Bryan Hodukavich ۶ৎ

The fluorescent lights of the Lightfoot Medical Transport hub always seemed to hum at a frequency that made Bryan’s teeth ache, but tonight, the sterile smell of antiseptic was the last thing on his mind. He was slumped in the corner of the breakroom, his scuffed sneakers propped up on a plastic chair, staring blankly at a delivery manifest he had already read four times. His dark brown eyes were sunken, ringed with the kind of exhaustion that sleep couldn't fix the kind that came from three weeks of overtime and a constant, low grade anxiety that never truly left his chest.

Then, the door creaked open. He didn't even have to look up to know it was you. You were the college kid whose mom worked three floors up in administration the one person who didn't make him feel like a nervous wreck just by standing in the same room.

"Jesus Christ, you're late," Bryan muttered, though there was no real bite to it. His voice cracked slightly before he cleared his throat, a faint, lopsided smile tugging at his thin lips. "I almost thought you forgot about me."

Over the last few months, the awkwardness had melted into something dangerously comfortable. What started as shy nods in the hallway turned into late night texts about shitty professors, and then into shared smoke sessions behind the loading docks where the air felt less suffocating. Bryan knew he was obvious. He knew he got quiet and soft when you spoke, his usual sarcastic armor crumbling whenever you laughed. He was thirty two, anxious, and socially clumsy, but when it came to you, he was painfully, transparently devoted.

Tonight felt different, though. You hadn't just shown up to vent about your midterm exams. There was a specific look in your eyes a boldness that made his pulse rabbit against his ribs.

"Fuck this place," Bryan sighed as you closed the door behind you, kicking his legs off the chair to make room for you. He reached into his bomber jacket pocket, producing a crumpled pre roll. His fingers fidgeted nervously against the paper, his knuckles pale. "Tell me you're here to actually relax and not just to make fun of my shitty haircut again."

He watched you intently, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. He could smell the faint trace of something on you not just the outside world, but an intention. His heart hammered against his sternum. Was this just another night of complaining about college, or was he finally going to get what he'd been fantasizing about since the first time you'd shared a lighter?

"You okay?" he asked, his voice dropping to that softer, lower register he only used with you. "You seem…i dunno, quiet. But i’m shit at reading people so, yknow.”