Chapter Text
It’s a Wednesday.
A normal, insignificant date to anyone else but not to Chase Brody.
This day was supposed to be a special one, this day was supposed to be his anniversary.
Everything was supposed to be great in his life, ‘til death do us part and all that crap. Today was supposed to be a happy day, but it wasn't. It was a normal Wednesday like any other, and he had to go to work.
He fixes his tie in the mirror and puts on a smile, the brightest one he got –the fakest one—and heads to his job. A boring 9 to 5 in a stuffy office with people that love to pretend they care.
They all know there’s something wrong with Chase. They know his smile is fake, but no one will bring it up. They know better than to diminish his attempts at being happy, or at least at seeming like he is.
They talk among themselves at lunch, and Chase tries to pretend he cares, just as they do. He hums in response, forcing out a laugh when he feels it needed, but it does nothing to quiet the ache.
They want him to be happy because he deserves to be happy – or so they say—like it’s as simple as flipping a switch, and serotonin will pour out his pores.
He wishes there was a switch, then he can at least pretend better.
Figures, something else he’s not good at.
He rises from his seat when the clock strikes 5, nothing less, nothing more. He doesn't say goodbye, doesn't look back, or respond when it's told to him, either. He just wants to get back to his place, it’ll be better there, he thinks. No facades to keep, no one to judge him.
It's not better. It’s lonely. He misses his family and his friends. He misses coming to a house full of people, the chaos, the laughter, the warmth.
He moved in with his best friend and their brother after the divorce. It was great, and sometimes he regrets moving out, but truth be told, they weren’t kids anymore. They had jobs, lives, and plans of their own. He couldn’t stay there, he knows that, but he still misses the what if.
His feet take him to the whiskey on autopilot, and he downs a glass before starting dinner. A sad-looking sandwich and some chips. He downs another glass after.
There’s nothing but silence in his small two-bedroom apartment. He kicks a rubber ball, left out of place days before, watching it bounce down the hall. His two kids visit every weekend, making noise and messes alike. His apartment feels alive then for the duration of their stay, but once they leave again, the place turns back to the depressing shit hole it is today.
He grabs the bottle by the neck, taking a long swig directly from it before deciding on a shower. The annoying plunk of the ball still echoes on the back of his head, it’s too loud in there, and his throat burns for something stronger. He wants to forget.
He takes one last shot from the bottle and calls it pre-game, ordering a ride on his phone to take him to the nearest bar.
It’s louder in there. Not exactly the louder he wanted, but his head is swimming, and he welcomes the sea of noise, drowning his thoughts with a nicer buzz.
He loosens up more with each drink he talks and brags about his kids to strangers. A woman tries to flirt with him at some point too, and he scares her away when he tells her she reminds him of his bitch-ass ex-wife. Whatever he wasn’t interested anyway.
He thinks of his friends again; his best friend would probably be calling him a fucking idiot by this point, and they would be right. He laughs by himself and tells the bartender about those he loves when the man shoots him a look.
An asshole with a heart of gold, a twenty-something old-timer, an eccentric magician, a vigilante, and a doctor.
A doctor with a German accent, azure eyes behind square glasses, well-combed graying brown hair, and a snort in his laugh.
He went to the doctor when it happened when his wife first threatened to leave him, and he stupidly hurt himself. Mostly out of necessity, he could have died after all. But something about the man had him coming back.
When she filed for divorce, Chase didn't know who to turn to, didn't know what to do. He considered hurting himself again, maybe not failing this time, but the doctor was there when those thoughts came.
They connected, maybe not in the best way, but they were both divorced men now, both fathers. It was as good of a start for friendship as any.
He tells all this to the unsuspecting bartender, the poor man probably being used to hearing all kinds of sob stories from drunk losers like him, but he listens, and that’s good enough for Chase.
He talks about the doctor a lot while there, and when it’s time to go home, he thinks about him too.
🔫
He slams his hand on the door once, twice, and waits a total of maybe 5 seconds before he’s slamming his hand against the door again.
It’s 2 am, and Chase is wasted. He thinks this was a great idea, dropping by his friend’s house for a visit, and stands up straight with a proud grin plastered on his face.
When the door opens, he unashamedly sizes up the man by the threshold. The doctor he’s been thinking about all night.
His usual combed-back hair sticking up at different angles, and he’s wearing proper matching button-up pajamas with slippers and everything. Chase giggles at the sight and calls him a dork.
The doctor squints his eyes at the boy on his porch, adjusting to the sudden artificial light without his glasses on, his German accent thicker in this still sleepy state he’s in.
“Was zur... Chase? What’s going on? Did something happen?”
There’s clear concern in the man’s voice, and it does something to Chase’s heart. He thinks about what he said; what is he doing here? “I wanted to say hi,” he waves his hand and giggles, “hi”
“Wanted to... do you have any idea what time it is?” Chase raises a naked wrist to his face and frowns –wasn’t he wearing a watch? Wait, does he even own a watch? — “You’re drunk.”
Henrik is scolding him, and he doesn’t like the look he’s giving him now. The concern is all gone. He holds back a whimper, not wanting to cry, but his emotions are quickly taking over him. He made him angry. That wasn’t his intention. Fuck. He messed this up, too, didn’t he?
“Y-You said once your door was always open f-for me—” he sobs— “as a friend and not a doctor, I thought, I thought I could... I j-just wanted to say hi,” he swipes at the escaping tears rolling down his cheeks. This is so stupid. Why did he have to come here?
Henrik flinches, watching him cry dumbfounded before embracing him, knocking his hat off his head in the process, and without hesitation, Chase crumbles in his arms. The man supports his head, tangling his hand in the unkept yellowish-green mess that is Chase’s hair, whispering an apology in his ear.
They’re a mess. Crying and apologizing out in the cold of the night. Everything happened so fast. Neither of them knows how exactly they ended up this way.
Henrik leads him inside, and they stumble to the couch, falling on top of each other. The boy babbles on between hitched breaths there, arms loose around the man’s waist. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, and the doctor’s gaze falls on his lips, watching them move with each word. “They said I had to go home, and your face was all I could see.”
Henrik hides his face in the crook of his neck and apologizes. It’s way too late, and he had a rough day at work. He’s grumpy.
Chase laughs at that and calls him a dork again, a grumpy dork. The doctor slaps his shoulder playfully in retaliation, supporting himself upon his chest. He examines the younger man’s face, up close now, and his smile fades as he traces the dark bags under his eyes, cleaning the tears there, caressing his freckled cheeks.
It’s quiet then, just the sound of their breathing, but this time the silence isn’t as suffocating as before. It’s comfortable, accepted.
They hold each other close, and without hesitation Chase moves forward, fresh tears leaving his eyes when their lips connect. He sighs, relieved the doctor is returning the kiss, and they move their heads slowly in sync for a moment. Henrik tastes the alcohol on the boy’s tongue, and Chase whimpers when the man breaks the kiss then.
“Don’t leave me,” he sobs, “you’re all I have left, Henry, don’t leave me, please”
Chase hugs him closer, capturing his lips once more. He keeps telling him not to leave, and they kiss there until they're breathless, with knitted eyebrows and too many emotions.
Henrik holds his face and pecks his lips over and over. “It’s ok,” he says, “mein liebling, it’s ok, I’m not going anywhere”
He kisses his forehead, swiping at his eyes once more, and pulls him up and off the couch with him. He guides them to his bedroom, and Chase collapses there on his bed, wiggling out of his boots and pants. The doctor joins him, and he clings to his side immediately, head on his chest and arm across his stomach. Henrik plays with his hair; the rhythm of his heartbeat calms his thoughts and lulls him to sleep.
💉
When Chase opens his eyes again, he groans at the bright numbers blaring at him in the dark. The digital clock tells him it’s barely 5 am, and he’s been asleep for about three hours.
He’s unceremoniously draped over Henrik’s body, and there’s a blanket haphazardly thrown over them. He feels like his skin is on fire, and there’s an uncomfortable pressure somewhere below his navel, as well as a tightness on his temples and above the eyebrows.
He makes it to the bathroom reluctantly, almost dragging, and empties his bladder to relieve the pressure. He scratches his belly and washes his hands afterward, glaring at his reflection in the mirror. He’s a mess. Still drunk, with eyes puffy and red, and an ache in his, everywhere.
He takes his shirt off before getting back in bed, skin still feeling too hot, but when Henrik wraps his arm around him in his sleep, warm and comforting, he welcomes it like a lifeline.
He’ll think about what this, and everything they’ve done, means later when his body isn’t plotting against him, and his brain can make coherent thoughts again.
For now, he’ll enjoy the rise and fall of the doctor’s chest underneath his head and the way their bodies fit perfectly like they were meant to be.