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kreizlersdeadpoet · 3 years

Text

Confidence and Wit (The Boy on the Bridge) [An Alienist Fanfic]

Pairing: Fem!Oc X Laszlo Kreizler

Summary: Whilst in the early stages of solving the most recent murder to plague New York, Laszlo is introduced to a confident woman with a mysterious scar...who also happens to be John Moore's sister.

A/N: Hey, I've never written anything before! This is my first shot at writing as I have a tendency to self-insert an oc into every tv show/film that I watch so I thought I'd write this one down lol. There will most likely be more parts to this but I have no idea how to use tumblr sooo idk. Honestly this works as a self-insert I just love the name Vivian!

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John Moore and Dr. Laszlo Kreizler sat around a small table in the well-lit living room of the Moore residence. Without the Zweig flie, the two men could not move forward in their investigation into the recent death of the boy on the bridge. They both sat amongst John’s drawings of the poor boy killed and several of Kreizler’s books on psychology, a topic John viewed irrelevant to the current situation.

“And how do you suppose my drawings and your books of ramblings will aid in finding the killer of this poor boy?” John questioned, already feeling the effects of the past day.

“I don’t believe it will,” Laszlo began “but it’s all we can do without the Zweig file unfortunately. I believe the post-mortem will prove invaluable to this investigation”

John poured himself another cup of tea, downing it as though it were a shot of whiskey. His head rested on the palm of his hand as he tried to process the situation he had gotten himself into over the past twenty four hours. He felt as though his spirit had temporarily dislocated from his body as images of the dead boy flashed before his eyes.

“something on you mind John?” Laszlo commented as though the past twenty four hours hadn’t happened. John’s head snapped forward,baffled by his friend's question.

“Something on my mind? Something on my min-yes Laszlo, a great deal no thanks to you!” John looked exasperated at his old friend. “Look, if we could simply rest whilst we wait to obtain the Zweig file then I would feel much better”

Laszlo shook his head slightly as he combed through another of his books. “There is no time to waste with a case like this. I fear that if I’m correct, a killer such as this will indeed kill again, and another child will be brutally mutilated”

John winced at that last part and reached to hastily pour himself another cup of tea as though it had the same effect as his beloved alcohol. All the while, a young woman had made her way down the long set of stairs in the hall of the house, heading straight to the bookshelf near the end of the living room. She wore a casual white blouse and long black skirt with waves of her hair cascading behind her. She scanned the bookshelf in silence, ignoring the two men bickering at the table as her presence went unnoticed.

“Psychology may not be of such use that it solves a case immediately, but it gives us an insight that the police tend to overlook unless I suggest it to them” Laszlo stated matter-of-factly as he recalled the many cases that went ‘unsolved’ due to the police’s reluctance to accept his perfectly valid evidence due to its root in the study of the mind.

Meanwhile the young woman had now stopped looking for books all together and instead stood listening to the conversation happening on the other side of the room.

“I don’t doubt that Laszlo, but when you claim that every individual’s actions can be explained using your studies, I’m sorry my friend but I find myself siding with the police” John chuckled, “and you know I don’t like siding with them often” he scanned the table of books before him and was suprised to see a copy of the ‘The Signal-Man’ by Charles Dickens mixed with Kreizler’s academic books. “What, and suppose you can explain to me that there’s some sort of psychological meaning behind my favourite Dickens novel too?” John said half-jokingly.

“Dickens suffered from siderodromophobia” is what Kreizler was just about to state smugly, however the doctor found he had not said a single word, and that it was someone else who had said those words. A woman.

“Dickens was victim to a train crash in 1865 and the accident had highly personal implications for him. He never recovered from the trauma; he lost his voice for two weeks following the accident." the young woman explained. "That was the inspiration for the book's plot though I’ve never actually seen you pick up an actual novel before John” she joked

The two men sat staring at the young woman, though John seemed to be staring in annoyance rather than surprise. This suggested to Kreizler that the two obviously knew each other well.

“Aren’t you supposed to be out with grandma?” John hissed, seemingly embarrassed by the young woman’s presence.

“yes, but I’m ill” is all she stated in return, grinning as she clearly saw humour in the fact that she very much did not look at all ill.

“yes, and I’m the king of England! You seem to be looking perfectly fine now. I told you I had important business to attend to today, why don’t you go out and sit in a park or something”

Laszlo sat in silence watching the two interact. He was both humoured and bewildered by the young woman’s wit.

“Important business?” she questioned “you draw pictures for a living John, I doubt it’s of any real Importance” the doctor had now noticed a strong English accent in the young woman's speech which only led to more questions.

Laszlo finally allowed himself to take in the woman’s apperence as the two continued to bicker between each other. She had dark, brown hair woven with strands of gold which were highlighted by the sunshine pouring onto her frame through the window. The sight was almost angelic Laszlo thought. Her dark brown eyes of million hues led Laszlo to question what the word “brown” even meant, and yet, there was a tiredness to her eyes that no woman of such a youthful age should ever be burdened with, he thought. That perked his curiosity. Still, her nose was in congregation with her eyes and lips to form a perfectly coordinated glow of confidence that morning. ‘Confidence and wit were a form of beauty’, something Laszlo remembered reading in one of his many books and something that certainly came to mind as he met the challenge in the woman’s eyes. However, it was the narrow thread of silver that ran from the bridge of her nose to the right side of her cheek that caught his attention the most. The scar wasn’t too prominent on her face, but it was definitely noticeable. She must have sensed his attentive eyes on her disfiguration as her confident stare diverted to the floor before she made her way over to the two men.

“Aren’t you going to introduce us, John?” Laszlo asked, closing the book before him.

“Not if I can help it” John mumbled to himself before clearing his throat. “Uh, Laszlo this is Vivian Moore, Vivian this is Dr. Laszlo Kreizler, a dear old friend of mine”

“Moore?” Kreizler questioned and looked between the two. Vivian rolled her eyes. Of course, John had forgot to mention he had a sister, everyone seemed surprised to meet her when visiting the house.

“I’m his sister, unfortunately” she wore a small smile as she offered her hand out for Kreizler to shake, which he did. He wondered how Vivian had managed to go unseen for so long, after all, he and John had been good friends for a long while and never once did he mention a sister, only a brother. “of course I’ve heard a little about you Dr. Kreizler, its nice to finally meet you” Questions inevitably began to poke at Laszlo’s brain as they always did, and so the usual interviewing began.

“Your accent, its not like John’s its-“

“English, yes. I’ve lived across the pond most of my life, educated there too. I’m only here to visit for a few months before going back but i-“ Vivian's voice trailed off as her own attentive eyes then landed on the pictures sprawled across her living room table. “So it is true what they're saying about the boy on the bridge?” she asked, taking one of the drawings into her hand.

However, before she could inquire any further, John had snatched the sketch from his sister and scoffed at the change in subject. “Absolutely not” he said to himself, gathering all the drawings and placing them back into a folder. “You are not getting involved in any of this, nor will I have you pressing for information like you always do” John had also taken a mental note at how quickly his usually focused friend had now shifted all of his focus onto Vivian completely. “a woman should not even be remotely interested in such an incident as-“

“oh come on John” Vivian feigned offence as she rolled her eyes “I seem to be less troubled over a drawing than you given the irritable mood you’ve been in all morning. Don’t you know, women have their own minds now dear brother”

Laszlo smirked slightly, trying not to show John that he was taking sides despite the fact that he most certainly was. “Perhaps a fresh pair of eyes on the drawings could-" Laszlo began to suggest before being shot down immediately.

“Absolutely not!” John cried as he suddenly stood from his chair. “Laszlo, I implore you to not involve my sister in such investigations, this crime is not meant for the eyes and ears of a lady” he began clearing up the cluttered books and graphic notes that littered the table before him. John also wondered how his sister seemed so interested in the graphic depictions on his sketch paper, especially concidering certain facts of her past.

“Well, I won’t try and argue with him, he’s awfully sensitive sometimes” Vivian joked as she brushed down the front of her dress. “It was nice meeting you Dr. Kreizler, perhaps you can indulge my curiosity’s on this case when my brother is busy down the brothel” this humoured Kreizler greatly, much to his old friends distress and the sudden redness of his face.

“That’s enough Vivian” he warned as his lips tightened in annoyance. John thought that perhaps there was something in the waters of England that had made his sister return to New York with a new found cheek. Perhaps it was her new way of coping. He usually enjoyed her wit but not when it was at the expense of himself.

Vivian turned to return upstairs but before she could, Kreizler had finally spoken up again. “May I inquire about the scar on your face, Miss Moore?” he couldn’t help himself, her sudden introduction prompted too many questions from him and he needed answers. However, it very quickly became clear that perhaps he had crossed some sort of line as he watched Vivian’s radiant smile fade quicker than he could savour it.

"Laszlo!" John scolded quietly, not understanding why his friend couldn't just let people go without analysing every fibre of their existence. It doesn't take a genius like Kreizler to realise that scars never usually came accompanied with a funny origin and his sister was not an exception.

The tiredness in her eyes grew more prominent as she stared at Kreizler directly. As if she'd been asked the same question a million times prior and the answer wasn't a very nice one.

“you may not” she answered simply, her speech free of any specific emotion for Kreizler to take note of or analyse. It was clear that the doctor had struck a chord within Vivian and he almost instantly regretted his curiosity, though he would never admit that.

John had also seemed to forget his embarrassment from moments before and instead let out a small sigh that filled the rooms silence. “Vivian” he warned again, almost like a parent rather than a brother. He cared for her deeply but understood that Kreizler never meant harm in his question.

“it’s fine, I’m going. Apologies for disturbing you both” she spoke simply as she turned away from the two men and returned upstairs as silently as she had been when coming down them.

“I’m afraid i may have crossed a line?” Laszlo broke the silence as he was left again in the company of just himself and John. A small part of the doctor wished that Vivian had stayed a little longer, she seemed an interesting enough person to get to know considering she was John’s sister.

“ yes well when don’t you” John smiled sadly as his gaze lingered on the staircase momentarily. “you’ll have to forgive my sister, life has not always been too kind to her and her mood tends to change rapidly” he sat back down opposite Kreizler. He watched as his friend seemed to ignore most of this, clearly only waiting for him to reveal the truth behind the scar across his sisters face. John rolled his eyes at this. “I don’t believe it’s my position to tell you my sister’s business if she does not wish to share it herself. Besides, she’s my sister and not a child at your institute”

Suddenly, there was a frantic knock at the door and before the two men could process the sudden noise, the Moore’s resident maid had already opened the door.

Sarah Howard pushed past the maid as she made her way into the living room, a familiar sight from her childhood. “I have it” she stated boldly

“Sarah?” John questioned as he stood up once again from his seat.

“the Zweig file, I have it” Sarah marched over towards the two men and placed the file down on the table. She wanted to be a part of this investigation and Kreizler smiled unsurprisingly at her efforts.

“Thank you miss Howard, this file may indeed move the investigation forward quicker than we thought.” Though Dr. Kreizler was glad to see the file, his mind couldn’t help but wonder back to the woman he had just met. What could’ve happened to prompt such a reaction to his curiosity? And what did John mean by life not always being kind to her? Though his mind was certainly on the case of the Santorelli boy, a new line of curiosity had sparked across his mind: who was Vivian Moore?

#laszlo kreizler #John Moore #Sarah howard #The alienist #Daniel Brühl #Laszlo Kreizler x reader #Daniel Brühl x reader #andrea marowski x reader #niki lauda x reader #dr laszlo kreizler #Daniel bruhl x reader #Moore!oc #Luke Evans #Laszlo kreizler one shot #Laszlo kreizler imagine #Laszlo kreizler x y/n #Angst

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kreizlersdeadpoet · 3 years

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Two Doctors and a Thousand Incurable Ills [Laszlo Kreizler]

Pairings: Laszlo Kreizler x fem!Moore!Reader

Characters: Laszlo Kreizler, John Moore, Sara Howard, Cyrus, Theodore Roosevelt | mentions of, Lucius Isaacson, Marcus Isaacson, George Moore, Stevie, Captain Connor

Words: 8.4K

Summary: When you got your hard-earned degree in medicine you never thought you would put it to use helping your older brother, a close childhood friend, a former prospective husband, and an alienist solve a murder

Warnings: depictions of the effects of being drugged, injury, fighting, mentions of death, descriptions of crime scenes and murders, angst (some season 1 spoilers: minimal)

A/N: Wow okay so this is my very first Laszlo Kreizler fic and I am super excited to share it here with all of you! Honestly writing this really hit the spot so I hope you guys enjoy it as much as I did! [Reader can also be interpreted as adopted, I didn't put a big emphasis on race so even given the times let's just pretend they were more accepting]

Frustratedly picking up your skirt as you exited the carriage, you hopped on up to the home you assumed your brother was at, knocking loudly on the door.

When there was no answer you knocked again, louder.

“Hello?!” you called past the glass. “Christ almighty John I know you’re in there,”

You continued knocking until the door slid open right under your fist and you stopped pounding it in mid-air, letting it drop at your side.

“Finally,” you sighed.

“Who might you be?” the man frowned on the other end. You assumed him to be Dr. Laszlo Kreizler, a friend of your brother’s from Harvard. You had never met him and you didn’t even know if he knew you existed. But that mattered less right now, you needed a word with your brother.

“(Y/N),” you huffed. “I need to speak with John, immediately,”

“As his friend, I feel I must ask whether you wish him harm, you seem quite beside yourself,”

“And why would that matter, whatever my business with him is none of your concern,”

“Well if you are a woman he’s currently trying to court then-,”

“Oh no! Never in a million years!” you exclaimed, shaking your head.

He looked at you curiously and you filled in the blanks.

“I’m (Y/N) Moore,” you said. “His sister,”

“His sister,” Kreizler repeated thoughtfully, a hint of a smile coming across his face. “Of course then by all means come in. I’m sure if you’re angry with him it is well deserved,”

“Damn right it is, now where is he?” you asked.

“In the living room right off to the side,” he pointed and you thanked him quickly before picking up your dress and running over to where John was.

“John Schuyler Moore if murder wasn’t a sin you’d be a dead man!”

“(Y/N) what are you doing here?” he asked as soon as he heard you. “Who let you in?”

“He did,” you pointed to Kreizler. “I’m assuming he’s your friend, the alienist, the one I haven’t met,”

“Good deduction,” Kreizler nodded and John sent him an annoyed look.

“Alright then, what is it this time?” he asked with a sigh.

“You promised you would be home for lunch,”

“Oh come on (Y/N) that can’t possibly be such a big-,”

You gave him a stern look and it seemed to click.

“Oh good lord (N/N), I’m so sorry, it must have slipped my mind,”

“Well it’s passed now,” you sighed, straightening out your clothes and gently massaging your temples.

“Laszlo, can we get her some tea?” John asked. “Or perhaps something stronger,”

“Of course,” he nodded, making his way to the cabinet and pouring you a glass of whiskey while John sat you down. “As I am to understand it normal lunches aren’t this stressful,” he handed you the drink and you nodded.

“They aren’t, but my grandmother is trying to marry me off,” you explained. “And she has terrible taste in men,”

“Very terrible,” John added as confirmation. “I promised (Y/N) I would be there to make her more comfortable, but it seems I’ve come a little too late for that,”

“It’s alright this glass of whiskey somewhat makes up for it, grandmother only allows me to drink wine,” you explained to Kreizler.

He had taken a seat across from you and John, staring at you both curiously.

“Is there something on my face?” you asked in a hushed whisper, turning over to John but not breaking your eye contact with the alienist.

“No, he’s just thinking,” John assured you.

“How come we’ve never met?” he finally asked and now it was your turn to look at John with the same look.

“Yes John, why haven’t we met?” you repeated.

John looked nervous, you couldn’t tell if it was because he had a legitimate reason to keep you apart or he was just afraid of upsetting you again. He cared for you deeply, after all, as an older brother should.

“I suppose, normally when Laszlo and I meet we don’t tend to discuss… delicate topics,”

“John I’m a woman who has managed to get into medical school, if I couldn’t handle disgusting things I wouldn’t have become a doctor,” you said flatly.

“A doctor?” Kreizler inquired and you nodded proudly.

“I wanted to be one ever since I was small, I’m lucky it was something we managed to make happen,”

“I believe your sister is right John,” Kreizler pursed his lips, only now did you really notice the hint of a German accent that was there, having not been paying close enough attention before. “Was there another reason you didn’t wish for us to meet?”

“No,” John said quietly. “None at all,”

“In that case, Dr. Moore, your brother and I were planning on enjoying dinner tonight in a restaurant. Would you care to join us?”

“I’d love to,” you smiled with a nod, slightly surprised he used your title automatically, with most men it was something you had to ask of them. You placed both your hands in your lap and held your glass. “I could go back and change into evening wear if this dress isn’t appropriate-,”

“No need,” the man waved his hand. “In the meantime, I wonder if your medical knowledge might actually do us some good,”

John gave the alienist a look and he responded with,

“If she is not comfortable she can simply say so herself,”

“Thank you Dr. Kreizler,” you said while nudging your brother. “And I’d love to be of assistance in any way I can. Is this related to the murders of the children happening in the lower east side?” you asked and leaned forward, your curiosity having been piqued.

“Yes it is,” he nodded, pushing himself up and moving to the table where he picked up a file and came back to you handing it with all its contents.

“We have two coroners working with us already-,”

“The Isaacson brothers?” you asked.

“Yes,” Kreizler nodded. “But they are also police officers, so it would be well on our part to have someone else in case their work no longer allows for them to assist us,”

“How do you know the Isaacsons?” John asked.

“Lucius tutored me in my first year,” you explained and he nodded,

“Small world,”

“Now is there something specific about this you’d wish for some insight on?”

“The wounds,” he pointed with his left hand, the right almost stiffly plastered to his side. “Tell me what you can deduce from them,”

“Well as it is with most things it would be much better if I could see the body in person, not that it would make this any easier, poor little one,” you murmured quietly. “But from what I can see on the wrist and torso it seems that the cuts that were made are clean,” you said.

“Meaning?’ John pressed.

“He didn’t hesitate when inflicting the wound, it’s possible you’re either dealing with a very deeply disturbed individual, but I also wouldn’t discount someone with possible medical knowledge, but that’s more in your wheelhouse isn’t it doctor,”

“That it would be,” he nodded.

“Tell me, do you psychoanalyze John?” you asked, a cheeky grin plastered on your face.

“Often,” John grimaced and Kreizler shrugged.

“Yes, I must say I am guilty of that,”

“And don’t think you’ll be excused,” John looked over at you. “He does it to everyone,”

“Especially when I wish to annoy them,” he joked and you couldn’t help but chuckle.

John took one look at the doctor then you and it didn’t take him long to determine that this new friendship would most definitely be the death of him.

—

Walking up the steps to Dr. Kreizler’s facility, you pushed open the gate and peeked your head inside.

“Excuse me? Can I help you?” a matron asked and you came in and nodded.

“I’m looking for Dr. Kreizler and John Moore, I was told they were here and looking for me,”

“Yes, of course, they’re right up over the staircase,”

You nodded, thanking her and climbing up the steps until you reached the large library.

“Hello?”

“Dr. Moore, thank you so much for joining us,” Kreizler came out from behind one of the shelves.

“You called (Y/N)?” John asked standing from the couch.

“Nice to see you too John,” you rolled your eyes, coming up to him and pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Sara? Is that you?” you asked curiously, seeing the familiar face sitting on the couch. “Has John roped you into this too?”

“Yes, it seems that way,”

“Alright, Dr. Kreizler, what might I help you with?” you asked, walking over to the alienist, and peering over his shoulder seeing the photos with new crime scene details.

“Yes, I just wanted a second opinion on a few things,” he explained handing you the images and walking you through certain wounds and the proposed murder weapon.

“I’d have to say I concur with the Isaacsons,” you nodded. “They seem to have done their work very thoroughly. You can trust them,”

“Yes I’m afraid it’s not them I do not trust but more so a hesitancy to their superior officer,”

“Teddy?” you asked quizzically and Kreizler frowned but nodded.

“You refer to him very informally, do you know each other well?”

“I would say so,” John chuckled lightly to himself and you rolled your eyes at your older brother.

“We courted for a very short time while he was in college. Our plans didn’t fit but he supported me through my schooling and we’re still good friends,” you clarified. “John just enjoys sharing personal details of my life to embarrass me,”

“Oh come on (Y/N), if George isn’t here to do it who will?”

“Don't you dare John Schuyler, that’s awfully thin ice you’re treading on,”

“I love you too,” he mouthed and you shook your head, turning to face the large board with neat cursive writing, showing everything they knew about the killer so far and what Dr. Kreizler had managed to extract from his psyche using some sort of psychoanalysis.

You tilted your head curiously, looking at the board, your neurons were firing, attempting to make connections and solve some pieces of the puzzle.

“Have you noticed anything of particular interest?” Sarah asked and you pursed your lips.

“Do you have a record of the time gaps between each murder? I remember reading somewhere that most serial murderers aren’t able to suppress their urge to kill past a certain interval,”

“We don’t but it would be easy to get them,” Kreizler nodded.

You smiled to yourself, going to take a seat on the couch next to Sara,

“Don’t suppose you plan on sticking around,” she said to you. “We could use another trained eye,”

“I suppose you could, but be honest, you just want a friend,” you chuckled and she rolled her eyes.

“Is that a crime (Y/N)?”

“I suppose not,” you shrugged.

“Good then,” she straightened herself out and you watched carefully as the group continued to interact, the Isaacsons joining you soon after. Kreizler seemed to take the lead on things, deputizing the other to do certain tasks that their jobs permitted them to do. It was quite interesting and you supposed if you were yourself an alienist you might study their dynamic. Each person had such unique personalities and it was clear that at one moment or another they were bound to clash, but the desire to find out the truth was so strong you were almost certain they could overcome any menial differences they may have had.

This wasn’t the last time Dr. Kreizler had called you in to come and consult on a certain aspect of the case, you sometimes found yourself wondering what Marcus and Lucius were even doing for him to constantly call you back and ask for your opinion.

But your relationship with everyone besides John and Sara didn’t extend past the investigation. It was purely professional, devoid of any personal details, though you noticed Dr. Kreizler seemed to be sparing with those even among his close friends.

One day the doctor found himself needing your assistance once again so he made a call to the office where you were employed and when they said that you weren’t working that day he instead decided to go and meet you himself at your grandmother’s house where both you and John were currently living.

Cyrus pulled up the carriage right outside the home and he exited it, walking up the steps two at a time until he reached the door, giving it a firm knock.

He could hear a small rustle inside until he could see John walking towards the door from the crystal-like glass.

“Laszlo, has there been a development?’ he asked, stepping out of the house and pulling the door into his back.

“No, I just thought your sister might be able to shed some light on the old evidence. She has an interesting mind. Is she home?” he asked, head tilted slightly to the side.

John sighed and pressed his lips together in a thin line. His hand reached in past the door and grabbed a jacket off the coat hanger and came back out, closing the door fully this time.

“Come with me,” he said, motioning for the doctor to follow him. Kreizler did so as they walked down the street in silence until they came across a small fenced grassy area, lined with headstones, and there you were, straight in the center, laying down on your back, your hands resting on your stomach and eyes fixed on the clouds above. There was a moment of silence where Kreizler just observed you before he turned to John and asked,

“Does she do this often?”

“Only when she’s upset or unsure of something. She lost a patient today so I’m sure that might have something to do with it,”

Kreizler nodded and bit the inside of his cheek before deciding to push open the gate and walk up towards you.

Hearing the footsteps nearing you, you became worried that it was your grandmother coming to scold you on how unladylike your behaviour was, but instead, when you pushed yourself up slightly you saw Dr. Kreizler looking down at you, insisting you lay back down.

Carefully, you lowered yourself back down to the ground, but turned your head to the side, watching him take a seat next to you and slowly doing the same.

You looked back up at the sky and quietly said, “You’re going to try and pick my mind now aren’t you,”

“I’ll try not to,” he responded, his eyes firmly fixed on you. “But this is your brother’s resting place, correct?”

You nodded, moving your hand from your stomach to the headstone, tracing the engraved letters with your fingers.

“George Charles Moore,” you sighed and there was silence again for a minute or two before you decided to speak up again, “I know you want to know more. Ask me, it’s okay,” you assured.

“Y-You were close with him?”

“Very,” you smiled softly to yourself. “He was my best friend, confidant. He believed in me no matter what,”

Kreizler could sense the respect you had for him, someone who looked after you when your parents couldn't.

“I think after he passed away I realized I had to become a doctor. I had always wanted to do it, but it made me realize why,”

“Because you were able to halt death, even if only temporarily,”

You nodded, confirming his statement.

“You always wonder if there was something else you could have done. If you could have helped them more and maybe they or their loved ones wouldn’t have to suffer the same way I did. Completely helpless,”

“Is that why you’re always wanting to help people? Why you want to find out who’s committing these crimes?” he asked.

“I suppose so, I mean if we find who did it that puts defenceless boys out of harm's way and maybe we can see what happened to whatever tortured soul is committing these crimes and make sure it never happens again,”

A more comfortable silence settled across the two of you and you thought Kreizler might even stand up and leave, but instead, you heard his slightly accented voice speaking just barely above a whisper.

“When my mother passed away I felt like I lost whatever it was that was guiding me,”

Your head turned to look at him, noticing how his face softened when he spoke of her.

“I had the potential to become a monster, a bitter, spiteful monster, but she… she always loved me and no matter who I felt had wronged me, it didn’t matter anymore. So when she was gone I had to learn to do that for myself,”

“I’d say you’re doing a decent job,” you placed a hand on his, laying by his side and giving it a light squeeze. You could see him visibly tense so you let go and retracted your hand.

“Only decent?” he teased and you shook your head.

“You know what I mean Laszlo,”

Laszlo, the sound of his first name from your lips was like sweet heaven and made his heart pound a little louder and faster than he would have liked to admit.

“Am I to assume we’re at a point in our friendship where we can do away with formalities?” he asked and you nodded.

“Yes, I’d like to think so,”

“Alright then, (Y/N), I’ll leave you be a while longer,” he pushed himself up off his back and used his cane to help him back up.

“Laszlo, why did you come to see me?” you asked quietly before he left.

He paused,

“I can’t seem to remember now. If it comes to me you’ll be the first to know,”

You nodded and allowed him to walk away toward your brother, still waiting at the gate and listening closely you could hear their soft voices.

“So is she crazy?” John asked sarcastically, knowing very well he was guilty of doing the exact same thing as you every once in a while, though he would never admit to it.

Laszlo shook his head, and his voice dripped with pure sincerity when he gave John a small smile and said,

“Not in the slightest,”

—

“He asked you to dinner?” John cocked his head to the side. “To discuss case files,”

“Yes, we’re looking over some new evidence Teddy sent over about that rich boy, Laszlo’s not convinced it’s him,”

“So he’s said,” John nodded. “Isn’t that dress a little, I don’t know, formal for just a work outing?”

“It’s not a crime to want to look nice, John,” you said flatly, adjusting the pins in your hair. “And if we’re not eating at the home it’s always nice to dress up,”

John sighed and nodded while you grabbed your purse, and walked towards your older brother.

He wrapped his arms around your and pressed a firm kiss to your forehead, while you hugged him back.

“You don’t have to worry about me John you know that?” you said softly.

“I know, I’m not worried about you going with Laszlo, it’s just…” he shook his head.

“No it’s okay,” you nodded, squeezing him a little tighter.

Ever since George had passed away it didn’t just leave a mark on you. John hid it rather well from others, but he couldn’t deny that each time you stepped out of the house, especially while there was a psychopathic murderer on the loose, he became increasingly worried for your safety. He wasn’t about to let another younger sibling slip through his fingers, not again.

“Find a telephone and call me when you get to the restaurant okay?”

“Should I call here or the brothel?” you raised a brow and that was his cue to shrug you off him, allowing you to make your way to the cab. “But seriously John, where do I call?” you repeated.

“Here,” he muttered and you smiled.

“I love you,”

“Love you too,”

Leaving your grandmother’s home, you hailed a cab and instructed him to bring you to the restaurant you were supposed to meet Kreizler at.

When you came to your destination you made a quick call home before making your way to the table where the alienist was already seated, sipping his wine.

“(Y/N), you look lovely,” he gave you a small friendly smile that you reciprocated.

“Thank you, you’re not looking too bad yourself,” you nodded, taking a seat across from him. “So what are these developments you wished to speak about?”

“The dates,” he said, “After visiting the bishop at the church I realized the significance of the days,”

He pulled out a small day planner, motioning to the highlighted days.

“Do you see what they have in common?” he asked.

Flipping through the pages, you saw Kreizler was right. Each day had one thing in common. It landed on a holy day.

“There certainly couldn’t be a religious motive, no?” you said, looking up from the book.

“I highly doubt it,” he shook his head. “But something more likely is that perhaps religion, or church more specifically has some sort of special meaning to him,”

“Fascinating,” you murmured, glancing again at the dates in the planner. You smiled fondly when you saw your name written under the date for that day, his handwriting moving in one smooth motion, letters curling neatly.

“I thought so too,” he nodded.

Through dinner, you discussed other details pertaining to the case and you made a few small comments on the doctor’s health, hoping he was still taking care of himself while investigating.

“What about water, did you drink any today?”

“Of course I did (Y/N), I’m fine,” he assured.

“And you’re not skipping meals,”

“On occasion, but that’s no different from my normal habits,”

“Then they need to change,” you said simply. “Look at yourself,” you said, reaching a hand to gently touch his cheek with the back of your fingers. “You could put on a bit more weight, and if you add some fish to your diet it’s been found to help with brain functions and various different pains,”

Kreizler stared back down at his food, a small nervous chuckle escaping his lips,

“I guess the steak wasn’t the best choice then,”

“Next time,” you laughed with him, your arm laying on the table, fingers gently tapping in a haphazard rhythm.

Dr. Kreizler raised his hand to come and meet yours halfway on the table, a simple act, but it spoke volumes.

As the night drew to a close he offered you a ride home which you gratefully accepted, continuing your conversation through the carriage ride until you stopped outside your home.

“I suppose this is where we part for tonight,”

“Yes, I suppose so,” you nodded.

He carefully reached to take your hand in his, lifting it to his lips and pressing a light kiss to it.

“Sleep well, (Y/N),”

You smiled, grateful the dark could hide the flustered look on your face. You walked up to the door and looked back, one last time before disappearing back into the cover of darkness.

—

The investigation started to take a turn, and it wasn’t becoming uncommon for you to spend late nights either at the institution or Dr. Kreizler’s home. It was a non-stop search. And after the close run-in Stevie had after the trap had been set everyone was on edge.

So when it was well past one o’clock in the morning and you were the last person there, you weren’t sure you could say what came over you when you sat down on the piano bench, reading the sheet music that was placed on the stand.

Your fingers gazed over the keys before finding the right notes, playing the chords in whatever tune they were arranged in. You made a few mistakes here and there, but that was expected, you were rusty. What you didn’t expect was hearing the soft voice asking you to stop.

Your hands froze and you turned around, looking at Dr. Kreizler, standing in the doorway, and he looked, upset.

“Is something wrong?” you asked.

“No, I’d just like you to stop,” he said simply.

“Why?” you asked.

His irritation became more evident, the way his jaw was locked and twisted.

“Because I said so isn’t that enough?”

You shook your head, the exhaustion getting the best of you when you stood up and looked at him, disappointment in your eyes.

“You can’t expect me to be the type of person to just bow down to your every whim and pleasure Laszlo. I’m already sacrificing a lot helping you,” you said firmly. “It’s just a piano like you said, normally such things don’t cause stress or irritation,”

“Yes well, it’s none of your concern.”

“Actually,” you looked at him, gaze piercing. “It is my concern. Because whether you like it or not Laszlo people care about you,” you said through gritted teeth. “And yet all you can seem to do is push us away! Don’t think I don’t know you lied about your arm, that you struck Sara over it. As an alienist, I’d expect you to know better that there’s a need to talk about such things,”

“You have no right to bring that up,” he seethed.

“Well if you think that then I suppose I’ll take my leave. It seems I’m not wanted here. You be careful doctor, keep on this path and there will be no one left to take care of you,”

You marched out of the door, surprised to still see a few cabs running this late into the night, you called one over and quickly climbed inside a few tears stinging your eyes, but without so much as a look back, you closed the door.

—

The next morning Kreizler awoke to the sound of the phone ringing. He quickly climbed out of bed and made his way downstairs, taking it off the receiver and placing it to his ear.

“Laszlo is that you?” he could hear John’s voice, it sounded worried.

“Yes, what is it?”

“Did (Y/N) stay over last night?”

“John I don’t know what you’re insinuating-,”

“She didn’t show up at home Laszlo,” he interrupted. “Please tell me she’s with you,”

Kreizler could feel his heart drop to the pit of his stomach. If you hadn't fought Cyrus would have prepared the cab to take you home. You could have stayed the night in the guest bedroom, anything, but what he thought had happened.

“John…”

“Dammit! I knew I shouldn't have let her be a part of this!”

“John I’m going to the police immediately,” he said firmly. “Grab your jacket and meet me there, we’re going to need whatever help we can get,”

John took a deep breath, “My little sister better not be hurt, I swear to God-,”

“John, I assure you, whatever you're thinking I’ve already thought ten times worse, let’s just find her first,”

“Hurry up,” he muttered quietly, hanging up the phone and leaving the doctor with a disconnected line.

John was already meeting with the commissioner, and he considered himself lucky to have attended Harvard with him.

“Do you know where she last was, or what happened?”

“Laszlo knows better than me, he was with her last,” John said quietly, looking up at his friend.

“Alright then,” Theodore turned to the alienist. “What happened?”

“We were working late on the case and decided to take a break, I went to get tea and she… it doesn’t matter, we were tried and had an argument. She left the house before I could say anything and the last time I saw her was when she climbed into a cab,”

“Around what time was this?”

“Quarter past one in the morning,” he said, trying to keep his expression stoic, but the guilt that crept up in his eyes was more than obvious.

“What can we do to help?” John asked.

“Stay together and let the police department take the lead on this,” Theodore said firmly. “Maybe try to come up with names of people that you think might be looking to harm her and then get in touch with me directly,”

“But-,”

“John you’re a cartoonist, don’t even try to fight me on this,” Theodore insisted and John conceded.

“Come on John,” Kreizler placed a hand on John’s shoulder. “Let’s go,”

John followed him, however unwillingly and before they knew it they were both sitting in the living room of the doctor's home, glasses filled with the strongest alcohol in the household.

Not a word was spoken between the two, Kreizler’s eyes, drifting back constantly to the piano and the undisturbed sheet music that laid there.

“What did you argue about,” John asked quietly.

“Excuse me?”

“I said what did you argue about,” his voice was louder, showing a bit of an edge it had. “I’m trying to decide whether I should deal with you now or after we find her,”

Kreizler swallowed thickly.

“Perhaps it would be best to put me out of my misery if anything were to have happened to her… I wouldn’t forgive myself. The argument was trivial, unnecessary, had I just taken a moment to listen,” his hand was gripping the glass so tight high chuckles went white and the fragile glass shattered in his hand, spilling the drink onto the floor, mixed with his bright red blood.

He barely even flinched and John saw something, something he’d never seen in the doctor, always so sure of himself. He saw regret.

So, for the time being, he decided to put aside his feelings, placing his drink on the table next to the couch and standing up to grab a cloth and clean up the shards of glass on the floor along with the spilled drink.

Dr. Kreizler stood up and took out a small box from the shelf, opening it and grabbing the tweezers and bandage wrap from it, picking out the pieces of glass from his hand then proceeding to wrap it tightly.

“Who would want to take you (Y/N),” he whispered to himself. “Come on tell me,”

He didn’t know what he was expecting, but nothing came.

“John I’m going to go out for a bit,” he said simply. “If you need anything ask Cyrus and he would be more than happy to help you.”

“Where are you going?”

“Somewhere to help me get into your sister’s mind,”

—

At least two hours had passed while Dr. Laszlo Kreizler laid down next to the resting place of George Moore. Something was off, what would be the reason to take you? What would they need from you? What were they going to do to you?

His head was spinning while the clouds passed by overhead, a dark grey colour, fitting for the mood of that day.

The doctor didn’t move even when it started to rain, staying completely still while the water washed over him. He focused his mind on the drops, feeling the way each one hit his body until there were too many to count and with a jolt he shot up.

Quickly standing on his feet he ran down the streets like a madman until he made it back home, breathing heavily and soaked to the bone. His finely pressed suit dirtied with mud and grass.

“Good God Laszlo where have you been?!” John exclaimed, urging his friend to come more inside.

“It’s doesn’t matter,” he shook his head, waving a hand dismissively. “I think I know who took her,”

“What? How?”

“Think about it, the only thing she’s doing that puts her in danger is helping us with this case,”

“Yes, I knew that, but-,”

“And the case keeps pointing us in what direction? A direction that a few high society men and public servants would rather we not pursue,”

“What are you saying?”

“I think former Captain Connor and the former chief have orchestrated her kidnapping to set us back in our investigation,”

“So you think this is all...a distraction?”

“Yes and I sincerely hope it means she’s not in grave danger, but… Connor is a ruthless man, we have to find her, soon,”

“I’ll call Theodore, he can keep it within a trusted few, but we’re going to need his help,”

“I know,” he nodded, using his hand to brush back his dripping hair. “I just pray we find her before it’s too late,”

—

It was maybe just past three o’clock in the morning when both John and Laszlo were startled awake by the ring of the phone.

Despite his grogginess John snapped up and grabbed it, placing it to his ear.

“Hello?” he said, eyes frantic in hopes of any news. “You did? Is she-,”

John nodded,

“Okay, thank you, we’ll be there right away,”

John hung up the phone and looked at Kreizler who rubbed his face to wake himself up.

“They found her, she’s hurt, but alive,” John said. “Theodore’s asked if you can try and find some concrete evidence against Connor, do you-,”

“I’ll stay,” Kreizler nodded. “You go be with your sister, I’ll come around after breakfast,”

“Thank you,” he said, patting him on the shoulder and grabbing his jacket. You were fine and that was probably the biggest relief of all.

—

You awoke to a throbbing pain in your head and the dim light of a candle that was lit next to you. You groaned, trying to push yourself up but crying out in pain just before you felt a soft hand pushing you back down on the bed.

“W-What’s going on,” you whimpered. “Who-,”

“It’s Teddy (Y/N), John’s on his way you’re safe now,”

You looked down at your arms, littered with bruises, there was a huge gap in your memory. The last thing you could remember was leaving the doctor’s house. How long had you been out?

“Drugs,” you mumbled. “Was I drugged?”

“We’re not sure, but it’s a big possibility,”

You moaned from the soreness when you raised your hand to your face, but Theodore stopped you.

“You’ve got a few cuts and bruises on your face (N/N), just keep your hands by your side for now okay?”

You blinked heavily, wanting to sit up, but not having any sort of strength to do so.

“Laudanum,” you mumbled. “Teddy I need laudanum,”

“I’ll get a doctor, okay, we’ll see what we can do,”

You nodded your head, although rather stiffly while Theodore got up to grab a doctor, bringing him back to you so he could assess your needs.

“She’s right, we can give her some laudanum for the pain and it might help make her more lucid,” the doctor nodded. “How did she-,”

“She’s a doctor,” Theodore said simply. The man’s eyes only widened slightly before nodding and going off to get you an injection of the medication, but before he came back the door flew open and John ran in, his expression frantic and worried as it usually was when you were in any sort of compromising situation.

“(N/N) thank God,” he whispered, practically falling to his knees next to your bed, gently taking your hands in his and pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles. He didn’t even make any sort of effort to hide the tears in his eyes when he saw you laying right there in front of him.

“Told you…” your voice drifted slightly before you took a deep inhale and looked up at him again. “Told you I can take care of myself,”

“If you call this taking care of yourself I think we need to have a little chat,” John sniffed, watching you untangle your hand from his and reach it up to his face, wiping away a few stray tears that had found their way down his cheeks.

When the doctor returned John stepped aside for a moment while you received your injection and took a seat from the corset of the room, pulling it up next to the bed.

“Where did you find her?” John asked.

“A cargo box down by the docks,”

“How-,”

“Anonymous tip,” Theodore crossed his arms and shrugged. “I don’t know who sent it, but whoever did, they very well saved her life,”

John nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation,

“Thank you, Theodore, really for everything,” John said. “You know she’s going to say she owes you one when she’s awake and lucid,”

“I know, just tell her as long as she helps catch this sick bastard, she can consider the favour repaid,”

Theodore patted John’s back and bent down to press a soft kiss to your forehead before exiting the room and leaving you be with your brother.

John didn’t sleep a wink that night, refusing to shut his eyes and let you slip away again.

The sun rose steadily at around seven o’clock in the morning and your eyes fluttered back open along with it, your breathing less laboured and vision clearer, you must have slept off the effects of some of the drugs. The doctor came back in to give you another injection to manage the pain and John insisted you close your eyes and rest once again and you didn’t have the will to fight him.

Quarter past nine the door to the private room carefully creaked open and John could see Kreizler poking his head through the small opening.

“Is she-,”

“Just resting,” John whispered.

He walked in, revealing he was holding a bouquet of flowers and John finally stood up, walking over to his college friend.

“Did you find anything?”

“Unfortunately not. I’m afraid the only way you will get him is with a confession,”

John nodded, lips pursed, thinking about what next steps to take.

“John… I know this is a lot, but… may I ask for a moment alone with her?”

John’s eyes trailed over to your sleeping figure and back to the alienist before giving him a slight nod and placing enough trust in him to leave the room.

Kreizler placed the flowers on the table near the entrance to the room and sat down in the chair that John was occupying.

He hesitated when he reached out a hand to hold yours, but when you began to stir awake he let go.

You blinked a few times before noticing the doctor by your side. Your expression softened and you opened your mouth to say something although unable to, your throat dry from disuse.

He quickly handed you a glass and helped you sip from it, soothing your throat and allowing you to speak.

“You came,” you said simply.

“Of course,” he nodded.

“I-And you brought flowers?”

“Yes, your favourites,” he nodded.

A silence fell between you two and you weren’t sure if you should be the one to break it. It seemed as though Dr. Kreizler had the same thoughts, but acted on them instead.

“It’s my fault you’re like this,” he said softly. “It’s my fault your hurt, I should have taken better care of you… I should have been honest with you. Maybe I’m not as good as I thought, holding back whatever monster is inside of me,”

“I don’t blame you,” you said immediately. “Not one bit Laszlo,”

“You should,”

“But I won’t,” you shook your head, turning it slightly to the side to face him better, reaching out a hand to gently cradle his face, the hair of his beard gently tickling your fingers while he held your hand there. “You’re not a monster Laszlo, you’re a good man, a good man who has struggles just like any other human,” you took a deep breath before continuing. “Plus if you were a monster why would you come here and bring me those beautiful flowers?”

That made him smile, your hand still holding his face until he removed it himself, holding it in his lap instead.

“I asked you to stop playing that piece because I have very painful memories associated with it,” he said softly. “The piano was something I took great pride in as a child. My whole life was set for me with it and now…” he glanced down at his arm, tears glistening in his eyes. “He took that away from me,”

“Who did Laszlo?” you asked, your voice just above a soft whisper.

“My father,” he told you. Carefully explaining the truth behind his arm. Not a congenital malformation like he had put it before, but the misdeed of a cruel father.

After his voice faded into silence from explaining, you reached over carefully and took his hand, the one that he normally tensed when you touched, only this time he allowed you to take it in yours and bring it to your lips, pressing a delicate kiss to it.

“(Y/N)-,”

“Not a word Laszlo,” you whispered. “Every part of you is worthy,”

He swallowed his words and nodded, allowing your lips to burn the skin to his hand and wrists, while he cherished the feeling, the feeling of you so close to him, so intimately connected. Loving the parts of himself he hated the most.

It was no question how special of a person you were, he just wished he could have seen that sooner, sparing you the hurt and anguish. But you were strong and resilient, much more than he had ever seen in a person and paired with your care and empathy for others, it just amazed him how good of a person you were, despite all the hardship life had decided to throw in your way. It was clear everyone might be able to learn a thing or two from you.

—

Around a week later you had recovered from most of your injuries, mainly dealing with the chronic pains that came with them and a few cuts and bruises here and there, but you were determined to continue investigating the case.

The clinic where you worked had asked if you wanted some extra time off to recover and you took it but rest and relaxation were far from what you were doing.

“(Y/N), you have a headache it’s quite obvious,” you could hear Sara’s soft voice ring through your ears.

“Why don’t you just lay down on the couch?” Kreizler suggested knowing there was no use in trying to fight with you.

“Just close your eyes,” John added. “If you want to help your mind has to be clear right?”

You nodded slowly, making your way to the couch and carefully lifting your feet so you were outstretched across its length.

Dr. Kreizler came back with a warm wet towel and you placed it over your eyes only to feel him squeeze your hand and say,

“No peeking, we need you in top shape,”

“Shh Laszlo you’re half the reason I have this headache,” you quipped and that seemed to make him laugh, even if only slightly and if that sound was medicine all your ailments would have been cured at that moment.

You weren’t sure when you drifted off to sleep but when your eyes peeled back open the cloth was no longer on your face and the room was practically dark, only lit by a few candles here and there.

You pushed yourself back up on the couch looking around and only seeing the doctor sitting on the armchair tossing another bout of files to the side.

“Where is everyone?” you asked groggily.

“Home. John didn’t want to wake you so he asked if I could have a room prepared for you here,”

“Oh, thank you,”

It was good of John to have asked because you probably wouldn’t be making any late-night trips alone. Or at least you didn’t want to.

The memories of that night were still incredibly fuzzy and all you seemed to be able to remember was the feeling, maybe it was feet or someone’s fists but they were having a go at you and suddenly it made the lump in your throat grow making it difficult to swallow.

“Are you alright?” the doctor inquired gently.

“Fine,” you nodded. “Just trying to get out of my head,”

Kreizler motioned for you to come closer to him and you did, standing up and moving to the armchair before sitting yourself down at his feet, your hands placed in his own.

“What is it meine liebe?” he whispered, the back of his index finger stroking your cheek gently.

Your breath hitched while you looked up at him, his hazel eyes sparkling with green until the dim candlelight.

“You’re tense even when you’re safe,”

The pain was hard to forget, even when there was a compassionate touch from your brother or a gentle squeeze of your hand from the doctor or a friendly hug from Sara, it still hurt. The wounds were still there causing pain, associating that pain with the way your loved ones would hold you.

Loved ones.

They had really become that close, in such a short amount of time.

“Does it still hurt?” he asked again, pulling you from your daze.

You nodded, somewhat meekly not wanting to admit the pain you were feeling.

“Where doesn't it hurt?”

You detached your hands from his, showing him your hands,

“Here,” you said faintly.

He took your hands in his again, gently bringing them to his lips, pressing a kiss to each knuckle, each finger, sparks flying through you with every touch he gave.

“Where else,”

Your fingers moved to your neck, one of the only places where you weren’t bruised to begin with.

Your face was in his hands and he held you so delicately while you sat at his feet. His eyes scammed yours, asking for permission because dammit if he wasn’t a gentleman. You gave it to him with a simple nod of your head and one of his hands retracted while the other tilted your head to the side, exposing your neck and allowing his lips to trail feather-light kisses along it, your heart pounding through your chest and you prayed he couldn’t feel your pulse through your arteries.

When his lips detached from your neck your breath was shaky, wavering, waiting for him to ask the question once more.

“Where else meine liebe?” he whispered, close to your ear, his warm breath fanning over the side of your head and causing you to almost freeze in your spot.

You swallowed thickly, lifting your hand to your lips, fingers brushing delicately against them, almost begging him to just kiss you proper.

“Las,” you breathed, cutting his name short in an endearing way.

He didn’t need to hear you ask again, tilting your chin up and resting his lips on yours. You quavered slightly under his warm touch but he held you steady. Your bottom lip became tucked between his, like puzzle pieces.

It felt quick, not long enough, you wanted it to last an eternity and when he heard your quiet whimper when you pulled apart he didn’t waste a second to press his lips back on yours, pulling you in closer and letting his beard scratch against the soft skin of your cheek.

When you pulled apart for a second time you were prepared for it. Allowing your forehead to rest against his, your hands holding him close.

“Your brother may have a very good reason to be mad with me now,” he said softly and you couldn’t help but crack a small smile.

“John doesn’t matter right now,” you shook your head.

“But he does, because I must ask something of him,”

“What could you possibly need from my overprotective older brother?”

“His blessing and permission to court you. Along with your own,”

Your lips couldn’t help but curl into a smile. “Now that will get Gran off my back,”

“My thoughts exactly, and maybe, I hope it might bring you some joy meine liebe or respite,”

“As long as you can promise me that you won’t hide away Las,” you murmured, your fingers delicately brushing away some hair from his eyes.

“Anything,” he nodded. “I’d promise you anything,”

“Okay then while I’m at it, please don’t get yourself killed,” you said, placing a small peck to his lips.

“You have my word,” he smiled. “But you should sleep, I know you’ve barely been getting rest and you look tired,”

“You know it’s not polite to tell a lady she looks tired,” you quipped with a raised brow and he gave you a gentle smile. “And I think… I think I might rest better if I was lying next to you,”

Kreizler seemed to think this over, everything that was proper, especially in New York’s higher society, told him to say maybe it was best they spent the night apart, but his heart ached to be close to you, to hold you tight and feel your body against his.

“(Y/N), I-I’m not altogether sure that’s best especially for a proper woman such as yourself I wouldn’t want to-,”

“Las,” you stopped him. “I think over the time you’ve known me we both know that I am anything but proper. And you and I, we’re not normal people, what harm is there in sharing a bed,”

Absolutely none. You were right. There was no harm.

“First door on the left,” he said softly. “I’ll join you in a moment,”

You nodded, pushing yourself up to stand on your feet, a hand going to affectionately caress his face, tucking a very small piece of hair behind his ear.

He leaned into you, resting his head against your stomach and you held him there, despite the soreness it brought you because you knew how much of a comfort it was to him after working such late nights and long days.

Your fingers gently massaged his scalp, just for a few moments before pressing one last kiss to his head and pulling away, his hazel eyes forever lingering on you while you slowly walked up the stairs.

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