Peach

not proofread. william case calderón . . .

is stuck in bed for days after the emergence mission. his body is still suffering and poor case is left in your care, sat by his bed and watching after him. you give him whatever he asks for — which was usually nothing, so it was more like you got him what you thought he needed. you’d bring water and mystery meals made with a dusty russian cookbook that you barely been able to translate. you were afraid to get near him outside of quick touches the first night but would grow comfortable again, realizing felix’s worry about contagiousness was more of a … felix thing.

case would try to get up the second day, looking like he was two seconds from doubling over on your shoes and still, the man had actually convinced himself that he was okay. you’d firmly press him back down and it’d annoy him, of course. as the miserable minutes in bed passed, case would realize that you are right. it was agonizing to even turn over under the thick blanket; walking around without your assistance is a bit silly. he’d still do it, just to have any extra contact with you. hated to admit it, but in the back of his head he knew he was touch-starved. case would wish for your disgustingly cool palm to linger on his forehead a bit longer and ache for your kisses.

watching him when he slept was the worst. case would often wake up from nightmares, sweaty and gasping for air like a man nearly drowned. it was heartbreaking trying to calm him, softly shushing and reminding the former langley agent it was all over. you’d run your nails along his back with your other hand in his hair – and if you had the courage to get in his bed that night, you’d pull him in to allow case’s face to bury into your neck.

i need him so bad …

felix neumann . . .

who is so guilt-ridden after the high rollers mission. he’ll come to you after everyone had fallen asleep for the night and you’ll sit up, watching him get on his knees at the side of your bed and press his forehead on your knee. he’ll beg for forgiveness after the day’s events. do you see him any differently after this mission? do you hate him? are you disgusted with how he lost it on that man? he’ll ask a thousand questions and give a million apologies.

run your hand through his hair and he’ll melt under your touch, gentle as usual. “you did nothing wrong,” you’d remind him, even if he saw it differently. “i still love you all the same, felix.” he would look up at you like your judgment is what determines where he’ll go after death and you’ll slink your hand around to his cheek in response, rubbing it with your thumb slowly. back and forth, back and forth.

felix would kiss your knee and run the trail up your thigh, crawling into the bed. it’s cramped and far too small for the two of you but you’ll make the space work, watching as he eventually laid his head in your lap and squeeze the thin fabric of your shirt in his hand.