It’s four in the morning, and the apartment is lit only by the occasional errant streetlight and the glow of a movie on TV that you can’t quite figure out how to ignore.
You should be asleep right now.
You should be a lot of things.
You try to focus on your computer, but the TV won’t shut the fuck up. It’s some cop bullshit, or maybe FBI, and it’s bathing the room in blue because everything is fucking blue now.
It’s her apartment too, she can watch whatever she wants to watch. You’re not going to complain. Not out loud, anyway. You can at least do that much for her.
When the credits roll, she turns to you and says: “I love you, you know.”
Before you can stop yourself, you respond: “I wish you wouldn’t do that to yourself.”
Fuck. Goddamn fucking lack of inhibitions.
She doesn’t seem surprised, at least. Just… disappointed? Exhausted? It’s four in the fucking morning, though; being exhausted is a given.
“You know I hate it when you say that.”
“And you know I hate it when you say you love me.”
No! Shut the fuck up!
You bury your face in your hands. You really should have gone to sleep the moment she started that goddamn movie.
“I don’t understand why you’re like this,” she finally says. “Like, I get it, shit sucks right now, but I’m trying to help you. Do you not want me to help? Just… why?”
You have a lot of answers to that question. It’s four in the morning. You’re unemployed. You’ve been off your meds for a month and a half, not that she knows that part. Your parents keep telling you how proud they are of you and it makes you want to rip their faces off. It’s four in the fucking morning.
You don’t say any of those things.
You say: “I’m going to bed.”
She mutters something that sounds like it ought to offend you. Good. You deserve it. You drop yourself onto the mattress without brushing your teeth. When she joins you a few minutes later, you somehow don’t flinch as she puts her arm around you.
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Fill: Team OC
Date: 2025-05-30 04:29 pm (UTC)Words: 365
Notes: Also posted to AO3.
——
It’s four in the morning, and the apartment is lit only by the occasional errant streetlight and the glow of a movie on TV that you can’t quite figure out how to ignore.
You should be asleep right now.
You should be a lot of things.
You try to focus on your computer, but the TV won’t shut the fuck up. It’s some cop bullshit, or maybe FBI, and it’s bathing the room in blue because everything is fucking blue now.
It’s her apartment too, she can watch whatever she wants to watch. You’re not going to complain. Not out loud, anyway. You can at least do that much for her.
When the credits roll, she turns to you and says: “I love you, you know.”
Before you can stop yourself, you respond: “I wish you wouldn’t do that to yourself.”
Fuck. Goddamn fucking lack of inhibitions.
She doesn’t seem surprised, at least. Just… disappointed? Exhausted? It’s four in the fucking morning, though; being exhausted is a given.
“You know I hate it when you say that.”
“And you know I hate it when you say you love me.”
No! Shut the fuck up!
You bury your face in your hands. You really should have gone to sleep the moment she started that goddamn movie.
“I don’t understand why you’re like this,” she finally says. “Like, I get it, shit sucks right now, but I’m trying to help you. Do you not want me to help? Just… why?”
You have a lot of answers to that question. It’s four in the morning. You’re unemployed. You’ve been off your meds for a month and a half, not that she knows that part. Your parents keep telling you how proud they are of you and it makes you want to rip their faces off. It’s four in the fucking morning.
You don’t say any of those things.
You say: “I’m going to bed.”
She mutters something that sounds like it ought to offend you. Good. You deserve it. You drop yourself onto the mattress without brushing your teeth. When she joins you a few minutes later, you somehow don’t flinch as she puts her arm around you.