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The hallway is too quiet.
Darby hates that.
It’s the kind of quiet that lets thoughts get loud, too loud, and tonight they’re already clawing at her ribs, tightening her chest in that familiar, awful way. She tries breathing like she’s supposed to, in for four, hold, out for four, but it doesn’t stick. It never really does when she’s alone.
So she does what she’s learned she can do.
She goes to David.
He’d given her access weeks ago, pressed the ring into her hand like it was nothing, like it didn’t mean you can come to me whenever you need to. But Darby understood. She always does.
She doesn’t knock.
She never knocks.
She pushes the door open and,
and immediately freezes.
“…what.”
The scene in front of her is so wildly not what she expected that her brain just… stalls.
David is on the floor.
Just, fully on the floor. Flat on his back. Arms spread like he’s made himself at home there.
And Oliver is on the couch, laughing.
Not polite laughing. Not restrained.
Full, unfiltered, can’t-breathe-through-it laughter.
“David,” Oliver says between breaths, “get off the floor!”
“Nope,” David replies, completely unbothered, grinning up at the ceiling like this is the height of comfort.
“Come on, love-”
Before Oliver can finish, David suddenly props himself up and grabs him, tugging him down off the couch with a dramatic lack of coordination.
Darby watches, stunned, as Oliver lands beside him with a startled noise that dissolves instantly into laughter.
“David, stoooop-”
David absolutely does not stop.
He’s tickling him.
He is actually tickling him.
Darby, who has seen dead bodies and crime scenes and things most people would never recover from, stands in the doorway thinking: this is the most surreal thing I’ve ever witnessed.
Oliver squirms, laughing helplessly. “David, I mean it-”
“Say mercy.”
“No!”
“Then suffer.”
“DAVID”
Eventually Oliver manages to twist away, pushing himself upright, still laughing, breathless and flushed. He pats David’s chest like he’s calming a very large, very stubborn animal.
“Alright,” he says, recovering, “enough. It’s late.”
David sits up, already pouting. “It’s not that late.”
Oliver doesn’t even argue. He just reaches over, grabs a folded set of pyjamas, and tosses them at him.
David lets them hit him square in the face before dramatically collapsing back onto the floor with a long, exaggerated groan.
Oliver laughs again, softer this time.
And then-
He notices her.
He lifts a hand and gives a small, completely casual wave.
“Oh. Hi, Darby.”
David blinks, then pushes himself up, the pyjamas sliding off him and pooling uselessly on the floor. He looks at her, then at Oliver.
Then he grins.
“I don’t think she knew.”
Darby finally finds her voice.
“You’re, what?” she says, pointing vaguely between them. “Fucking? dating?!”
Oliver chuckles, like this is the least shocking thing in the world.
“Married.”
There’s a beat.
Darby stares at him.
“…married?!” she shouts.
David, meanwhile, just flops back down again with a long, deeply satisfied sigh.
“Yeah…”
Darby lets out a disbelieving laugh, dragging a hand down her face.
“Oh my god.” She steps into the room fully now, the earlier tightness in her chest already loosening, replaced by something warm and ridiculous. “You’re down bad.”
David turns his head toward her, grin sharp and completely unashamed.
“That’s pretty obvious, isn’t it?”
Darby snorts and walks over, dropping down onto the floor beside him like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“Yeah,” she says, smiling. “It is.”
Without thinking, she reaches over and ruffles his hair.
David immediately protests, swatting weakly at her hand. “Hey! I just combed that, Darby-”
But he’s laughing.
He’s always laughing with her, lately.
It’s different, with him. Steady. Safe. Like nothing she does is too much, like nothing about her is something to fix.
Oliver watches the two of them, something soft settling in his expression.
“Everything alright?” he asks gently.
Darby shrugs, a little sheepish now. “Just… couldn’t sleep.”
David doesn’t hesitate.
He shifts, propping himself up on one elbow to look at her properly.
“Hey,” he says, softer now. “You okay?”
There it is.
That tone.
The one that steadies her.
She nods, even though it’s only half true.
“Better now.”
He studies her for a second like he knows exactly what that means, and exactly what it doesn’t, but he doesn’t push.
Instead, he reaches over and nudges her shoulder.
“You eat today?”
Darby groans. “Oh my god.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“I had food.”
“What kind of food?”
“…food-shaped food.”
David squints at her.
Oliver snorts.
“Darby,” David says, sitting up fully now, all traces of earlier chaos replaced with quiet concern, “you’ve gotta take care of yourself.”
“I am taking care of myself.”
“Barely.”
“Wow. Rude.”
“Accurate.”
She rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling.
Because he’s not judging.
He never does.
He just… cares.
Annoyingly, persistently, genuinely.
Oliver shifts on the couch, watching them with quiet fondness. “You’ve basically adopted her.”
David doesn’t even deny it.
“Yep,” he says simply.
Darby blinks.
“…you what.”
David shrugs like it’s obvious. “Someone has to make sure you’re not surviving exclusively on caffeine and bad decisions.”
She lets out a small, surprised laugh.
“…wow.”
There’s something in her chest again, but it’s not tight this time.
It’s warm.
She leans sideways, resting lightly against his shoulder.
“…thanks,” she mutters.
David just hums, like it’s nothing.
Like it’s everything.
Oliver watches the two of them, then smiles to himself.
“…we’re getting a bigger bed,” he says suddenly.
David looks up. “Oh?”
“If she’s going to keep showing up in the middle of the night.”
Darby laughs. “I can hear you, you know.”
“Good,” Oliver replies, amused.
David grins.
“Yeah,” he says. “I think I’m okay with that.”
And for the first time that night,
Darby feels like she might actually sleep.