"Habits" - A Short Snippet (Patreon)

Based on the commission, "Peter Grey walks home a handsy drunk MC in the crush stage of the poly."

Erika used to say you were a man of habits. 

She never meant it in a good way, of course. Steady Peter. Level Peter. Predictable Peter. 

In the worst of the divorce, she would throw it back at your face. Run through your every next move - and, you had to wonder, if what she said was true or she just knew you that well. 

Certainly, though, she couldn't have predicted this. 

Despite your best efforts, you find yourself thinking of them. In your office, at your apartment when you're alone. You think of the way they look at you, mischievous eyes, that slight curl upwards of their lips that they must know spells only trouble. You think of the way they say your name, you think of the way they might purr it when -

You don't let the thought go any further.

A resident. No - worse, an intern. 

You finish your beer, close your book.

Another Friday.

---

Except - not just another Friday. 

You walk out and see them, standing under a lamp post, scowling over their phone. In that brief moment, you see choices flit before you - walking past them, saying hello to them, walking past them but saying hello to them - but before any of these choices solidify, they look up and their scowl turns immediately into a bright smile (but, not really a smile is it, that smile - you know - is dangerous, irresistible). 

"Dr. Grey," they say, and you stop, turn to them.

"MC." You school your face, that practiced, unreadable expression you know lets nothing through - except, as they walk closer to you, you can tell they're drunk, the shine in their eyes, the wobble in their legs - and it takes all your focus to keep your face still, neutral, professional while you think of a way to extricate yourself as soon as possible. 

"My phone died." They sigh. "I was gonna call an Uber, but..."

"Are you going to Danton Towers?" You have to be careful, show just the right amount of concern - and distance. "It's a straight shot down the road."

"I'm awful with directions." They run a hand through their hair and - damn them, you know, you just know what they're going to say next by that smirk forming on their face. "...Maybe, you can walk me back? If it's on the way, you know."

They must know that you can't say yes. That there is no circumstance, in no world, where you can say yes. You are their attending. You are their boss. You could make or break their career - and you know there are people out there who wouldn't hesitate at this kind of opportunity, who think that it comes with the position and the power. 

Those people disgust you. 

And, even though you know what you're going to say next, you can't help but feel that disgust turn inwards - that, knowing all of this, knowing that you and them can never happen, you still want them anyway. 

"I don't think that's appropriate," you say, and you hear the curtness in your tone - the finality. You see their smirk waver, the beginnings of embarrassment on their face.

"Right," they say. "Sorry, I - "

"You can go inside the bar," you continue. "Lucy can call a taxi for you."

"Dr. Grey - "

"MC," you say, and you keep your voice firm - steady - the distance between the two of you yawning. "Goodnight."

---

They apologize to you on Monday. 

And, you accept their apology. Say, we all say things we don't mean when we drink. Add that business smile of yours, the one that gives nothing away.

When the door closes behind them, and you're alone again in your office, you turn - gaze out onto the Citadel front lawn.

Erika's words come to you - her words, it seems, you'll always remember.

Steady Peter. Level Peter. Predictable Peter. You're always so good, aren't you? You've bent yourself backwards proving to everyone you're a good person - but I know you. You and me - we're the same exact person.

You take a deep breath, center yourself again, file those feelings away for another time (when - though - when?).

You have a job to do.