Sally: Emphatic and effusive, tone and volume indicative of her mood. Bright and energetic with undercurrents of restrained laughter, as if she's in on some grand joke of which no one else is aware.
Gray: Gentle yet gravelly, with posh pronunciation suitable to recording audio books. Gray's voice is warm and welcoming, deepening to the lowest registers when he's serious.
Kent/Kenna: Melodic and rich, the voice of a singer. Despite K's deliberate effort to keep their voice flat and collected, there's still a natural musicality to what few words they speak.
Glitch: Smooth and soft, the remnant of a Southern drawl fading their "t"s and blurring the pauses between words. There's a sort of rhythmic sway to their words, each sentence spoken to a different beat.
Rosy: Sharp and authoritative, a voice that demands others listen. Harshly unemotive, but saved from grating abrasiveness by an underlying husky note.
Summary: Soulmate!AU in which when two fated people first touch, their names appear tattooed on the other person's wrist. In five years, Button and Gray have never come in contact with each other, until one day... they do.
Note: In this story, Nick and Sally are already in a relationship/are soulmates. Also, my (f!)Button goes by Stevie (her full name is Stella Verbena Wiseman, because I had to follow the flower middle name Nick got; she's not crazy about her full name, though, so she uses a portmanteau of her first and middle name together), though Sally has been known to shorten that even further to just V. There's a longer note at the end, explaining why one aspect of this might seem familiar, if you're so inclined to read it!
---
(11:48 am): STAY AWAY FROM 7TH AND ELM.
Stevie blinks down at her phone. It isn’t unusual to get random warning texts from Sally whenever the two are apart - eventually, after being away from the mental shielding that Stevie grants her, Sally’s visions always return with a vengeance - but usually there’s a bit more to go on, some follow up texts that explain a bit more about whatever it is that Sally has seen. But not today, apparently.
Cocking her head to the side, Stevie types her reply.
(11:54 am): I thought your dads said no phones on vacation. Did you get it back?
As she sits there waiting for a reply, Nick plops down on the couch next to her with a groan, dropping his head into her lap and following it up with an (overly-dramatic, if Stevie has any say on it) hacking cough. “Button, I’m dying.”
Stevie almost manages to avoid rolling her eyes. Almost. But she still starts stroking her hand through his hair in what she hopes is a comforting way anyway. Her brother may be an absolute dork, but he’s her dork. “You’re not dying, Saint Nick,” she says fondly. “You have a cold, which I tried to warn you was going to happen after your last mission left you drenched, but did you listen to me? Of course not.”
Her phone buzzes where it sits on her thigh. She swipes to unlock it, glancing down to quickly read Sally’s latest text.
(11:56 am): NO, I STOLE IT BACK. THIS IS IMPORTANT.
Her brow furrows, and she stops petting Nick long enough to grab her phone and reply once more.
(11:58 am): Okay, okay, I’m listening. Any more you can give me to go on?
(12:01 pm): NO DETAILS, JUST STAY OUT OF THE STREETS. BE CAREFUL, V.
(12:01 pm): P.S. IS NICHOLAS OKAY?
Nick’s heard the last bit of their conversation in her mind as she thinks over the texts, and he looks up at her with trademark puppy dog eyes. Tell her to stop worrying, I’m fine. Or, alternatively, let me talk to her and I’ll tell her myself?
She frowns, hating to be the bearer of bad news. She technically can’t have her phone yet, sorry. She snuck it from her dads to give me a head’s up on something.
Nick’s sighing really becomes dramatic then. Apparently a week away from his girlfriend, even with his sister and best friend there to keep him occupied, is too much for him to handle. Stevie decides to answer quickly so that she can go back to giving him her full attention.
(12:05 pm): He’s a bit worse today, but nothing awful. A bit of a temperature and a cough that doesn’t want to go away. Gray and I are keeping an eye on him. And by that I mean that Gray forced him to take some PTO, and I’m keeping him fed and hydrated.
(12:06 pm): He, however, claims he’s dying, so if you have any last words…
Sally’s replies arrive almost instantaneously, and Stevie can’t help but chuckle to herself.
(12:08 pm): TELL HIM TO SHUT UP AND TAKE CARE OF HIMSELF
(12:09 pm): ...ALSO TELL HIM I MISS HIM
Nick cranes his neck over to see what his sister seems to find so funny that it steals her attention from his complaining. “Tell Salome that I-” he begins, only to end up with a face full of throw pillow.
“Tell her yourself later, you nerd. I’m your sister, not your secretary!” Stevie quips, following it up by sticking her tongue out at him. (Nick responds immediately in kind.)
One final text comes in from Sally, letting them know that her dads found her and took her phone back. Stevie hopes she doesn’t end up in too much trouble for texting her; after all, she was only trying to help her and keep her safe.
Before she can decide if she should call Sally’s dads to explain and plead on her behalf, a voice drifts in from the living room doorway, making both her and Nick sit up straighter to turn around and see.
"Is Nick being demanding again?"
Nick flops back into her lap as Gray walks over, putting his hands on the arm of the couch and leaning in as he talks to them. He makes sure to still stay a safe foot or so away from Stevie so as not to invade her personal mental space - so careful, always so careful. (She wishes he weren’t, has tried to tell him so, but he always smiles his careful smile and stays a few steps away.)
His presence interrupts and breaks apart the ridiculous fight between the siblings, and he knows it. He quirks an eyebrow, waiting for a reply. Stevie says, "Always" at the exact same time that Nick chimes in with a faux offended, "Never! And aren't you supposed to be on my side?"
He tries not to smile at their lovable bickering, but Gray’s affection for them both wins out. He shakes his head fondly at their antics, a common expression for him; the movement jostles a strand of his hair free, and he reaches up to attempt to push it into place, off his forehead and behind his ear. (It’s short enough that it won’t really stay, though, almost immediately falling back down. He tries twice more in vain to fix it before eventually accepting his fate. Stevie tries not to notice. Nick’s quiet snickering, complete with projected cartoon eye roll, in her mind tells her she fails.)
"Sorry, not this time, Nick,” he begins. “Stevie's only trying to help you get well, you know. You should be thanking her.”
Nick mumbles out something that sounds very distinctly like ‘Of course you take her side.’
“What was that?” Stevie asks, poking him in the side. Gray, meanwhile, has taken another step backwards, hands off the couch, which makes her prod Nick even harder in frustration.
Don’t say things like that! You make him even more distant.
Her brother looks up at her, genuine apology written clear across his features. Sorry, Button. There’s only so much pining a man can take in silence before getting lost in the woods! If you’d just tell him-
I tried that, remember? He very gracefully turned me down.
Because you were a kid, and he was in his 20s! You’re on an even playing field now! Wait, I lost the forest metaphor somewhere along the way...
With a sigh, Stevie tries to push the memories away before a flush can creep onto her cheeks. And I’ve told you a million times before, it’s not worth messing up what we have now. I’m glad he and I are good friends. Besides, Gray keeps his wrists covered for a reason, Nick. There’s probably already a name there that he’s trying to keep safe.
Nick begins to make a mental noise of protest, but Stevie quickly cuts him off by blasting the first song that comes to mind in her head, effectively screaming ‘We’re not talking about this anymore!’
Gray clears his throat, nervously shifting his weight ever so slightly on his feet as he realizes the siblings had been talking telepathically, and tries to make a graceful exit. “Well, I should start getting ready to go. I have to report in for a meeting at 2.”
“Sorry,” Nick says, between more coughing fits. Stevie hands him her bottle of water from the coffee table, which he drinks from gratefully. “You know how it is; it’s just faster sometimes.”
His partner nods, but still takes another step backwards as he makes to leave, one hand idly twirling the cuff on the opposite arm. Nick’s eyes dart down, clocking the action, and he frowns.
“Grayson,” he starts, his full name use and serious tone somewhat belittled by the fact that he’s still lying down with his head in Stevie’s lap. “I’ve told you a million times that you don’t need to wear those here. Nobody in this house - and nobody who Button and I would let in this house - would betray you.”
Gray sags a bit, exhaling a small frustrated sound. “And I’ve told you a million times that it isn’t either of you or any of our friends that I don’t trust, it’s myself. The second I start taking them off is the second I forget to put them back on.”
Stevie swats at Nick’s chest, scowling at him a bit when he looks up at her in mock anger. “Leave him be, Nick. You of all people should understand why he doesn’t want to risk it, what with both of you having some... slightly overzealous fans.”
“That’s putting it mildly,” Nick says with a groan. “But Salome and I have managed fine! Sure, it was breaking news for a while when we decided to stop hiding our marks, but people got over it.” He rubs a hand over his chest, pretending to massage away the ache of his sister’s (very light, she thinks pointedly at him) slap, then grabs her arm and gestures at it. “Look, Stevie doesn’t cover her arms!”
“I’m not in the public eye anywhere near as much as you two are,” she protests, snatching her arm free. “Besides, it’s... different for me. People have other things to try to use against me besides my bare wrists.” Stevie taps the side of her head with a wry, sad smile.
“And you think people wouldn’t focus on other things about Gray? His devilishly good looks? The oh-so-charming accent? The way his-...”
Holding up a hand, Gray cuts off the conversation there. “We’ve talked this over in circles, Nick. I’m afraid you won’t change my mind. Public marks are dangerous in our line of work.”
It feels like a punch to the gut to Stevie, like someone reached their hand straight into her chest and squeezed her heart tight in their first, like someone stole the breath straight from her lungs. So he does have a mark, she thinks, squeezing her eyes shut tight. I should’ve known.
Nick blindly grabs her hand, giving it a squeeze that one might even generously consider a death grip, though his eyes are locked with Gray in a silent (intense, from her observation of their expressions) conversation. She has no idea what they’re discussing, but it clearly doesn’t involve her. She returns Nick’s squeeze, but then carefully begins to pry her hand free and shift out from underneath him, needing to extract herself from the situation. She needs air, fresh air - maybe someplace far away where she can let out the pained scream wanting to burst out of her; she needs out.
Her movement seems to break into their conversation, and Gray shifts his regard to her. “Heading out? I thought one of us was staying with Nick.”
“I don’t need to be babysat,” the aforementioned sick man protests. “I’ll be a good patient, I swear.”
“He’ll be fine,” Stevie says, voice wobbling. She pulls herself up straighter, as if her posture could hold her together entirely. “I’m just going to go for a walk, get some fresh air. We’ve all been cooped up in here for the last few days.”
She can actually see the moment that a lightbulb goes off in Nick’s head, making him sit up quickly from the couch. But the sudden change in equilibrium seems to leave him dizzy; he brings a hand up to his forehead with wide eyes, causing both Stevie and Gray to reach out towards him should he start to fall. Nick shakes his head after a second, though, and rights himself. He tries to reassure them that he’s fine, but his sister and Gray both wear twin expressions of concern. At least now her focus is back on Nick and not on her own crushed heart.
Stevie sets her hand on his shoulder once he seems to finally be steady. “You should lay down. You need to rest, Saint Nick - and really rest, not stay up all day and night playing video games. You’re sick, not on a vacation.” She bites her lip before quietly confessing, “I’m worried about you. Do it for me, okay?”
Nick looks over at her and moans. “You know I can’t resist that face, Button.”
A smile tugs at the corner of her mouth, an uneven, tilted smile. It’s a small thing, her own feelings and worry still winning out, but it’s there. “I know. So what do you say?”
“I say… if you’re already going out, can you guys do me a favor?”
---
Within a few minutes, Stevie and Gray are on their way to go pick up a takeout order for Nick - some soup that, hopefully, will both fill him up and bring him some comfort. But Nick, being as particular as he is about foods and flavors, wants them to pick it up from a specific deli on the other side of town. Stevie hasn’t been there before, but she’s grateful that she at least won’t have to find it alone.
The fresh air does wonders to calm her down as well. She takes in big gulps of it, arms spread wide to feel the sun and wind on her skin, and gives a small twirling hop step as they start heading out. Sure, her heart feels like it’s been shattered into tiny pieces and is rattling around freely in her chest, but at least now she doesn’t feel trapped and contained. Besides, if Stevie Wiseman has gotten good at anything over the years, it’s burying her emotions and putting on a brave face - and she knows if she wants to retain her friendship with Gray, she needs to act like she’s fine around him.
Gray, on the other hand, looks outwardly uncomfortable. He keeps tugging on the brim of his hat, pulling it further and further down over his eyes (which seem to be darting around constantly to keep an eye on their surroundings, if his ever-moving head is any indication). He’s also making sure to stay on the far opposite edge of the sidewalk, giving her most of the pathway to herself. She can’t help but wonder if it’s lingering discomfort from whatever that last conversation with Nick had been.
“You didn’t have to come,” Stevie finally says, breaking their mutual silence. “That is - I mean… not that I don't want you here! I just mean, well... I know you have a meeting soon, so if you don’t have the time, I understand.”
Smooth, Wiseman. Real smooth, she thinks. He’ll never notice a thing.
He freezes mid-step and looks over at her, and she wonders exactly what expression he’s making under that cap and sunglasses, what’s going on in his head - one of the many times she’d kill for Nick’s abilities. “I wanted to,” Gray replies, voice barely audible over the busy sounds of the surrounding Chicago streets.
She turns away before (she hopes) he can see her blush. He doesn’t mean it like that, she tries to remind herself.
“Well, thank you for the company, then,” she settles on saying, trying to remember how to convince her feet to start walking again. Hopefully her voice sounds more calm and collected than she feels. “And thanks for the help keeping Nick contained this week. I know it’s hard for him to step away from work and rest, and I also know enough to recognize that he wouldn’t listen to just me about it.”
"For a man who constantly proclaims you the smartest person he knows, he doesn't listen well, does he?" Gray teases.
Stevie can’t help but groan. “You’re telling me. It’s not like I know him better than anyone else or anything,” she says sarcastically, then immediately shooting a glance at him and wincing a bit. “Sorry, I didn't mean-"
He holds his hands up, shaking his head. “No offense taken. I’m sure you do. I can’t compete with a sibling bond, or certainly not like the one you two have, at least.”
They pause at a light, waiting for the sign to give them the okay to cross. Stevie can feel Gray’s eyes on her back, and it leaves her itching to turn around. If the world were slightly less cruel, if the physical space between them weren’t a constant upkeep and if fate had consented to match them together, she might dig deep within herself and find the bravery to reach out and finally grab his hand, thread their fingers together, tug him out onto the crosswalk with a teasing smile and a playful “Let’s go, cookie monster, we’re running out of time.”
But that’s not them. He has someone, she has to remember that. And the two of them? They’re a constant mindful dance around each other, a deliberate six inches at least (usually a foot, if not more), always careful.
(She hates that word.)
Stevie glances back for a split second. “Fidgeting,” comes the mumble, and she doesn’t even fully realize that she’s spoken aloud.
Gray makes a questioning noise, immediately bringing his gaze to meet hers.
The light changes, so she steps out to continue their journey and tries to keep her voice even. “When you’re nervous, you fidget, especially if you’re all… incognito. When you're uncomfortable, I should say. You tend to readjust your hat, push up your glasses, fix your hair. ” She clears her throat, suddenly nervous. “Rebuckle your cuffs, whether that’s these separate ones or your shirt sleeves. Twist them around, like earlier."
The deli that they’re heading to is at most only a couple of blocks down now; Stevie can see the sign from here, a bright neon thing blinking in perfect rhythm. She times her breathing to it in an attempt to quiet her pounding heart.
He tries to smile, but Stevie knows by now what a real smile from Gray looks like and what his plastered-on media smile does, and this is most definitely the latter. She took it too far, she knew the moment the topic changed to even skirt the edges of his mysterious marks that she’d said too much, but something about being around him makes her lose her filter.
“Well,” he begins, clearing his throat around that fake expression, “You’re quite observant. But unfortunately, not all of us are as brave as you are, Stella.”
Her head whips around then, because Gray never uses her full first name - nobody around her does really, aside from her parents - and she finds herself frozen right in front of the door they should be entering.
“You called me Stella.”
He rebends the brim of his hat. “Apologies, Stevie." Shifts his feet. "I know you don’t prefer it.”
"It's okay," she hears herself saying, so soft even to her own ears that she thinks the words may have been lost to the wind. "From you, I don't mind."
Stevie winces internally; it’s going to take a while to build up a better filter around him. She tries to meet his eyes, but only sees her own (bright red) face in his mirrored lenses; she dimly hopes that he might not notice, or perhaps chalk it up to the day's warmer weather. After a moment, she shakes her head, breaking free of whatever spell hearing Grayson Black quietly say her full first name had put her under. "Anyway, this is the place. Shall we?"
---
Gray follows behind her, having held the door open to let her enter first, and it closes behind them both with a soft tinkling of bells. The first thing Stevie notices is that it isn’t an incredibly busy place; there’s only two tables occupied out of the entire restaurant floor, both up against the windows on the other side of the room and seemingly taken up by one big group. The second thing is that it smells amazing. Her stomach growls in agreement almost immediately, and she throws her hands over it as if that could make it quiet down.
She chuckles, trying to downplay her own embarrassment. “I think I’ll grab something while we’re here to take home for myself as well.” Glancing back at him over her shoulder, she asks, “What about you? Going to grab anything to-go before your meeting, or did you already eat?”
He opens his mouth to reply, but instead seems to quickly glance past her, a frown forming. Stevie’s about to ask what’s got him so upset when someone slams into her with a shoulder check, making her stumble backwards - almost right into Gray, but not quite, as he manages to bounce back a step in time.
“Out of the way, freak,” the person mutters at her, before shoving past her again and immediately out the door.
Gray acts like he’s going to follow, pivoting on the spot, but Stevie tosses a hand out towards him. “Don’t,” she pleads. “They’re not worth it. It’s fine, Gray. I’m used to it.”
He turns back toward her, and his anger softens in a second, seeming to fade off his features the moment he looks at her. “You shouldn’t have to be.”
Stevie swallows hard, fingering the strap of her crossbody bag, readjusting it very deliberately and meticulously to avoid meeting his eyes again. “I know. But it’s how it’s always been. Can we just… get the food and go?”
It takes him a second to answer, and Stevie knows he’s still considering going out after the guy and - and what? He wouldn’t ever retaliate against him; Gray’s too good a guy for that. Maybe give him a stern talking to? But that would give him away entirely, ruining his already flimsy disguise. He’d be surrounded in minutes; Stevie’s seen it happen enough times to know it’s true. They both know that no good could or would come from it.
“Okay,” he finally agrees. “But I’m walking back with you. I’ll leave for the meeting after.”
She won’t admit it outloud, but the relief that floods through her knowing that she won’t have to make the walk alone is palpable for Stevie. What she said is true: she’s fairly used to people making comments under their breath at her, but it doesn’t often escalate into anything physical. And while Nick, Gray, and all their friends had made sure that she knew how to defend herself if push comes to literal shove, she’d always rather not fight. Admitting that the (fairly innocuous, she realizes) interaction has shaken her up a bit (she blames her already fragile emotional state) isn’t something she’s keen to do. So she just nods in reply, grateful, before turning to walk up to the deli counter.
“Picking up an order for Nicholas, please? I have the order number and confirmation right here on my phone. And I’d like to get a second entrée while I’m here as well.”
---
Stevie leaves the restaurant before Gray. While he’s still waiting for his order, she grabs the bag with her food and Nick’s and says she’s going to wait outside, that she needs the air. She can tell that Gray is uneasy about it, but he relents and nods, saying he should be out in a minute or so. She gives him what she hopes is a reassuring smile, and pushes out the door.
But the moment she steps outside, she knows something is wrong.
A shadow blocks her path, despite it being midday, and a pair of shoes is suddenly right in her line of sight. Recognizable, perfectly shined, name-brand dress shoes.
Shoes she’d just seen as her classmate shoved into her and left the restaurant in a huff. Shoes that had just as often tried to trip her up in the halls of Aeon.
“Going somewhere?”
She snaps her head up, and - in the most deadly calm voice she can manage - says, “Move out of my way, please.”
The guy pretends to think, tapping his fingers on his chin, before a wolfish grin starts to spread on his face. “You know, I don’t think I will.”
“What’s your problem with me?” Stevie snaps, rolling her eyes. “If I bother you that much, then leave.”
“Like your little boyfriend did? Not here now, I see. Who is he?” he asks, taking another step closer to Stevie. She knows she can’t let him box her in, so she fakes to his left before pivoting around his right, trying to get around and away from him. Her momentum, however, is slowed due to the weight of the bags of food in her arms. Before she knows it, he has her backed against a streetlamp. “Obviously no one important, since he didn’t stick around. He sick of your noise already?”
His eyes glance down at her full hands, noting her empty wrists. “Or maybe he got tired of playing pretend? I notice his wrists were covered. He kick you to the curb to go after his real soulmate?”
Stevie grits her teeth, turning her head away; she doesn’t want to rise to this asshole’s provocation, doesn’t want to give away how painfully close to the truth he might be.
“Even fate doesn’t think anyone could put up with you forever, Wiseman.” He reaches out then, making to wrap his hand around her wrist, and on instinct she kicks her knee up - and she knows instantly that she’s accurately found her target as the guy stumbles back and doubles over.
“You’ll pay for that,” he pushes out past a groan.
Four things happen then in quick succession:
The first being that the door to the restaurant pushes open with a light chiming of bells, a sound far too cheery for Stevie’s current situation. She snaps her head up, meeting the fixed, shocked stare of one Grayson Black, just as he tucks his sunglasses onto the neck of his shirt.
The second thing is that the guy - who also glanced behind him quickly to see whether the newcomer to their situation was one of his friends or someone to worry about - mumbles a shocked, “Oh shit,” before turning back around towards Stevie with wide eyes, realizing that Gray is indeed ‘someone to worry about.’
The third is that he shoves at Stevie as hard as he can before making a beeline out of the situation, running off down some side alley and disappearing almost as quickly as he’d slid into Stevie’s line of sight earlier.
And the fourth and final thing is that she goes tumbling back - arms still full and totally unable to stop her fall - causing her heel to slip off the curb and sending Stevie sprawling into the intersection at the corner of 7th and Elm Street.
---
Stevie’s heart drops.
Her arms pinwheel as she tries to regain her balance, the takeout bags flying somewhere off to her sides, and after a second she squeezes her eyes shut tight, resigned to whatever serious injury is about to befall her. Somewhere in the distance, she hears someone laying on their horn, blaring down Elm towards her.
But the impact never comes.
Before she stumbles completely, before she can fall flat onto her back, before the oncoming traffic can slam into her flailing body, Gray crosses the concrete path between them, grabs her arm, and pulls. Her center of gravity flips on a dime, sending her instead tumbling forward to crash hard into his chest; the impact knocks them both backwards, but he immediately wraps his arms around her and spins them around on the spot, baring his back to the busy street to take whatever blow might come in her stead and placing her once again on the relative safety of the sidewalk.
Both their eyes are still clenched tight, breath coming in ragged, choking gasps, as some random pedestrian comes up yelling, asking if they’re okay.
She manages to nod, but she’s not sure it’s very convincing, given that she’s still attempting to stave off the panic threatening to overtake her and sucking in huge gulps of air.
“Careful! Breathe, Stevie,” a calming voice says. She’s fairly certain she recognizes the voice, but right now the only thing she registers is the slamming of her own heartbeat in her own ears. “Try to match me. You’re okay, look at me - look at me, okay? You’re alright. It’s okay.”
Someone lowers her to the ground, the two of them falling into a graceless heap of tangled, trembling limbs. Gentle hands smooth down her hair, pulling it back from her neck and helping her lean forward as she continues to hyperventilate. She vaguely registers someone asking if they should call for paramedics, another quiet voice saying no, disclosing that she doesn’t like doctors.
She covers her eyes with her shaking hands, trying to block out the chaos around her so that she can focus on calming down. Usually by now, Nick would’ve interrupted her panic attack with a series of unimportant, unrelated questions, but he must have finally fallen asleep.
Good, some tiny part of her mind chimes, but her focus can’t remain on her sick brother for long before another tidal wave of adrenaline crashes over her, taking any and all external thoughts with it out to sea.
A hand rubs up and down her spine, silently reassuring her that she’s not alone. Somewhere, a voice - the same person? - is counting softly into her ear. It takes her a moment, but in time she realizes they’re counting breaths.
She struggles to fall in line with their tempo, but little by little she does. The edges of her vision start to clear, the gripping sensation around her chest starts to loosen, and her limbs become stiff and heavy as she slowly, so slowly, stops shaking like a leaf.
“Are you with me?” the kind voice asks, and her mind finally reconnects that it’s Gray - that he’s the one that pulled her back, that he’s sat with her in the middle of a busy sidewalk for the last five minutes as she comes back down, that somehow he’s gotten the tiny crowd they’d gathered to disperse and give her air.
Her forehead comes to rest on her knees, but eventually she nods. She mumbles out a continuous stream of thank yous, seeming to be the only words she can form at first.
At long last, she croaks out, “You saved my life.”
Gray’s hand still massages up and down her back, trying to help her stay grounded. “It is kind of my job,” he jokes, though his voice is strained with the attempt to turn their afternoon into something lighthearted.
Stevie leans back, resting her head against his chest with a soft chuckle. “That it is, superhero.”
It takes a moment for his words to fully sink in. A couple of deep breaths later, though, and she springs back from his hold, eyes wide. “Your job! The meeting, you were supposed to-” she starts.
He holds his hands out towards her, like one might in an attempt to comfort a startled animal, obviously hoping she doesn’t work herself up into a frenzy again. When it appears she’s not going to run at his touch, he sets his hands on her shoulders. “It’s okay, Stevie, don’t worry about it. Unity will have already heard what happened by now. I’d be surprised if someone hasn’t contacted Nick as well.”
She groans at that, dropping her head into her hands again. “Great, now he’ll never let me out of his sight again.”
“That’s what you’re worried about right now?” Gray asks around a deep laugh, sounding utterly disbelieving. “Nevermind that you only narrowly avoided falling victim to a pedestrian accident, of course.”
“You know how overprotective Nick is. Of course that’s what I’m wor- ahh!” she cuts herself off with a hiss of pain, pulling her arms close to her chest with a wince.
Gray’s hands tighten on her shoulders as his eyes dart over her entire form. “What is it?” he asks. “Are you hurt?”
But Stevie doesn’t answer, she just stares down, eyes growing wider by the second. Gray pleads for her to answer him, asking again if she’s okay, but she can’t find her voice to respond. Her breath feels caught in her throat - not dissimilar to how she was previously feeling, but for an entirely different reason.
This can’t be happening, she thinks, mind racing at what feels like a million miles a minute. It’s not possible. There’s no way.
“What’s not possible, Stevie?” he finally asks, voice desperate, neither of them acknowledging that he reads her mind before the question.
Slowly - and looking back, she’d genuinely say it feels like the tiny movement takes her a lifetime, as if the moment stretched itself to encompass its enormity - she lowers her arms from her chest, holding them out in the space between them. His hands wrap around her forearms, desperately trying to find the source of her injury, before he freezes; she feels his heart skip a beat through the tight grip he has on her.
Staring back up at him is his own name, written plainly across both her wrists, raw as a new tattoo.
He blinks. Blinks again. At first, he doesn’t manage to say anything, just rips the cuffs off his own arms, right there in the middle of the sidewalk - and sure enough. Her name is there in the same small writing as his own was, bright red, inflamed skin around it. As if in a trance, he brings his fingertips to the writing, mouth silently forming her name.
“It’s you,” he whispers reverently, looking up to once more meet her gaze. The look on his face is pure adoration and… relief? A shaky hand comes up to rest on her cheek, as if he can’t quite believe she’s really sitting there in front of him still.
Stevie swallows hard, leaning slightly into his touch. “I - I thought… I always assumed you already had a name,” she confesses. “You made it sound like you did. In interviews. At home even.”
“I wanted the questions to stop. To have more of a sense of privacy, to stop answering the same question over and over again,” he says, shaking his head. “I eventually realized that if I was vague enough, people would make their own assumptions and run with them.”
“Well, it worked,” she jokes weakly. “I had no idea.”
The light behind them turns green, and someone honks at another car in annoyance when they don’t start moving fast enough. As if whatever spell they were under breaks at the sound, Gray looks around and seems to finally realize they’re still just… sitting in the middle of the sidewalk in front of the deli. He stands, dusting off his jeans, and offers a hand out to her.
Stevie starts to bring her hand to his, but stops halfway, hand halting in mid-air. “Are you sure?” she asks, hating how small her voice sounds. He’d been casually touching her ever since the almost-accident, yes, but emotions had been running so high that neither of them had really noticed in the moment. Doing it on purpose would be - should be - different. “You’ve always kept your distance, for as long as we’ve known each other. It’ll be… loud.”
He nods - a subtle, gentle thing - but he brings his hand no closer, leaving the ultimate decision up to her. It’s her mental privacy that’s in question, after all.
Who knew your whole world could change in one afternoon, she thinks.
And then, she takes a deep breath and slides her hand into his: a leap of faith.
---
They arrive back at the house right as Nick is flinging the door open, shoving his arms into a jacket, keys dangling from where they’re stuck between his teeth.
“Excuse me, I have to - Button!” The keys clatter to the ground, and he barely manages to stop his down-stair momentum before slamming into her. As it is, Nick’s hands fly up to cup her face, wide worried eyes looking into hers.
It’s okay, Nick, I’m okay. She thinks rather than says the words out loud, not trusting her voice. Tears pool in her eyes, and she gives him a watery smile. I almost wasn’t, but I’m okay.
Nick looks her over, as if he needs to see for himself that she’s in one piece and whole to believe her, but freezes suddenly in his mother-henning when he spots it.
Stevie and Gray’s hands are clasped between them still, Gray standing a step down behind her, no wrist cuffs in sight.
And Nick? Nick just rolls his eyes, falling into an exhausted slump on the stairs.
“Well it’s about damn time!”
---
Later that afternoon, Stevie takes a picture of her hand intertwined with Gray’s, both of their marks fully on display, and sends it off in a text to Sally.
(4:43 pm): Thanks for the warning, but everything turned out better than expected.
(4:47 pm): (p.s. I’m sure it goes without saying, but please don’t tell anyone else yet!)
Two days later, when Sally apparently gets her phone back, Stevie receives six straight texts in a row full of exclamation marks, the messages only seeming to stop when her phone begins to ring.
---
End Author's Note: Fun fact! This was supposed to be around 1,500 words, and that's it. Turns out, Stevie's an anxious worrier like me and had a lot of emotions to work through in a short period of time. Anyway, speaking of being a worrier, part of this might seem vaguely familiar. I fully recognize that Gray's route in the Cupid Calamity side story involves a "moment" between Button and Gray in which one of them keeps the other from being hit by a moving vehicle. (If we're counting a Segway as a vehicle, that is.)
I in no way intended to copy anything from Jo's story or step on any toes or anything. I've had this story in the works for over a month now - in fact, it's just been sitting there untouched for the last week or so because I was considering scrapping the whole thing, because all I could think about was if using a similar plot device was too similar. I hope it isn't and that this was enjoyable all the same. My sincerest apologies if it comes across as anything other than me attempting to express my pure love and adoration for Jo's story and characters!
(Also, apologies for the sheer amount of italics in this fic, haha. Between texts and telepathic communication and emphasis, it feels ridiculous even to me.)
A superhero catches a cold. A meddlesome brother attempts to play matchmaker. And Ellie Wiseman can’t resist a challenge.
Inspired by a number of @mindblindbard‘s answers to reader questions and some in-game text.
Very Pre-Relationship F!Button/Grayson Black
approx. wc: 1789
rating: t, for Gray’s language
warnings: none
Read it on Ao3 or below
Chatper 2 (Chapter 1)
Grayson Black is not sick. He does not get sick. Sure, he may have had some chills this morning, but the air conditioning on the UCRT floor was probably just running high. And he may have a sniffle, but it’s the middle of summer! Isn’t that peak allergy season? He is absolutely fine, and if Nick hadn’t gotten it into his fat head to order him to go home, then he could still be at work doing his job. At least he managed to sneak some paperwork home with him. Nothing that would break regulations to have out of the office, obviously, it’s mostly expense reports and the like - things that need to get filed but usually end up on the back burner because they aren’t time sensitive - but something must have been wrong with the printer because the text is all blurry. It’s got nothing to do with the sharp pain in his temples. It’s definitely the printer.
He’s hunched over his coffee table (If he’s going to work at home, he can at least be comfortable, it has nothing to do with the way his whole body ached when he tried sitting at his desk. He probably needs a new chair.) doing his best to work out what he's supposed to be filling out on this line when his ringing phone nearly startles him out of his skin.
He checks the screen: Ellie. That’s… unusual. They text, (because they’re friends, and friends text each other), but outside of when they were trying to organize Nick’s surprise party, she’s never called. Especially not in the middle of a weekday. His stomach clenches, his mind jumping - is she ok? does she need help? - to worst case scenarios. He fumbles the phone, rights it, answers.
“Hello?” His throat stings a little when he speaks. That’s an allergy symptom, isn’t it?
“Hey,” she responds. She sounds calm, she’s ok. The tension in his stomach dissipates. “It’s Ellie. Can you open the door?”
Can you open the… It takes him a second longer than usual to understand what she means, his momentary panic over her well-being shading into confusion. What is she doing here? How would she even know he was home, unless…
He fucking didn’t...
“Did Nick send you?” he says, “I told him -” I’m fine, he tries to finish, before she cuts him off with some rather pointed words about not wanting to be a bother.
He doesn’t. Want to be a bother, that is. But she raises a fair point about already being here. It would be worse to just send her back home after she made the effort to come over, wouldn’t it?
Nick was probably counting on that when he asked her to check up on him. Arsehole.
He heaves a sigh - getting up off the couch takes more effort than it should - and takes a quick look around the room to check that it’s tidy before he goes to the door. It is. Of course it is. And he rather doubts that she’d care if it wasn’t. But at this particular moment, it really feels like it matters.
Ellie’s standing in the hallway, phone still held to her ear. Her brown eyes - deep brown, the kind a man could get lost in - widen at the sight of him as he stands in the doorway. He says could. He means does. They’re dark, warm, flecked with black and framed by impossibly thick lashes and...
You’re gawking, Black. He gives himself a mental shake and looks down. And he notices the bags. That she’d lugged all the way here. For him. And that swooping in his gut is definitely not allergies. No, that’s guilt. (It is guilt. That’s all.)
“You didn’t have to -” he starts to say, but she cuts him off again with a roll of her eyes.
“It’s fine, Gray,” she says. “Now go sit down, you look like hell.”
Ouch.
He backs away from the entry to let her in, protesting, “It’s just a headache.”
He’s fine. She can make her delivery like Nick asked her to and go. He’s sure she has better things to do. “It’ll pass.”
“Uh huh.” And he may not be an empath, but even he can feel the scepticism radiating off of her. “Have you taken your temperature?”
“I’m not sick.” He insists, around the scratching in his throat. And anyway, he doesn’t get sick, so naturally he doesn’t have anything to take his temperature with. “And I don’t have a thermometer.”
She doesn’t seem at all concerned by that, just reaches into one of her bags and tosses a small package his way. He catches it, and looks down. It’s a thermometer. Of course it is, because she’s smart enough - so damn smart, she’s going to be brilliant as an MIV - to come prepared. He looks back at her, and she’s smiling. Beaming, really.
Her smile could light up a room. Is lighting up the room.
She’s also saying something. He blinks, managing to tune back in before he’s forced to admit that he hadn’t been listening, “...reading comes back normal, I’ll leave you alone.”
He’s not getting out of this.
“Fine.”
She drags the bag into his (essentially pointless) kitchen, and he can hear her rustling around as he pops the thermometer in his mouth.
He waits.
It beeps.
He looks.
“Well?” she calls.
“That can’t be right,” he mutters, more to himself than her. Because that temperature is a low grade fever. And he doesn’t get sick.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that.”
“One hundred and one.”
“How about that,” she says, mildly.
Cheeky. He smiles to himself. Of course she is, she’s Nick’s sister. She’s Nick’s sister.
The smile falls away.
She’s also still rummaging around in his kitchen - he can hear the cabinets opening and closing as she looks for...whatever it is she’s looking for. He gets up to help, and ends up in the doorway just in time to see her trying to reach a mug with a spoon. Because there isn’t a problem she won’t face head on, won’t try to solve herself. She has her hand braced on the counter, pushing herself just a little higher as she stands on tiptoe. It’s causing her shirt to lift just a little, exposing just a sliver of her midriff. And it wouldn’t be that hard to help her, to stand behind her and pass that mug down, a hand on her waist…
He tears his eyes away, cheeks flaming in spite of his chills, and fixes them resolutely on the wall. So much so that he doesn’t notice that she’s standing in front of him with a laden tray until she tells him that he’s blocking the exit.
He follows her back to the living room, careful to look away when she sets the tray on the coffee table, just to be safe - she came here out of kindness, not to be ogled - although he catches her gesture for him to take a seat as she says, “Tea, soup, nap. Proven 100% effective most of the time.”
“Really,” he says, sitting down (because it’s polite or because she asked or both) “this isn’t necessary -”
She cuts him off again, “You have a fever. Drink the tea. Eat the soup. And lie down. If you’re still awake after 15 minutes, I’ll back off and let you get back to work.’”
He opens his mouth, halfway to telling her that he isn’t sick. Closes it, because if that didn’t convince her before the thermometer reading, it’s not going to now. Opens it again, halfway to telling her he doesn’t mind the company. But he doesn’t want to monopolize her time. And he can’t think of how to frame it that doesn’t sound weird or creepy except it shouldn’t be either weird or creepy to ask your friend (because they’re friends) if they’d like to stay a little longer...
“I didn’t drug your food,” she says dryly.
“I didn’t think -” he didn’t even suspect that. She’d clearly misinterpreted his silence. But she doesn’t give him a chance to explain.
“Gray!”
“Right, sorry.” It’s probably for the best. He doesn't have the first idea as to how he would go about explaining it anyway.
She sits down at the opposite end of the couch, as far from him as she can get, (it aches, a little, to always be kept at a distance) and he recognizes the MIV study guide she pulls out of her backpack. He sneaks glances at her between mouthfuls of soup, studies the curve of her pursed lips, the way her brow furrows and smooths as she puzzles over the text. She’s quiet, still, in a way that Nick never is - goddamnit it, don’t think about Nick right now - and it’s...nice. Comfortable, to sit in silence with her.
He doesn’t want to stop.
And she’s absorbed in her studies. Would she notice if he just...eked his reports over?
“Hey!” She’s looking directly at him, pointing at the papers under his hand. Yes. Apparently she would notice. “We had a deal,” she reminds him.
He stares at her for a moment, mind racing (or rather, mind wading through knee deep mud thanks to the congestion) for any excuse to stay out here with her, before the look she’s giving him tells him that he’s not getting out of it.
“Fifteen minutes,” he confirms.
“Mhm. Fifteen minutes.”
He sighs, makes his way to his bedroom and lays down on top of the covers. He isn’t going to fall asleep. He’ll just lie here for the requisite fifteen minutes, then he’ll go back into the living room, tell her it didn’t work, and she can… go…
It’s dark. In that hazy space between sleep and waking, he is aware - because his arm is draped over a body - that there’s someone (Ellie) in the bed with him. He gently tugs her closer, nestles back into his pillow for the split-second before his thinking brain kicks in.
And his eyes fly open.
He rockets to the edge of the bed, almost falling over the side, we shouldn’t, too close, don’t want to take advantage, doesn’t feel that way about me and…
And the lump he’d been holding doesn’t budge.
Because bunched up comforters don’t move.
He rolls onto his back, and rubs a shaky hand over his face, the wave of panicked adrenaline receding as quickly as it had surged. “Fuck,” he breathes.
Something else floods him in its place. Something that isn’t quite the ease that comes with relief. Something that feels a little more like a weight in his chest. Disappointment.
the mindblind love interests created in artbreeder, from left to right: grayson black, salome alavidze, glitch parker, kent zarneki, ambrose ‘rosy’ kim, and an additional nicholas wiseman (because im uwu in love with him)
