Work Text:
the bathtub is filled.
the bathtub is filled, and your torso and knees are covered. your head tilts back on to the porcelain. it’s been a long day, but the assortment of stocked bath salts and bubbles poured into steamy water has made it all worth it.
brendon sits on the ledge of the tub, relaxing in his own way (watching the way the day melts off of your features). he's been silent almost the entire time since he entered the bathroom - not long after he'd gotten off of his shift - except for when he asked if you would mind if he stayed with you.
which, of course you didn't. you missed him during his twelve hour shifts, even though you had your own work to do.
you send a glance his way. he's absorbed in a small stack of paper - a medical piece that you assume he prints for just such an occasion. "hey."
brendon's head turns towards you once you speak. his normally sharp features seem softer in the light of the bathroom. "hm?"
"what are you reading?"
"thoracolumbar spine trauma outcomes," he responds, tilting the paper towards you. it's marked up, highlighted in areas. you raise a brow, spend a few seconds deciphering what the paper is meant to convey.
"interesting."
brendon snorts, taking his papers and sitting them on the closest sink counter. "you think so?"
"mhmm." you shift in the tub, water and bubbles gently sloshing around you from the movement.
"you didn't read it," he deadpans. still, his face shows only amusement, soft crinkles at the corner of his eyes.
"i did!"
brendon rolls his eyes. "lying isn't nice, sweetheart."
you pout, sinking lower into the warm water. brendon responds by poking your nose. you trap his wrists between two soapy hands, threatening to tug. it feels like holding on to a rock. "thoracolumbar spine traumas are so interesting."
"thoracolumbar spine are which vertebra?"
"t1-12."
"...those are the thoracic," he confirms. his tone says try again.
"you're interrupting my bath."
he grins. he hasn't tried to leave your grasp. you haven't let go, even mid-sulk. "do you want me to leave?" you shake your head no, dip his hand underneath the water's surface. he leans closer, pliant. "no?"
"no."
"should i make it up to you then?"
and that's how the water gets splashed onto the tile floors: when brendon tilts until his lips brush against yours, and you pull him closer without thinking, shifting his balance and soaking his shirt.