex moves in
the three live downstairs
they meet after Alex asks them to just stop playing music for a few days so they can focus on their second book
they bring them pies to apologize
Alex finds spending time with Willie therapeutic
with him, he doesn’t have to worry about deadlines or morals or character designs. He can be himself
Willie spends a lot of time coming up with concept designs and stuff, but at night he starts to think about how photogenic and easy to sketch Alex is
When Alex gets stressed about a deadline, Willie is right there with a cup of tea and some supportive words
By the beginning of the 4th book, Alex has a very... complicated sleep schedule
Meaning he doesn't sleep a lot
half the nights he does, its because Willie slipped him sleepy time tea and it knocked him out
he spends most of those nights on Willie couch
one morning, he wakes up to Willie at an easel, covered in charcoal and focused on his work
Willie doesn’t notice when he wakes up, so its kind of a surprise when Alex goes “what’re ya working on”
Willie stumbles to cover it up, he cant let Alex see that he’d been using him as practice
“Just- just figuring out concept designs”
“Those are the same designs we did yesterday and you’re covered in crap what’re you doing?”
“Nothing!”
Alex doesn’t push, but he’s still suspicious
during their first interview after their 4th book is published, they’re asked “so tell us... is there some type of magic between you?”
Alex chokes
“Magic? Willie and I? well I- I wouldn’t really call it magic but-”
willie has to clarify “professionally”
he can’t exactly pretend that it wasn't personally too
they’re practically living together at this point
the media is... not so quiet about the dating rumors
and its the week before the deadline for their first YA novel when it all comes spilling out
the books pretty much done, but there are a few details for the cover and the illustrations left to be done
they’re finishing up and Alex flips through one of Willie’s old sketch books and he sees it
the sketch willie did of him sleeping on the couch
and Willie is almost bright red and tries to grab it from Alex but he’s not tall enough to reach
turns out, there a few sketches of people that tend to look like Alex, even if they weren’t supposed to originally
and Willie stammers out “you’re just- I like you... a lot... and I didn’t even think you’d find out about it and-”
and Alex looks at Willie with the biggest fucking heart eyes and Willie immediately shuts the fuck up and Alex says
“I knew I picked the right person to be my partner”
and then he kisses him
and its one of those kisses where everything else around you fades away and Alex drops the notebook and they’re there
in the middle of a messy studio apartment
Willie’s hair is up in a bun and his hand is caught in Alex’s very messy locks because the man hasn’t showered in 3 days but neither of them really care right now
at their meeting with their media person the next week Alex asks “So what do you think the fans would say when we told them that all the dating rumors were... true?”
headcanon edition because ya girl is lazy! happy thanksgiving to anyone who’s celebrating today, on this fine evening i am thankful for jake gyllenhaal’s chain
warnings: dirty talk, daddy kink, lil bit of borderline exhibitionism, this is lowkey trash, i need to go take a shower and read the bible
this was a mistake
he knows just how to wear you down, getting you to accept an invitation as his date to the premiere of one of his movies, and you should’ve known better than to think that the sight of him wouldn’t do you in
blue suit, tailored to fit, his long hair slicked back and the gold chain draped around his neck
you’re sitting next to him, in the limousine, stuck in traffic on the way to the premiere ( this, you suppose, is what happens when you’re an a-list celebrity )
jake’s unfazed by the fact that the two of you will likely be late — instead, he’s taking advantage of the quiet time the two of you have together alone, the calm before the storm when there are cameras shoved in his face and everything is go go go breathe when you’re dead
it’s just the two of you and the driver in the car, the driver up ahead with a small cut out in the seats providing him a window of access to talk with you should you prefer his company in any capacity and allow you both to see out of the windshield
“have i told you how gorgeous you look tonight?” jake murmurs, tucking a piece of hair back behind your ears. you feel the flush rise into your cheeks, the compliment unrolling a sheepish smile. “you’re gonna have all eyes on you.” the only set of eyes you want on you are already there, and when you glance up at him, bright, clear eyes are sparkling jovially
the traffic is slow-moving, much slower than the two of you had anticipated
each time you steal a glimpse at him you can’t help but to think how gorgeous he is, how no one else is around that you have to share him with and those being the moments you enjoy the most, because it means you can have him however you want, however you need, and your mind is admittedly derailing in thinking of all the ways you’d like to have him right now
“penny for your thoughts?” he finally asks after he catches you staring
you just shake your head and reply a half-hearted “nothin.’” which is not convincing in the slightest and jake can see right through you. “just taking awhile,” you add to try and cover your tracks
“we’ll manage,” is his cool response. “not like we can’t find a way to pass the time.” it’s not a suggestive comment at all but your mind’s already down in the gutter and paying rent, so it easily funnels his words into something you wouldn’t mind, something you’d like the more and more you look at his chain, thinking about all the times he’s been on top of you with it dangling down in your face as he rails you into the mattress
you don’t remember when jake became a mind reader but it’s as though he knows exactly what you’re thinking, like he can sense you’re growing wet just from replaying the greatest hits
you feel his fingers slowly begin to drag along the fabric of your dress and the urge to clench your thighs together is strong
you don’t dare to look down and watch what he’s doing out of the fear of giving yourself away, even though you’re pretty sure the desperation is leaching off you in waves
jake rewards it by continuing his venture upward, hand slipping over the curve of your thigh until it’s nestling in between your legs and the coolness of his rings from the air outside on your blazing skin feels like the tiniest reprieve
he eventually makes it to the juncture of your thighs and with a careful, slow motion, reaches to push your panties to the side, but he’s met with nothing. no scrap of soaking fabric keeping him at bay, just the heat of your core
it’s worth it to steal the tiniest glance over his way and his eyes are already locked on you when you do, baby blues dark and stormy with his desire — that’s when you know you are in for it
he decides that if you can be a tease, two can play at that game, so as one of his fingers brushes over your slit, he strikes up a conversation with the driver
they’re talking about meaningless nothings — or it could be some stimulating, enlightening discussion about the state of things, but your mind is buzzing with only one thing at the forefront of your focus: the way that he’s slowly teasing your opening, the tips of his fingers just barely dipping in and avoiding your clit
it’s taking all of your willpower to restrain the tiny whimpers that are building and stacking in your throat
he lazily pushes his ring finger inside you and you have to stifle the breath you take in right as it nearly comes tumbling out
he fingers you slow, like he’s testing the waters to see just how much you can take before you lose it and start begging for more
he adds his middle finger in and you have to do your best not to squirm, knowing that the driver can see you in his rearview mirror and anything you do above the waist is entirely visible, that the driver could turn around at any time and see just what you’re up to, how needy and desperate with want you are, that you can’t even make it a few blocks from the house without succumbing to your lust
jake keeps talking, occasionally pulling his fingers out and circling your clit in slow, tight movements that nearly drive you right out of the seat. he’ll take those moments to drag you into the conversation — “what d’you think?” and all you can do is just nod your agreement, a high and breathy affirmation as you pretend you’ve been paying attention
whether it’s mercy or his own lust starting to take over, you’ll never know, because he kindly asks for the driver to roll up the partition and the second there’s a barrier now separating you, jake lets the wicked smirk unfurl as he starts fingering you with a little more gusto, one of your hands clutching tight to his wrist. “so fuckin’ naughty,” he teases. “that’s my girl.”
“gonna let me take you right here?” he murmurs into your hair, and all you can do is nod. “’course you are, you’re so fuckin’ needy. so wet for me and we haven’t even been outta the house for half an hour. this all you think about?”
and you both know you’d be a filthy liar if you disagreed
he manhandles you out of your seat, pulling you into his lap so both of your legs are bracketing his hips. “don’t rip my dress,” you have it in you to weakly warn him, and jake just laughs derisively as he buries his face in your cleavage, the stubble brushing against your skin
“i’ll do what i want, baby girl,” he informs you, hands stroking up and down your thighs. “if i want you to show up to that red carpet lookin’ all fucked out, dress ripped and my cum dripping down your thighs so that everyone knows exactly what you got up to on the way here, then i will.”
just the mental image of what he spins with his words has your brain swimming with lust, a tiny moan at the thought
you need friction, desperately, your hips rolling downwards as he fists his hands in your hair and yanks you down for a filthy kiss. “fuck me,” you mumble against his lips
“mm, what’s that? i didn’t hear you,” he says, starting to pepper kisses down your jawline
“please,” you cave. “please daddy, i need you to fuck me.”
one of his hands leaves your hair and swats your ass through the fabric of your dress, the sound louder than expected and a bit more telling as to what you’re getting up to behind the partition. “lift up, princess,” he says as he reaches for his zipper, unfastening his pants and pulling out his cock. “go on, then, take what you need.”
you bite down on your lip as the head of his cock bumps against the mouth of your pussy, spreading you open as you start to slide down. “shit, baby,” he hisses into your cleavage, mouthing at your skin. “you’re so goddamn tight.”
you sink all the way down until your ass is resting against his thighs and he lets out a quiet groan into your chest. you start to move, slowly bouncing on him as his fingers grip into your skin and set the pace. “that’s it, honey, ride my cock just like that.”
you’re used to making noises whenever the two of you have sex, since it turns jake on to hear what’s he’s doing to you, but the partition only obstructs the view, it doesn’t silence you. you’re holding it all in as best you can as you take jake inside you, walls fluttering around him with each thrust
jake on the other hand, has a different idea. “ah ah,” he chides with a low laugh. “if you wanna come, you better let me hear you. let the driver up there hear what i’m doing to you, how you’re such a fuckin’ slut that you can’t even wait until we get back home to get my dick back in that pretty little pussy.”
“fuck, daddy,” you whine, tossing your head back as he guides you back down onto his cock, his hands tight on your hips to direct your movements. “you feel so good.”
“you can be more convincing than that,” jake whispers in your ear, teeth grazing over your earlobe as you slump forward, trying to chase your building orgasm
“please, daddy, please fuck me. need you to stretch me—” one of his hands slips between the two of you, thumbing at your clit. “oh, fuck, yes.”
“so desperate,” he murmurs. “don’t even care if someone catches you. what would you do if i rolled down the partition, let him get an eyeful of you riding my dick like a good little whore so he knew who you belonged to? you’d like that, wouldn’t you? letting him know who this pussy belongs to.”
“yes, daddy, it’s your pussy,” you agree.
he groans at the feeling of your walls tightening around him, his movements on your clit quickening and evolving into tight circles. “you wanna come all over my cock like a good little slut?”
your mind is beginning to evolve into static, the friction on your clit coupled with the fullness of his cock inside you and the thought that any moment, your driver could roll down the partition and see the two of you fucking bordering on the edge of too much. “please, daddy. please let me come on your cock.”
“whatever you want, baby girl,” he whispers, and you feel yourself growing closer and closer to the edge each time he fills you up. “gonna keep me inside that tight little pussy when you come so you don’t make a mess?” you nod mindlessly, grinding down on his cock at the thought of leaving your wetness behind on the leather seats, clear evidence of what you’ve been up to. “fuck, baby. gonna kill me.”
it doesn’t take much longer to bring you off, turning you into a quivering mess as you hit your climax and slump into him, head falling against his shoulder with his cock still sheathed inside of you. “goddamn, honey, feel so good around my cock,” jake murmurs as he begins shallowly thrusting. “wanna...fuck, wanna come inside you. gonna let me fill you up?”
you whimper, nodding through the midst of your afterglow as another wave of liquid heat rolls through you. “look at you, gettin’ all wet at the thought of that.” his fingers tighten on your hips as he sets a rhythm for you, lifting you up slightly before dropping you back down on his dick. “that’s what you want, isn’t it? me to fill you up until i’m leaking outta that pussy. you wanna walk around tonight with my cum inside you? bet you do. you’re such a little fuckin’ slut for my cock and you want everyone to know it, too.”
his thrusts up into you grow erratic as he nears the edge of his release. “please daddy,” you beg, dying to bring him to release and feel him explode inside of you. “fuck, please come inside of me. use your pussy, daddy.”
“'s right,” he groans at your words, slipping another spank on your ass. “gonna make a fuckin’ mess outta my pussy, you’re not even gonna be able to take a step without my cum dripping outta you and down your thighs.”
“give it to me, baby,” you whine. “please, please, oh god —” you feel it when jake reaches his orgasm, holding you down on his dick as he comes deep inside of you. a broken sigh escapes you as he finishes, a languid smirk spreading across his face when he leans in to kiss the corner of your mouth.
“such a good girl for daddy,” he praises. when he slowly slides out of you and deposits you back onto the seat next to him, the loss of him inside you taking a moment to adjust to, he nudges your thighs apart and curls a finger up inside you. it returns, shining with the mixture of his cum and your wetness and presented to you. you close your mouth around it, sucking his finger clean and keeping your eyes trained on jake. “bet you wish you’d worn panties now, huh?” he teases. “better keep all that cum inside you. i’m gonna come back for it later tonight.”
The second day of practice was almost identical to the first. The team began in the morning with a run, which had left Aelin feeling pleasurably sore afterwards on both days. She had found that the sunrise that painted the sky pale shades of pink and orange was a good tool to distract her mind from the fact that her body felt like it was on fire as she kept pace with the fastest runners on the team. There was absolutely no way that she would ever let on that she was ever tired. She kept her mouth shut and eyes focused ahead as they neared the last half mile stretch of their seven mile run. If any of her teammates were tired, they sure weren’t letting on either. Rowan had held his mouth in a tight line the entire run, Aelin had noted every time she had cast a sidelong glance at her teammate, which had been far more often than she cared to admit. After two days of running together, it became clear who the strongest runners were. Ansel had led the fastest group both days, practically whooping with glee, even as she panted for breath when the runs were finished. In that same group both days had been Aelin herself, a brown haired sophomore by the name of Chaol, another freshman named Nesryn, a junior named Lorcan, and of course Rowan.
The evening practice on day two was another swim, same as day one. Here, again, Aelin found herself keeping up with the fastest group, but not actually being the fastest herself. The pool was truly where Lysandra excelled the most, her movements in the water almost ethereal, as if she had been a marine animal in another life. It was for this reason that Aelin now found herself frowning on the pool deck, wrapped in her towel. It had come to her attention that her only hope for truly being the best at any leg at this point was the bike, but she wasn’t getting her hopes up for what the next morning’s ride would bring.
The sound of Coach Maeve clearing her throat pulled Aelin out of her thoughts. «We won’t be doing dry land tonight.» The air in the room stilled at the announcement, and most of her teammates either looked up from what they had previously been doing, or silenced the conversations they had been having. «I want to talk to you all about this semester’s race schedule.»
The team slowly formed a semi circle around Maeve, who stood in front of the white board by the shallow end of the pool, black expo marker already in hand. Whispers floated between her teammates, buzzing around like flies on a hot summers day. Maeve either didn’t notice or chose to ignore them, and began to write the names of a few races on the board, along with their dates and locations. Some of the races were familiar to Aelin. She had raced some of them at the high school level, although she suspected the race courses might be a little different. The majority, however, were to take place in other states, where Aelin had never competed before. She felt her frown deepen as Maeve turned around to face them again.
«For the majority of these races, we should be able to bring the entire team, barring anyone who cannot compete due to a documented excuse. Your placement in these races will effect my decision as to who I am taking to collegiate nationals at the end of this season, but ultimately, the ten people that I bring to nationals is up to my discretion. Making the podium at any of these races will certainly help your case, though.»
Aelin’s eyes narrowed as she took in the dates of the races, the earliest of which was a mere two weeks away. They were all spaced out fairly evenly, save for the quick turnaround between conference championships and nationals. She had forgotten that collegiate nationals took place in the fall rather than the spring, which was when high school nationals were. The short span of time between those two races could make training for them a bit difficult, but certainly not impossible. That was also if she made the cut for the group going to nationals. She scowled. Making the cut had never been an issue when she was in high school, but she had a sinking feeling that that would not be the case here.
As if reading her mine, the blue eyed boy beside her - Dorian, if she remembered correctly - leaned over towards her, his lips practically grazing her ear as he whispered, «She plays favorites.»
Aelin bit her lip, crossing her arms and shifting her weight from her left leg to her right. Around her, most of her teammates stood in continued silence, their attention glued to Maeve as she explained travel to and from race sites. «Who?» Aelin’s whisper was harsh and sharp, flying through the small space between her and Dorian like a well-aimed dagger.
Someone just behind them snorted, and Aelin turned to see Chaol standing in a position that mirrored the one she has been standing in moments before. «Wouldn’t you like to know?» As he spoke, his eyes never once shifted their focus from the white board.
«Yeah, that’s why I’m asking,» Aelin retorted, rolling her eyes.
Dorian looked at her out of the corner of his eyes. «How about this - come to my dorm after practice, and I’ll answer your questions if you’ll answer some of mine.»
Eyes narrowed, Aelin assessed his offer. On the one hand, learning how Maeve operated and chose the group that made it to nationals could help give her an edge over the other freshmen on the team. However, she had no clue as to what questions he might have for her, or if she could even answer them. After a few more moments of tossing the pros and cons up and down in her mind, Aelin made her decision. «Deal.»
«Any further questions can be sent to me via email,» Maeve called from the front of the room, «See you all tomorrow morning.»
«Hooray,» Lysandra grumbled as she slid past Aelin towards the women’s locker room.
«Meet me outside the main entrance when you’re done changing,» Dorian called, winking as he looked over his shoulder and headed in the other direction. Aelin only nodded before turning and following the girls to their locker room.
«I didn’t think that you’d be the one from your class to fall for his charm,» Nehemia stated as she slid up to Aelin’s left, walking side by side with her as they entered the locker room.
Aelin turned her head to look at her teammate, who was still looking straight ahead. Her thick black hair was loose, tumbling down her back and bouncing against arms as she walked. Her face was calm, and yet demanded respect. Aelin supposed that Nehemia was the living embodiment of regal grace, if she was being completely honest. «I’d hardly call the conversation that we had charming,» Aelin argued, stopping as the pair reached her locker.
Nehemia raised an eyebrow. «And yet you still decided to go home with him.»
«Only as a friend,» Aelin insisted, even as she felt the color rising in her cheeks. «And even then, only because he has answers that I want.» She dug around in her locker for her clothes, throwing them on the bench glazed, wooden bench in front of her locker once she found them, and then beginning to change.
«There are other people who have the answers you seek, you know?» Nehemia simply leaned against the locker to the right of Aelin’s, making no move towards her own locker. Aelin just looked at her, keeping her face neutral. «It’s been a long time since there was another girl on this team that I felt like I could trust, and I don’t want to see your potential wasted.»
Aelin felt her face soften as she nodded. She had to admit that Nehemia was really the only older girl on the team that she genuinely felt like she could get along with. The only other two girls she had met from the grades above her had been far too snooty for Aelin’s liking, and she had done her best to keep her distance. If Nehemia felt the same about them, Aelin could only imagine how lonely her previous two years on the team must have been.
«I could accompany you tonight, if you’d like,» Nehemia offered, shrugging. She finally began to make her way over to her own locker at the end of the bench, pulling out what looked like a loose white tank top and a pair of denim shorts.
«Sure!» Aelin finished pulling on her dark purple athletic shorts before flashing Nehemia a grin. Nehemia offered a small smile in return. «I’d love an ally.»
The two quickly finished up getting changed, and then grabbed their backpacks and made their way out of the locker room and down a narrow hallway that ended in a steep staircase. By the time they had cleared the lobby and were out the door, Dorian was already standing there, laughing at something Chaol had said.
«Hey,» Aelin called as her and Nehemia approached, waving one hand at the boys. «I’m bringing a friend!»
«Oh, good,» Dorian replied, making his way over to her with a smile on his face. He jerked a thumb back at Chaol, who scowled as he walked towards the girls as well. «So am I. Though, he’s my roommate, so it’s not as if he had much choice in the matter.»
Aelin couldn’t help but laugh, especially when Nehemia added, «I’m glad you two are rooming together again. Chaol is most of your impulse control. I’d hate to see what would become of you without him.»
«He tries his best.» Dorian looked back over his shoulder at Chaol, who was walking next to Nehemia. Chaol just kept walking, his eyes forward, but not seeming to look at anything in particular.
It wasn’t a long walk to the boys’ dorm. Their dorm building was located on a hillside halfway between Aelin’s dorm and the building on the far edge of campus where all of the first year writing seminars were held. It was on the smaller side, as far as dorm buildings went, and Aelin wouldn’t have been surprised if less people lived in this building than lived on just her floor of West Hall, especially once she saw the size of the rooms inside the tiny brick building. A set of sliding glass doors opened up into a massive lobby with a high ceiling and white marble floors. At the far edge of the lobby was the elevator, which Aelin was certain could fit their entire team and then some.
Dorian and Chaol’s room itself may have been a bit smaller than Aelin’s, but considering only two people lived in it instead of four, it was quite sizable. The door opened straight into the living room, where a full sized u-shaped couch looked towards a flat screen tv that sat atop an entertainment center made of dark wood, leaning against the wall to the right of the entrance. To the left of the entertainment center was a mini fridge. At the far end of the room was a long window, taking up the entire wall opposite of the door the group had just entered through. The last of the sun’s rays filtered through a set of partially opened blinds, casting the room with a golden light. Behind the couch was a long wooden table with a wooden bench to match, as well as four tall-backed, cushioned grey chairs. A little hallway to the left of the table led to a narrow kitchen, complete with all of the amenities of Aelin’s own kitchen.
To the right of the dorm entrance laid another hallway, which upon inspection, Aelin found led to a bathroom. There were two more sets of doors on either side of the bathroom, which Aelin could only imagine led to the boy’s individual dorms. Oh, to have her own bedroom again! She had to cast the thought out of her mind as soon as it had entered, for fear if she lingered on it too long, she might begin to dislike her own rooming situation. Though she didn’t know Feyre all that well yet, Aelin definitely liked her. She might be a little curious at times, but that was only natural. They were still figuring each other out, and even then, they still knew far too little about each other.
What really caught Aelin’s attention, though, were the vast amount of books strewn across every surface in the room. Aelin dropped her backpack by the door and immediately made her way to a pile of books on one of the shelves of the entertainment center, slowly running her fingers across the spines. She recognized most of the titles, knowing full well that she had most of the same books in her own dorm on her windowsill.
«Sorry for the mess!» Dorian stood behind the table, where he had dropped his own backpack. He held up a brown bag in his hands, and with a smile, asked, «Popcorn?»
Aelin gave a slight nod, watching as Nehemia threw her backpack at her feet and took a seat on the couch, frowning at something on her phone before typing out a response. From behind her, Chaol exhaled deeply. Aelin whirled around to watch him emerge from the room to the right the bathroom, a glass Tupperware filled with what appeared to be rice and some sort of meat and vegetables in his hands.
Dorian rolled his eyes at his roommate. «I’ll worry about a ‘real dinner’ later. We have company!» With that, he darted into the kitchen, and the sound of the microwave opening and closing accompanies by the beeping of buttons echoed throughout the otherwise silent room. Aelin was taking a seat besides Nehemia when Dorian called out, «So, Aelin, you like to read?»
«Well, I would certainly hope so.» She crossed her legs, leaning back into the couch. For something in a college dorm, it was remarkably soft. «I’m an English Lit major.»
«Really?» She could hardly hear Dorian over the beeping of the microwave. «Me too!»
«Neat,» was all Aelin offered in reply as Dorian poured the popcorn into a bowl and made his way over to the couch, setting the bowl on a small, low wooden table in the center of the couch.
«Are you looking for a job? I work at Bridge Street books, and we’re currently hiring!»
«That must be a cool job.» Aelin bit her lip, imagining being surrounded by nothing but books all day. «This team and school is probably going to keep me rather busy, though.»
Dorian simply shrugged, tossing some popcorn into his mouth. «I’ve managed.»
«Barely.» Aelin looked over to her right to see Nehemia smirking as she talked. «Remember when your TA stormed into the pool during practice last year?»
Even Chaol smiled at that. «She said that you might as well have just poured ink all over the pages you handed into her, because that was how much sense your essay made.»
«Listen,» Dorian sputtered, «Nesta Archeron is one hell of a tough grader.»
Aelin raised an eyebrow and tossed a handful of popcorn into her mouth. «I see you’ve met my roommate’s sister as well, then.»
Dorian’s eyes grew wider as the color rushed from his face. «She has a sister?»
«Two, actually.» Aelin took another piece of popcorn from the bowl. «Nesta definitely seems to be the most domineering of them, though.» She didn’t admit that despite the jokes she had made towards her roommate, she had avoided the scowling TA in her morning class today. Aelin would get to spend plenty of time with her in her recitation of Friday, she was sure. Why spoil the fun so early?
«She seemed like an interesting person,» Nehemia mused, staring at the wall behind Dorian’s head. «I kind of wish she had come around more often.»
«If she treats other people like she treated my roommate, then I’m more than fine with her keeping her distance.» Though she was an only child, Aelin liked to imagine that she would be kind to her siblings if she had had any. She would have wanted to get along with them, to be their friend as well as their sibling, similar to how she would consider Aedion her friend as well as her cousin. Nesta had just seemed so harsh and cold towards her own sister, snapping almost every other word. The thought of acting that way towards Aedion, the closest thing she had to a sibling, made her shoulders tense. Sure they teased each other, but the general feeling between them had always been rather warm, even when they had argued.
Aelin uncrossed her legs, leaning forwards towards the other side of the couch, where the boys now sat side by side. «But that’s not why I’m here. You told me Maeve plays favorites. Who?» She stared Dorian directly in the eyes.
«She calls them her ‘cadre’,» he began, his voice a low and quiet rasp. To his right, Chaol rolled his eyes. «They’re a group of boys she began to train when they were young, up until she got a job here. Most of them followed her here. Legend has it that they took a blood oath and aren’t allowed to have any other coach.»
«Bullshit,» Aelin replied instantly, narrowing her eyes. «Or, at least that last part is. Regardless, who’s in this, ‘cadre’?»
«Lorcan, Vaughn, Fenrys, Connall, and Rowan,» Chaol answered, counting off each name on his fingers. «She often includes her assistant coach, Gavriel, with them as well, but he’s obviously too old to compete for a college team.»
Of fucking course Rowan Whitethorn was one of Maeve’s favorites. Why should Aelin have expected anything less? «Okay, but I shouldn’t have to worry about competing against them for spots, right? Since men and women compete separately, doesn’t Maeve bring five men and five women to nationals?»
Dorian crossed his arms and leaned back into the couch, raising his eyebrows as he began to speak. «That would be the fairest way of doing it, I suppose.»
«But that’s not how she’s done it in the past.» Nehemia grimaced and cast a sidelong look at Aelin. «Not that we’ve really ever had five strong female competitors at one time before this year, though.»
«Even with the girls, she played favorites,» Chaol argued. «Like with Lyria.»
Aelin narrowed her eyes, trying to remember all the people she had met over the last few days. «Who’s Lyria?»
A thick silence fell over the room as her three teammates all cast looks at each other. Nehemia was sitting upright, eyebrows raised as she looked at Chaol. Dorian was also looking at his roommate, although he sat in a far more relaxed position, still reclining into the couch. Chaol just looked down at his hands, which held a fork that was now simply hovering above his remaining rice and vegetables, as if the mere mention of Lyria’s name has placed an invisible barrier between him and his dinner.
«Well?» Aelin kept her voice softer now, but couldn’t do much to conceal the impatience biting into her tone.
«A former teammate,» Nehemia supplied.
Aelin had a feeling that the full answer was much longer, but let the subject drop anyway. That at least explained why she hadn’t met Lyria at practice. She nodded, grabbing another fistful of popcorn.
«Now, my turn!» Dorian sat up, rubbing his hands together as he leaned forward. «What happened with Arobynn Hamel?»
Chaol coughed, placing his fork down into his Tupperware as Aelin analyzed Dorian’s face. His eyes were wide, filled with a twinkle that wasn’t quite mischievous, but certainly didn’t seem entirely innocent either. A toothy grin took up most of his face in this moment, but there was no hint of cruelty in his smile. «What do you mean?» Aelin wiggled around in her seat. «A lot happened with Arobynn. I’ve been training with him since I was eight.»
«Why is he under review by the national triathlon organization?»
Aelin shrugged, doing her best to keep her face neutral, even as golden brown hair and bright, brown eyes flashed in the front of her memories. «He’d know better than I do.»
«We’ve heard the rumors.» Dorian frowned. «Most of them are along the lines of Arobynn causing one of his athletes to die?»
Aelin swallowed a lump that had formed in her throat. «His name was Sam,» she managed to get out, hating how quiet her voice had become. She cleared her throat, focusing her eyes on where the wall across the room from her met the ceiling. «It wasn’t Arobynn’s fault, though. At least, not directly.»
Aelin felt a wam hand on her knee, and looked over to see Nehemia staring at her. The dark skinned girl’s eyes were soft as she asked, «What happened?»
«Car accident.» Aelin shook her head. «He and Arobynn were on a training ride, and when they were crossing a street, a car ran the red and crashed into Sam. The impact killed him.» The room had gone silent again, save for Aelin clearing her throat. She looked at Dorian, whose eyes were even wider than before, his mouth partially open, but neither in a grin nor in a frown. «Do you have any water?»
Dorian jumped up with unprecedented speed. «Yeah, sure. I hope you don’t mind tap water.»
«Tap is fine,» Aelin replied with a shrug, her voice sounding more normal this time. She could remember the moment she had found out about Sam’s death vividly, but the boys didn’t need that much detail. She had been out with Aedion for most of that day. He had driven her to her graduation practice that morning, where she had seen Sam, and assured him that she would see him later. Then, she had left, begging Aedion to take her to the big bookstore in downtown Orynth so that she could pick up some new reading material with the birthday money she had managed to save until that point. Aedion had complied, under the conditions that he get to choose where they would get lunch from after. A few hours later, the pair had made their way back to Aelin’s house, laughing about some meme Aedion’s friend had sent him as they carried their shake shack milkshakes and food inside. Aelin had ordered cheese fries. She hadn’t been able to eat cheese fries since that day.
Immediately upon entering her house, she could tell something was up. She could hear her parents talking in hushed tones from the kitchen, which contrasted greatly with the way they normally talked so freely around her. There had almost never been any secrets between her and her parents. Her father had once even told her that the only secret he would ever keep from her was what he had gotten her for her birthday.
The moment Aedion had closed the door and Aelin had called out that they were home, the talking had stopped. Aelin’s parents had emerged from the kitchen together, her mother wringing her hands, her eyes bloodshot. Her father had had his arm wrapped around his wife, and urged Aelin and Aedion to come sit with them in the living room. Aelin had never sat so gingerly on a couch in her life, her food all but forgotten as she placed it on the floor by her feet. Aedion had grabbed her hand almost instinctively. She had squeezed his hand back. Then, her parents had broke the news, and her mind had simply become a void filled only with white noise and static.
«Here you go.» Dorian’s voice brought her back to the present, where he was standing in front of her, extending a cup of water towards her.
«Thanks,» she practically whispered, offering him a small smile before he sat back down. The water tasted metallic as she drank it, reminding her of the taste of her own blood from the split lip she had acquired in one of the fights she had gotten into a few days after Sam’s death. She had managed to get herself into quite a few in the weeks after her graduation and his funeral, almost wishing for someone to get her riled up, or to say something stupid enough to warrant her punching them in the face. She was a walking contradiction those few weeks. Her blood was constantly pumping, her limbs full of energy, even as her heart was numb and her head was empty. The fight she was thinking of in particular, though, had occurred at a grad party of one of her wealthier classmates. After two drinks, the stupid bastard had boasted that Sam was basically asking to be hit by a car, if he had been riding in the streets, as may cyclists did. Aelin had taken her time bloodying him up, even letting him land a few punches on her, for good measure. Hence the split lip. Her parents hadn’t even bothered to scold her when she finally arrived home hours later, bruised and bloody in dirty clothes, and had simply stomped up the stairs and slammed her bedroom door, without so much as a, «hello!»
«So, why is Arobynn under review, then?» Chaol’s eyes narrowed as he looked at Aelin, who set her now empty glass on the table. «When we asked Aedion about it, he seemed fairly certain that Arobynn had sealed his own fate.»
Aelin simply shrugged. «Maybe because Arobynn had been riding with Sam, and didn’t warn him about the car.» Chaol still looked skeptical, and she sighed. «From what I heard, Arobynn was leading, and was crossing the crosswalk when traffic stopped, and then when he turned around to see if Sam had made it across, he saw a car run the red and hit Sam.»
Chaol sat back, humming thoughtfully to himself. Taking a deep breath and looking around her, Aelin began to stand, making her way over to the door, where her backpack still sat. Behind her, Nehemia stated, «It’s getting late. I’d better go.»
Aelin could hear a flurry of activity behind her, including the cracking of joints and some mumbled agreements with Nehemia’s previous statement. She turned around as she grabbed the door handle, intending only to say her goodbyes, but Dorian cut her off. «I’m serious about the bookstore, though, Aelin.» His eyes locked with hers, still bright despite his unsmiling face. «I’m working Friday evening. Come with me after practice.»
Aelin chewed on her lip, moving out of the doorway so Nehemia could exit. «Okay, see you then.» With that, she closed the door behind her, chasing her friend down the hallway at a brisk walk, her only thoughts on how nice a warm shower would feel right about now.
T.K.'s got a tendency to be very cold ever since he got hypothermia. Good thing he's got a hot boyfriend to keep him warm.
Based on the prompt regarding TK wearing a jacket and a sweater while Cooper's just in a tshirt and how he's cold because of his experience with hypothermia.
[AO3]
It’s darker and cooler than when they went into the meeting, but it’s still hot. T.K. pushes his sleeves down as the breeze hits his skin. He doesn’t know if it’s just in his head, but ever since he had hypothermia, he’s had bouts of chills and extra sensitivity to temperature changes. It’s like the chill descended upon him and never left. It’s been worse lately, and some days, all T.K. wants is to wrap himself in a blanket and stay there forever.
“I can’t believe you’re not sweating.” Cooper looks at T.K.’s outfit with raised eyebrows. The sweater and the jacket should be swelter, but T.K. borders on cold. “I thought you were from New York,” he says playfully.
T.K. laughs. “I never got hypothermia in New York.”
“Touche,” Cooper says. “Wasn’t that in January, though?”
T.K. nods. “The doctors say I’m good as new, but it doesn’t always feel that way.” He wonders if some feelings medicine can’t explain. His body temperature is back to normal, and he’s made as good of a recovery as anyone could expect after nearly dying. Still, he can sometimes still feel the snow around him.
It hasn’t been that big of a deal. T.K. likes wearing layers, anyways, especially when he’s going to meetings. It’s safer to be covered up, buried beneath the thick fabric, because the people at meetings don’t know him, not really. They’re friendly and supportive, and some of them are even friends, but they know him through the expectations of recovery. Even Cooper only knows part of him, the addicted part of him. Cooper knows T.K.’s struggles and his main life events, but he looks at all that through the lens of how it impacts T.K.’s addiction.
He shivers, and he can’t wait to get home to Carlos, who always keeps him warm, even as he strips all those layers. The thermostat is always kept nice and high, and T.K.’s favorite blanket is always nearby, just in case. Those little things that T.K. adores so much about having Carlos in his life.
When he gets home, T.K. wants things to be normal. He wants to feel like his whole life hasn’t been a clusterfuck. Meetings are a chore, necessary but arduous—a held breath, but Carlos is an exhale. T.K. tries to act fine when he’s with Carlos, bury the parts of him that are still not okay. It’s not because he doesn’t want to share that part of himself, but dealing with it is exhausting, and he wants to protect his relationship from some of the chaos. He wants to spend the good moments with Carlos because those are the moments he can find true peace.
When he gets home, T.K.’s met with an icy front. It’s outwardly friendly, but T.K. can feel the sharp points poking through. Passive-aggressive Carlos is stubborn and closed-off; he doesn’t yell, and T.K. almost wishes he would. He wants Carlos to get that anger out, and then they can get it all out. T.K. resists the urge to become petty, to put on his jacket and protect himself from Carlos’ cold front, but he knows that will do him no good, so he endures the cold snap, knowing that he just has to wait it out.
T.K. knows Carlos well enough to know when to push and when to let it go. He tries to move on and give Carlos the space Carlos needs, and things don’t blow up between them, but they aren’t resolved either. They don’t talk much, not beyond the shallow conversations. They’ve fallen out of rhythm, and the longer the odd disconnection goes on between them, the more T.K.’s self-destructive urges try to poke their heads into T.K.’s thoughts, but he pushes them down. He can’t afford to let his fear overcome him, not again. He crosses his arms over his chest. The cold will be over soon, he tells himself.
But then there’s that call with the boy who lost his mother. T.K. feels the shiver immediately. The cold becomes numb, and T.K. locks himself away. He doesn’t want to leave his bedroom, he doesn’t want to eat, he doesn’t want to talk about all the fucked up thoughts rushing through his head.
But Carlos pulls him out of the room. He puts a pizza in the oven, and he calls Cooper. T.K. almost wants to cry at how thoughtful it all is. A little bit of warmth fills him from the inside out. The cold is still there. It always will be there, maybe, but T.K. knows there will always be a sweater, a jacket, or a boyfriend that radiates heat like a space heater.
Carlos isn’t home yet when T.K. goes to sleep. It’s not that late, but T.K.’s tired, and he buries himself under as many blankets as he can. The morning will bring a fresh start. That’s what he needs to be okay.
He’s drowsy when Carlos kisses him awake.
“Baby, I missed you,” T.K. says, unable to stop himself from smiling.
“You stole the blankets again,” Carlos says with a laugh and a kiss to the side of T.K.’s head.
T.K. realizes he has all the covers wrapped around him. “I was cold.”
“You’re such a blanket hog.”
“I nearly died from hypothermia, Carlos.”
“Seriously, T.K.?” Carlos says with a laugh. “How long do you think you can get away with that excuse?”
“I think it gets me a lifetime blanket hog pass.”
Carlos relents easily and grabs another blanket. “This one’s for me,” he warns T.K. and gets into bed beside him.
T.K. flips over in the bed so that he’s nearly rolled on top of Carlos, leaving all the other blankets behind. “If you insist on having a blanket of your own, I’ll just have to get under it with you.” He kisses Carlos’ neck, feeling more awake with the option of sex on the table.
Carlos acts put out, but he pulls T.K. closer to him. “I’m tired, T.K.,” he says with no real resistance.
“Me too, but I feel like we haven’t been together in forever.” It’s not like they’ve been fighting, but they haven’t had the same usual ease between them, and T.K. just wants things to go back to normal, before his mom died and Sadie drugged them. “I’ve missed you.”
“You’re just horny,” Carlos says with a laugh.
“If you had a boyfriend as hot as mine, you’d feel the same way.”
“Oh, I do.” Carlos nips the top of T.K.’s lip. “I can’t get enough of you,” Carlos says, pulling T.K. closer for another kiss. “You drive me crazy.” Carlos pulls T.K. on top of him, so T.K.’s lying on his chest.
T.K. feels fingers at the hem of his shirt, and then his chest is exposed to the air. “No one else gets to see me like this.”
Carlos whispers in his ear, and T.K. feels a shiver run up his spine, but this time, he isn’t cold. He’s warm, he’s loved, and the chill will never last that long.
“Carlos, I’m about to do something stupid.”
“Uh, can you elaborate? What do you mean by stupid?”
“I could just swallow down a bottle of pills, and then I won’t bother anyone anymore.”
------
One bad feeling and a chilling call later, Carlos has to deal with the most troubling danger T.K. has ever attracted.
In the morning, Carlos woke up with a bad feeling in his stomach. He looked over at T.K., who was still sound asleep and nudged him awake. They both had early shifts, so they’d used the same alarm, but T.K. had slept through it. “T.K., the alarm went off,” Carlos told him, and T.K. buried himself deeper in the blankets. “Did you hear me?”
“I’m not going in,” T.K. said groggily.
“Are you sick?”
“I woke up early, not feeling great. Nothing major, just a little meh, but I texted Tommy that I wouldn’t be able to make it for my shift.”
“Yeah, okay. Do you want anything?”
“Just sleep.”
“I’ll come to check on you before I leave,” Carlos replied, dragging his feet to get ready for work. Anxiety fermented in his stomach, but he assumed it was just because work had been stressful. After the long week he’d had, including an incident with a gunman, it was no wonder he was feeling a little on edge.
Before he left, he poked his head into the bedroom. T.K. was still awake, staring at the ceiling. Carlos set a glass of water on the nightstand and kissed T.K.’s temple. “I’ve got to go. Do you need something before I go.”
“I’m good, Carlos.”
“I’ll be available if you need me, or you can call my mom whenever.”
“I’m a paramedic. I can handle myself, but thank you. I love you.”
Carlos hesitated. Something told him to stay. To call off with a fake cough and make sure T.K. was okay, but he didn’t want to be overbearing, and the strange feeling he had when he woke up was probably warping his judgment. “I love you too.”
Carlos couldn’t shake the bad feeling during his shift. “Hey, Reyes,” Mitchell said, and Carlos jumped, and his coffee splashed in waves near the lip of his cup. “Woah, what’s gotten into you?”
“My gut tells me something is wrong.”
“With what?”
“T.K,” Carlos replied.
“Are you two fighting or something?” Mitchell asked sympathetically.
“He’s sick.”
“Something serious?”
“It didn’t seem that way.”
“See? You’re worrying over nothing. I’m sure T.K.’s just got a cold or something.” Mitchell sounded so confident that Carlos almost relaxed, but he couldn’t shake the nagging thoughts that followed him.
For his own comfort, Carlos called T.K. at lunchtime. “How are you feeling?” he asked.
“Good,” T.K. said, but his voice was slow. “Lousy, actually, but not bad enough to worry.”
“I’ll be home as soon as I can,” Carlos promised.
“It’s the third Friday,” T.K. said.
“Yeah, so?”
“Isn’t that your night out with your colleagues.”
“Shit, yeah. I can skip it.”
“You should go,” T.K. said. “I won’t be much fun.”
“Will you be okay?” If T.K. told him so, he would believe it.
“Unless you’re my immune system, there’s not much you can do.”
“Do you think you’ll need to see a doctor?”
“It’s not that bad. Go out with your friends tonight, and I’ll still be here when you return.”
“I won’t be late.”
“Don’t rush home,” T.K. said, and it almost sounded like T.K. wanted him to stay out later. “Who all will be going out?”
“Me, Mitchell, Rey, and Murphy.”
“Rey, Reyes, Mitchell, Murphy. Sounds like a band.”
“Very funny. I’m glad you’re not feeling too sick for your stand-up act.”
“I need to practice. I wouldn’t want to disappoint my fans.”
“Keep practicing. You’ve got work to do.”
“Who’s the designated driver tonight?”
“Rey,” Carlos said with a scrunched nose.
“Oh, so you get to be crammed in the tuna car. Sorry to hear it.”
“Me too.” Carlos chuckled and looked at the time. “I’ve got to go, babe, and I bet you probably want to get some rest anyway.”
“Yeah, we’ll talk tonight when you get home,” T.K. said, the humor in his voice gone like he couldn’t withstand the energy of the conversation anymore.
Carlos felt that same bad feeling he had in the morning, a pang in his chest. “You’re sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah,” T.K. said too chirpily. “I’m just tired, okay?”
“Sure. Call me if you need me. Anytime.”
“Of course. Be safe, Carlos. I love you.”
“You too,” Carlos said before hanging up. As he finished the last bites of lunch, he wondered what T.K. would be having. They’d been too busy to go to the grocery store, so they’d been living on takeout and whatever they could find in the pantry. He cleaned the crumbs from his desk, and he texted his mom, asking her if she would bring T.K. some soup for dinner if she got the chance. He told her from the can was fine, but she texted back within a minute that all that sodium wasn’t good for a sick person and that she’d throw together something of her own. Carlos suspected that Andrea knew the gesture would be more healing to him than T.K.
“Did you have a good lunch?” Mitchell asked.
“Let’s just focus on work,” but no matter how much Carlos tried to stay present, he kept thinking about T.K. during any spare moment.
Before leaving work, he texted T.K., Last chance. You need me to come home?
no hve fun, T.K. replied.
Going out with did Carlos some good. With one beer down, the edge of Carlos’ worry started to fade, but it was still there, and he couldn’t quite keep up with the conversation like he usually did.
“What’s with you, Reyes?” someone asked.
“Carlos has been a spaceman all day,” Mitchell said.
Connor Rey gave Carlos an appraising look. “That’s the look of a man thinking about his better half.”
“T.K.’s sick, and Carlos has been fretting all day.”
“Awe,” Dillion Murphy cooed teasingly. “I remember when Annie and I were like that. Now with the babies, we’re too busy to worry.” Murphy took a sip of his beer. “It’s not serious, is it?”
Carlos shrugged. “He didn’t even really say what was wrong.”
“Then, it can’t be that bad.”
Carlos wasn’t so sure. “He’s kind of a trouble magnet, so his standard for something being wrong is higher than the average man.”
“Yeah, that’s for sure. He’s a bit of an urban legend at the station. I tell my rookies that if he’s on the scene, they better look out,” Rey said. “Don’t worry too much, buddy.”
“You’re right.” Carlos canged the conversastion. “The kids are doing well, Murph?”
“Oh, yeah. They’re starting to walk, though, so I’m not doing so well,” Murphy said with a laugh. “They’re a workout.”
“That’s probably good for you,” Mitchell said.
“Yeah—” Carlos cut himself off as his phone started to ring.
“Is that the boyfriend?” Mitchell asked.
“My mom, but I still better take.”
“Such a momma’s boy,” Murphy said with a laugh.
“Hey, Mom. What’s up?”
She said something, but it was too loud to hear. “Hold on, Mom. I can’t hear you.”
“I’m going to take this outside,” he told his friends, and they nodded.
He rushed through the doors, and the cold air hit him. “Okay, Mom, I’m ready now.”
“I’m worried about T.K.,” she said.
“What? Why?” Carlos said, unease turning into full-fledged fear.
“Carlitos,” Andrea said, “Did T.K. tell you what was wrong with him?”
“Not really,” Carlos admitted, wishing he had pushed the issue.
“I went to give him some soup, and he seemed really down. Depressed.”
“How sure are you?”
“I know that he wasn’t physically sick.”
“How could I have noticed?” He wished he’d listened to his gut feeling.
“I don’t think he wanted you to know, and I think he didn’t think I’d notice.”
“But you’re a smart woman.”
“That’s why I am calling. I don’t think he should be alone. I tried to make excuses to stay, but he wasn’t having any of it. He didn’t even want my soup.”
“Thanks for trying. I’m going to go home now and make sure everything’s okay.”
Another call came through his phone. Carlos looked at the screen and saw T.K.’s name. “Mom, I’ve got to go, T.K.’s calling.”
“I hope he’s okay. I love you, mijo. Let me know if there’s anything I can do.”
“I will. Love you too,” Carlos said in a rush to catch T.K.’s call, but the phone went quiet and dark.
He fumbled to get to T.K.’s contact and pressed the contact button. The call went to voicemail, and Carlos tried not to panic. “Hey, I was on the phone with my mom, so call me back when you get the chance.” He sent a text saying to call him. Maybe it was overkill, but he let out a breath when he saw it had been read, and a call came through on his phone.
He answered on the first ring. “T.K., hey. How are you feeling?”
T.K. said something, but a group of loud college students had gathered around Carlos, and he couldn’t hear anything. He walked down the street just enough to hear himself think and T.K.’s tinny voice.
“What was that, babe. It’s loud here.”
“Carlos, I’m about to do something stupid.”
“Uh, can you elaborate? What do you mean by stupid?”
“I could just swallow down a bottle of pills, and then I won’t bother anyone anymore.” Chills ran down Carlos’s neck.
“No one feels that way.” Carlos tried to keep calm, but his lungs weren’t cooperating. “Are you at home? I’m going to come there, okay?”
“What’s even the point?”
“The point of what?” T.K. wasn’t saying anything. “What are you talking about?”
“I just want to make sure you’ll be okay no matter what.”
“Why wouldn’t I be okay, T.K.?”
“You’ll be alright, won’t you? Sometimes, things have to hurt to get better.”
“You’re scaring me.”
Carlos barely noticed the shadow beside him and then the hand on his arm— Mitchell.
“Is that T.K.?” she whispered, and Carlos nodded.
Carlos was at least thirty minutes away from home. “T.K., I know you’re upset, but if you just wait a little while, we can talk this out. Okay?”
Carlos put his thumb and pinky out to signal a phone and flashed the digits for 9-1-1. “Things were supposed to stop being so gray, Carlos, but I just feel bad.”
“Call 9-1-1?” Mitchell confirmed as T.K. said. “It’s just so pointless.”
Carlos nodded at Mitchell. “Medical?” she asked.
“T.K., are you going to hurt yourself?” Carlos spoke clearly so that Mitchell could get an idea of what they were dealing with.
Mitchell’s eyes widened, but she quickly shook off the shock and stepped a few feet away from Carlos to make the 9-1-1 call.
The silence on the other end was too long before T.K. said, “It doesn’t have anything to do with you.” Carlos felt his heart skip a beat. “I mean, it’s not your fault.”
“We’re in this together. I can’t get there right now. I’m too far away, but I’m going to send you help, okay?”
“Don’t do that. I don’t need that.” T.K. backtracked, “I’m just talking nonsense.”
“Okay, that’s good. I’m glad to hear that, but you can see why I would want to be a little cautious, can’t you?”
“I’m the worst, and I want to stop being the worst.”
“Did something happen to make you so upset?” Carlos didn’t know what to say. Any training he’d had on dealing with a suicidal person had been corrupted by his nerves, but he wanted to keep T.K. talking until help arrived.
“It’s too late.”
“Too late? What’s too late? Whatever’s the matter, we can fix it. You don’t have to hurt yourself.”
“No one can help me anymore.” T.K. took a few labored breaths, and Carlos heard him retching.
“Did you take something?” Carlos asked.
Mitchell was back by his side. Rey and Murphy were beside her, and Carlos hadn’t even noticed them coming out, and he didn’t know how much they’d heard, but it didn’t really matter because there was nothing that any of them could do.
“Ibuprofen. Couldn’t even end it on something good. It’s so pathetic.”
“How much?”
“I don’t know. It was a while ago.”
“T.K.—”
“I feel really sick. I’ve got to go, Carlos.” T.K. took a breath. “I love you, and thank you for loving me. That was really nice. Nicer than I deserved.” The call cut off before Carlos could say it back.
“Fuck!”
“Come on, Reyes. I’ll drive you,” Rey said gently.
“Thanks,” he said, completely defeated. Mitchell guided him to the car as he tried to call T.K. again, but the calls went to voicemail immediately, and the texts went unread.
They piled into the car, and Carlos wanted to be sick for reasons unrelated to the tuna smell. “I have to call Owen,” Carlos said, slamming the door of the passenger seat behind him.
Rey turned the key to ignite the car. “Is he on shift?”
“Should be. Who knows if he’ll answer.” Carlos didn’t even know if he wanted Owen to answer. Because how was he supposed to break this kind of news?
“Go ahead. Make your call. Dianne’s going to text with any updates, so you’ll know if anything happens,” Mitchell said, and Carlos couldn’t remember who Dianne was, but he was grateful for her.
The dial tone began, and by the fourth ring, Carlos was starting to think Owen wasn’t going to answer, but he heard a low voice by the fifth ring. “Carlos, is something wrong?”
“Um, sir, Captain Strand,” breaking this kind of news had never come naturally for Carlos. With his line of work, he should have gotten better at it, but it still felt unnatural, and it was worse when it was personal. “Uh, there’s something wrong with T.K.”
Owen made a strangled sound and cleared his throat. “Is he okay?”
“I don’t know. I’m trying to get home, but I’m about half an hour away. I called 9-1-1, and first responders should be there any moment.”
“What happened?”
Oh right. He’d forgotten to say that part, the dreadful, terrifying part. “He wasn’t making a lot of sense, sir, but we think it’s a likely suicide attempt.”
“Oh god. Oxy?”
“I don’t think so.” Carlos sighed. “Listen, Captain Strand, I better go. I want to try getting ahold of T.K., but I’ll keep you updated.”
“I’ll meet you at the apartment.”
“He’ll be on his way to the hospital by the time you get there. I’ll give you the info as soon as I have it.”
Owen didn’t sound happy about that, but he obliged. “Alright, Carlos. Thanks for letting me know. I’ll tell the team what’s happening and Gwyn.”
“Yeah, of course. Talk to you later,” Carlos said and hung up, fingers shaking.
“You okay, Reyes?” Murphy asked.
“I should have stayed home this morning,” Carlos said guiltily.
“You couldn’t have known.” But he had known. He’d had that terrible feeling, and he’d ignored it.
“I had a bad feeling.”
Murphy reached towards the front of the car and patted his shoulder. “Most of us have that before an early shift.”
He tried T.K. a couple times, even though he didn’t expect a response, and he froze when he looked back and saw Mitchell’s face lit up by her phone. He raised his eyebrows hopefully, and she shook her head. “No word yet.”
“They should be there by now,” Carlos said anxiously. He looked out the road, and it stretched too long in front of them.
The phone lit up again. “You’ll know as soon as I know anything,” Mitchell promised.
The image of T.K. dead on their floor gripped Carlos’ thoughts. He imagined that T.K. was already gone, and by the time the ambulance got there, it would be too late. They’d find T.K.’s dead body and wheel him away. Carlos would never get to say goodbye, and he’d never utter better last words than the desperate ones he had said. They’d never get married or have kids. Their plans would crumble, and the earth would lose one of the best people on it.
“Carlos,” Mitchell said. “Carlos!” she repeated when he didn’t answer. “They’ve got him. They’re taking him to WP memorial.”
“I’ll redirect there,” Rey said, and Carlos took a moment to appreciate that his friends hadn’t had to think about helping Carlos. They’d just done it without complaint.
“How is he?” Carlos asked, too scared to feel any relief.
Mitchell gave a somber look. “Medically, he should be okay, but I don’t think he can get out of a psych hold.”
“I know,” Carlos said as he texted Owen what he knew. “He’s not going to want to stay.”
“None of this is easy,” Mitchell emphasized.
It took twenty long minutes before Carlos arrived at the hospital. A building had never looked so foreboding. He almost wanted to stay in Rey’s smelly car just to avoid the chaos that awaited him, but more than anything, he needed to see for himself that T.K. was okay. Because he still didn’t fully believe it.
“Want us to come in with you?” Mitchell offered.
Carlos shook his head. “It’s better I go in alone.”
“Yeah, of course. Whatever you want.”
“You’ll get through this,” Rey added as Carlos gathered himself enough to enter the hospital. “Anything you need, just let us know.”
“You know you’re like family to us, man,” Murphy added with a sad smile.
“Thanks, guys.”
“Text when you get the chance or if you need to talk,” Mitchell said.
“Yeah,” Carlos said, shutting the door behind him, hurrying into the hospital, and taking the stairs to T.K.’s floor because it would be faster than the elevator, which was known for taking forever. He knew the hospital too well for his liking, but the intimate knowledge helped him move with efficiency towards T.K.
For as long as he’d wanted to see T.K., Carlos hadn’t been prepared for the sight. He froze in front of T.K., eyes watery.
“Hey,” T.K. said, voice small. There were dark circles under his eyes, and his skin looked a little gray, but he was alive, and he didn’t look sick, but that was the scariest part of the sickness T.K. had. It lived beneath the surface, where no one could see it.
Carlos forced his legs to move towards the bed and dropped to the side of the bed, crouching so that his head was at the level of the mattress, overwhelmed by the sight before him. He took T.K.’s hand and intertwined their fingers. He leaned down and softly kissed the back of T.K.’s hand, never wanting to let T.K. go.
“I’m okay,” T.K. said. “Just embarrassed.”
“You don’t have to be embarrassed.” Carlos kissed T.K.’s hand again.
“How did you even get here? You didn’t have your car.”
“Rey and the others were a lot of help.”
“How much do they know?”
Carlos wasn’t going to lie. “Most of it.”
“Who else knows?”
“Your dad, your mom, the 126 probably.”
“So what you’re saying is that everybody’s going to think I’m crazy now.”
“No one thinks that. We all just want to support you.”
“I wasn’t trying to kill myself.” Carlos couldn’t keep the skepticism off his face. “I wasn’t.”
“Do you remember what you said to me on the phone?”
“I shouldn’t have made that call. It was a shitty thing to do.”
“If you think the call is the problem, you’re missing the point.”
“I’m sorry, Carlos. I didn’t want to upset you.”
Carlos took T.K.’s hand. “You don’t need to be sorry, but this isn’t going to just away.”
“I know,” T.K. said. “How long do we have before my dad is here?”
“Not long. He’s probably breaking all the traffic laws.” Carlos smiled a little. “Judd’s probably helping him.”
“When can I go home?” T.K. asked Carlos.
“I don’t know.”
“I just want to get out of here.”
“The doctors will want to keep you for a little while.”
T.K.’s face fell, and his voice was stiff. “Is that optional?”
“Probably not.”
“I’m not going to kill myself, Carlos.” Carlos bit his lip. “Seriously? I’m not that messed up.”
“You already tried. You took a shit ton of ibuprofen, remember?”
“Come on, it doesn’t do anything. It’s barely even lethal.”
“Oh, yeah, barely lethal. That makes me feel so much better,” Carlos said sarcastically, and then he saw how worn down T.K. looked and regretted his tone. He softened his voice. “This will be easier if you listen to your doctors.”
“I’m not going to have much of a choice in it.”
“They don’t have to force you to do anything if you comply with their expert opinions.”
“They don’t even know me.”
“It’s only going to be a couple of days, and then, we’ll see what we have to do from there, take it day by day.”
“I didn’t want to leave you,” T.K. said. “That’s not why I did it.”
“I know,” Carlos said through a lump in his throat.
“I wasn’t thinking.”
“Yeah, I know. I understand.” Carlos stood up from his crouched position and leaned to kiss T.K.’s temple, still holding T.K.’s hand. “You don’t have to explain yourself unless you want to.”
“It comes out of nowhere, sometimes. I’ll go from being just a little down to thinking that it would be better not to exist.”
“That must be hard.”
“It doesn’t really make sense. I’ll be up at night, with you right by me, and I’ll think that it would be better if I just didn’t wake up.”
Carlos squeezed T.K.’s hand to remind himself that T.K. was still there. “That’s why you need to get better, so when you go to sleep each night, you know that in the morning, you will be awake.”
Summary: When a guy spikes T.K.’s drink, Carlos deals with the aftermath and tries to help T.K. through the process. (This is the second chapter I wanted to write but only just got around to writing.)
[Chapter 1] [AO3]
They never found the guy who had drugged T.K., which wasn’t a shock to any of them, but that didn’t mean the news that the trail had gone cold wasn’t disappointing. And the impression Carlos got was the officers on the case weren’t all that concerned about finding answers, acting like they had better things to do than deal with T.K.’s case. There was no easy resolution to what had happened to T.K., and it was far too easy for people to minimize it and act as though it was a minor inconvenience and not a sexually charged attack on T.K.’s bodily autonomy.
“What about the footage on the security camera?” Carlos asked. They had a grainy shot of the man who had drugged T.K.’s water, and Carlos was sure that with some proper investigation, they’d be able to track him down. Maybe that was wishful thinking, but he would have at least tried to get answers himself if T.K. hadn’t explicitly told Carlos to not get involved. Carlos kept trying to remember that guy’s face, but it had been dark, and he hadn’t been paying much attention. Even Paul hadn’t been able to remember much from that night, and his memory was better than the rest of theirs combined.
When Carlos had protested with the officer in charge, it hadn’t gotten better answers. “You know how it is, Reyes. It’s a lead, but it’s gotten us nowhere, and we just don’t have the resources to commit to figuring out crimes like these.” Crimes like these. Carlos wasn’t sure if the officer was referring to sexual crimes in general or the fact that the crime “was just a drugging”—they’d actually said that once, and Carlos had to bite his tongue not to say something that would get him in trouble—and hadn’t led to sexual assault. It pissed Carlos off that the officers couldn’t even muster an ounce of sympathy and acted like the whole thing was a waste of time.
Carlos tensed. “What’s that supposed to mean?” He wasn’t naïve. Carlos knew how predators too often got away with their crimes, and law enforcement often didn’t invest the time or energy into cases that weren’t likely to lead to prosecution. Yet, he’d hoped that things would be different. He’d let himself believe that a resolution was possible because he’d done everything exactly right when documenting what had happened, but that faith he had was crumbling, and the truth of what they were up against weighed on his chest. T.K. had been quiet, looking about as apathetic as the cops who were supposed to help.
“It’s fine, Carlos,” T.K. said, and Carlos had heard that too much, so much that he instantly didn’t believe it to be true. Fine—the universal not-fine response.
There were lots of signs that T.K. wasn’t as okay as he said. Carlos knew he was attending more meetings and had scheduled an emergency session with his therapist after the drugging had happened. All that was good, and Carlos was glad that T.K. was taking care of himself, but he was worried that T.K. had taken words like “just a drugging” to heart because every time the subject came up, T.K. used his no-big-deal voice. Carlos didn’t want to tell T.K. how to feel about what had happened, but he had a terrible feeling that T.K. was trying to avoid the severity of it to protect himself. That wouldn’t help in the long run. Bottling it all up would only cause more pain.
It wasn’t fine; it sure wasn’t fine to Carlos, who kept having nightmares about that night and thought about the million ways he could have stopped it. He felt selfish for being so impacted, and he tried to keep his issues hidden because he didn’t want to put those issues on T.K. and turn an already traumatic event into something worse than it was. Even so, the anger hadn’t gone away, and the worry was still intense, and there was only so much Carlos could do to control it. Neither of them was coping well, and finding a new balance between them didn’t come easily.
The first time they went out again, everyone was nervous, and that tension was palpable. Owen was standing close, and Judd looked ready to throw fists at anyone who looked at T.K. the wrong way. Paul was taking in all the little details in the room, and Marjan, Mateo, and Nancy were trying to keep T.K. distracted with funny stories. They’d all been content to hang out elsewhere, but T.K. had insisted that he wanted to go out somewhere, and he’d chosen the scene of the crime. They’d tried to steer T.K. to less triggering alternative spots, but T.K. hadn’t accepted any other options.
“Are you sure about this?” Carlos whispered, taking T.K.’s hand as they walked through the door. He wanted T.K. close, not just to make T.K. feel better but to appease his own nerves.
“This isn’t a big deal,” T.K. said, clearly trying to convince himself that he was fine, but he’d been talking incessantly about pop music on the car ride over, and his hands were only shaking slightly but enough that Carlos could feel it.
“We can leave any time,” Carlos reminded him.
“Leave it alone.” Carlos wasn’t sure how he was supposed to do that because being in the building filled Carlos with rage and fear, and he couldn’t help but scan the faces in the room, wondering if the guy who had hurt T.K. was back. He didn’t know what he would do if he saw him. To be honest, Carlos wasn’t even sure that he would recognize him.
The 126 kept close to T.K., huddled around a table and not wandering far from it. Carlos saw the way they were all looking over at T.K. out of the corner of theirs throughout the night, and he wondered if it made it harder for T.K. when he knew that everybody was watching. Carlos wondered if things would ever be normal again.
“You don’t have to stick around here,” T.K. said when thirty minutes had passed, and no one had gone to the dance floor. The social event was starting to feel too solemn for Carlos’ liking.
“It’s too crowded to dance, bud,” Nancy said, and it was crowded, but not any more than it usually was.
“You don’t have to stay for my sake.” T.K.’s voice was stiff. “Seriously, guys.”
“Maybe in a bit,” Nancy said, taking a sip of her drink.
“The music hasn’t been that good,” Mateo added.
“Yeah, sure,” T.K. said.
T.K. didn’t drink his usual mineral water. He didn’t drink anything, and Carlos saw his eyes carefully tracking everyone else’s drink. “If you’re thirsty, I’ll get you a bottle of water.”
“I’m not thirsty,” T.K. snapped, clenching his fists. Everyone looked up at him, and Carlos knew the pitiful look in their eyes made T.K. more upset. “I’m okay. Seriously,” he added more calmly.
“Yeah, okay,” Carlos said. “Let me know if you want something.”
“I’m fine, Carlos,” T.K. said before changing the conversation and talking about batting averages of all things, and no one tried to stop him, even when it had been twenty minutes and T.K. was charging on with a series of mindless content, and just as T.K. was moving on to a new mindless topic, a drunk girl behind them dropped her glass, and the sound caused T.K. to visibly jump.
T.K. gripped Carlos’ hand, his knuckles white. Carlos watched as T.K. took a deep breath.
“T.K.?” Carlos asked.
T.K. pushed his chair, and it almost toppled over with the force of it. “I’ll be back,” he said, voice choked, headed toward the bathroom. Carlos fought the urge to follow him. He forced himself to stay in place and give T.K. the space he needed even though being apart from T.K. made his stomach twist in worry. As time passed, the tension became worse, and Carlos’ thoughts spiraled to the worst-case scenarios.
When ten minutes had passed, Paul said, “I think you should go check on him.”
Carlos nodded, relieved that someone had validated his instincts, which had been pushed far away from their center after the attack. “I just want to make sure he’s okay.”
“Text me if you need me,” Owen said.
“I will,” Carlos said, pushing through the crowd to get to the small bathroom in the back. Carlos locked the door behind him so they could talk without anyone coming in. It would piss people off probably, but he didn’t really care about being courteous at that moment. It wouldn’t kill them to wait a few minutes.
T.K. had locked himself in a stall. “Are you okay?” Carlos asked.
“What do you think?” T.K. said, sniffling a little.
“Do you want to come out and talk about it?”
“No,” T.K. said stubbornly.
“Is there something I can do?” Carlos asked, needing to do something just to keep himself together.
“I don’t even know what there is to talk about.”
“T.K., please. It will make me feel better to see you.” He hoped it would make T.K. feel better too, but it was easier to get T.K. to do something when he thought he was doing it for Carlos.
T.K. sighed and opened the door, his eyes red-rimmed and cheeks puffy. He caught sight of his reflection in the mirror. “I’m so pathetic. Having a breakdown in a grungy bathroom. It’s been years since I’ve done that.”
Carlos pulled T.K. into his arms. “It’s not pathetic.” He put his head in the crook of T.K.’s neck, taking comfort in feeling that T.K. was still there.
“I don’t even know why I was upset. It was stupid. There was no reason for me to freak out. One minute I was fine, and seconds later, I just had to get away.”
“I bet it’s hard being back here.” Quite frankly, Carlos never wanted to go back again.
“Yeah, but a broken glass doesn’t even have anything to do with what happened. Like, what the fuck was that? Nothing really happened.”
Carlos pulled away so he could look at T.K. “Even if you don’t want to think about everything else, at the very least, your sobriety was forcefully taken from you, and I know how hard you had to work to make sure it didn’t become a relapse.”
T.K. looked down. “It could have been worse.”
“Will you let me try to reframe that a little bit?” Carlos asked.
T.K. looked skeptical but nodded. “Yeah, okay.”
“Imagine that there’s a house fire. It’s a small fire, and it’s only done minimal damage. Everyone is safe and out of the house.” Carlos paused so T.K. could think about the scenario for a few moments.
“Yeah, I’ve got it,” T.K. said.
“You get to the scene. Would you look at that fire and say, ‘It could be worse. I don’t need to put it out.”’
“Of course, not,” T.K. said, “But—”
Carlos continued, “Someone has a broken leg. Would you tell them they’re fine just because that break isn’t complex? Would you tell them to go on about their day without treating that injury?”
“That would be medical negligence,” T.K. said. “It’s not the same. I just feel so stupid for letting what might have happened impact me so much.”
There was pounding at the door.
“Just one minute,” Carlos called. He turned back to T.K. “T.K., all I’m saying is that you have a right to be hurt and upset over what happened.”
“I need to get over it.”
Maybe a little honesty would help drive the point Carlos was trying to make. “Would you tell me that I’m being silly for feeling scared and angry over what happened even though it didn’t happen to me?”
“Do you really feel that way?” T.K. asked, almost looking relieved, and Carlos wondered if shielding T.K. from his own feelings had been a mistake.
Carlos nodded, “Yeah, I have nightmares about that night sometimes, and that’s normal. Trauma comes in many different forms, and it’s not something you can control. No matter what happened or didn’t happen, it’s okay to be upset.” That was a good reminder for Carlos too.
T.K.’s eyes glassed over. “I keep thinking about how he’s still out there, and I know it’s unlikely that he’ll have the chance to do anything to me, but he’s still out there, and no one’s going to stop him. He can just hurt whoever he wants, and no one fucking cares.”
“It sucks,” Carlos said.
There’s more pounding at the door. “What the hell are you doing in there?” Someone will get the manager soon, but the manager isn’t particularly fastidious about doing his job, so they’ll have another few minutes if they need it.
“I feel so dirty and used, and I don’t know why. Something’s been taken from me, and I can’t even figure out what it is.” T.K. squeezed his hands, his fingernails pressing into his palm. “I hate this place,” he admitted.
“We don’t have to come back,” Carlos said.
T.K. shook his head. “I don’t want to hate this place forever. He doesn’t get to take that from me.”
“Then, we’ll take it slow.”
“I hate this,” T.K. said, wrapping his arms around himself.
“Is there something you need me to do?” Carlos asked.
