Undercurrents

by celestefawn

Summary:

A collection of brief, untethered stories that follow the quiet tension between Holden and Bill.

Chapter 1

Monday, 21.40.

They were at Quantico late again.
The halls were nearly empty, the building reduced to a low mechanical hum — vents sighing, footsteps echoing far off, machines that never quite slept.

Bill sat at his desk, staring at a half-finished report with the look of a man who’d rather be anywhere else. Jacket off, sleeves rolled, tie loosened but not removed — the kind of halfway surrender that still pretended at control.

Holden appeared without a sound, two paper cups of coffee balanced in his hands like offerings. He set one down by Bill’s elbow without a word and perched himself on the edge of the desk, legs swinging idly.

Bill glanced up.
“You know it’s late, right?”

Holden shrugged.
“You looked like you needed caffeine. Or company. Or both.”

Bill huffed a little.
“I’m fine.”

Holden leaned down, peering at the glowing screen.

“‘Subject displays signs of… paranoid affective instability,’” he read aloud, wrinkling his nose. “That’s terrible. Do you write these with a thesaurus on your lap?”

Bill looked at him flatly. “No.”

Holden grinned. “Liar.”

The silence that followed wasn’t heavy.

Lightly, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, Holden tugged a spare sheet of paper from the corner of Bill’s desk. Without asking, he began folding it, sharp creases building under his quick fingers.“You ever make these into little animals?”

Bill frowned. “What?”

“Origami. Paper animals. Tiny dogs, birds. Abstract blobs if you’re lazy.”

“…No.”

Holden nodded gravely. “Tragic.” He pinched the last fold tight and set the figure down. “This one’s a hedgehog.”

Bill took it, awkward in his big fingers. He said nothing, but after a moment set it down carefully beside the casefiles.

Holden’s smile was quick, pleased.
“See? Already attached.”

Bill gave him a look, but there was a flicker of warmth at the corner of his mouth.

Holden sipped his coffee, content.
“Anyway. If you’re gonna sulk, might as well have company. I’ve got nowhere better to be.”

Bill didn’t answer right away.
But he didn’t tell him to leave, either.
And when Holden shifted, letting his knee brush lightly against Bill’s, Bill didn’t move.

 

Wednesday, 9.15

The morning was ordinary.
Folders, coffee, another report. The office light still pale, like the day hadn’t decided to begin.

Bill came in first, set his cup down, shrugged off his jacket, opened his file. Everything exactly as it always was.

Almost.

At first he didn’t notice.
A folded shape, tucked neatly between the files instead of loose paper.

He picked it up. Another origami figure. Not random this time, but careful: tiny “paws,” a curled back, two ink-dots for eyes.

Underneath, in faint pencil letters:

Hedgehog #2: made for silent agents with soft hearts.

Bill went still. Then lowered himself into the chair, cautious, almost reverent. A smile touched his eyes, not his mouth.

The doorway filled with Holden — coffee in hand, expression practiced into casual innocence.
“Morning,” he said, passing by.

“Morning,” Bill replied, steady. Normal. Almost.

Holden took two steps, then paused.
“Oh. Did you find anything weird on your desk this morning?”

Bill looked at him. “Possibly.”

Holden nodded, eyes fixed on his coffee.
“Huh. Strange how things like that appear. Random acts of desk wildlife.”

Bill said nothing. He opened a drawer and placed the hedgehog inside — beside the first. Out of sight.

Holden saw it. Of course he did.
He didn’t comment.

But the smile he tried to hide stayed with him until lunch.

Chapter 2

The reception was nearly over. Most of the suits had left, the catering trays empty, jazz music quietly fizzling into silence. The hotel bar glowed in amber tones — polished wood, dim lamps, and the clink of ice in forgotten glasses.

Bill stood near the end of the counter, idly scanning the room as if still profiling suspects out of habit.

Holden found him there, drink in hand, cheeks a little flushed from the warmth and the wine.

“You’re not really a party guy, are you?” he said, sliding into the seat beside him.

Bill gave him a sideways glance.
“Says the guy who spent thirty minutes talking to the coffee machine.”

Holden laughed — quick, bright.
“It was making that sound again. I think it’s trying to communicate.”

Bill shook his head, smiling.
“Jesus.”

There was a pause. Holden looked down at his glass, then up again.
His voice softened.
“You know, I’ve been trying to figure out if you actually like me.”

Bill blinked. “What?”

“I mean, you’re... hard to read. And I read people for a living.”

Bill looked away, toward the bar mirror.
“I’m not hard to read. I just don’t like being misread.”

Holden tilted his head, studying him with a different kind of attention now.

“I think you do like me,” he said softly. “You’re just trying really hard not to show it.”

Bill froze. caught off guard. For a moment, he didn’t know what to say.

Holden’s cheeks flushed; he looked down quickly, staring into his glass.
“Sorry. That was— I didn’t mean to make it weird.”

“You didn’t,” Bill said. He swallowed. “It’s fine.”

Chapter 3

The door slammed open hard, catching Holden full in the face with a sickening thud.

“Oh!” Greg’s voice was sharp in the quiet.

Holden staggered, pain flaring across his nose. Blood welled instantly, warm and fast, spilling over his lips. He clamped his hands over his face, but it was already running between his fingers.

“Holden!” Bill was there in seconds, one hand gripping Holden’s shoulder, the other tipping his chin just enough to see the damage. “Jesus, you’re bleeding bad.”

“I’m..fine,” Holden tried, voice breaking. More blood gushed. Tears stung his eyes from the impact, hot against the cold throb in his nose, sliding down to mix with the red.

“Sit. Let me see it.” Bill crouched in front of him, one hand firm at the back of his neck, the other pressing a folded handkerchief under his nose. “Forward, not back. Press here.”

Holden winced, breath shuddering. A streak of blood slid down his jaw; Bill caught it with his thumb, quick and careful.

Greg stood frozen in the doorway.
“I didn’t.. Holden you’re alright ?”

“Shut your damn mouth,” Bill barked, not looking up.

He slid an arm under Holden’s and hauled him to his feet with unyielding steadiness. “We’re going to medical. Keep pressure on it.”

As they passed Greg, Bill leaned in close, voice low and lethal: “Here’s some advice. Quit while you still can. Because if you don’t, I’ll make your life here hell.”

Holden glanced down at Bill’s shirt, murmuring almost apologetically, “Your shirt… it’s all blood now.”

“Don’t care,” Bill said, steering him down the hall, his hand solid at the small of Holden’s back.

 

The medic worked quickly, tilting Holden’s head forward, swabbing the blood, checking for a fracture. The sting of antiseptic burned, but Holden sat still, jaw tight, hands gripping the edge of the cot.

Bill hovered close, arms folded, gaze fixed on every move like he didn’t trust anyone else to do it right.

“Good news,” the medic finally said. “Doesn’t look broken. Swelling will be bad, though. Keep the ice on, try not to move it too much.”

Holden gave a faint nod, relief flickering across his bruised expression. The medic handed him a fresh bandage and left with a muttered, “Rest if you can.”

The door shut. Silence settled.

Holden shifted the ice pack against his nose, glanced up at Bill. “Don’t… don’t be too hard on Greg. It was an accident.”

Bill’s jaw tightened. “He damn near broke your nose.”

Holden blinked against the sting, forcing the words out. “He didn’t mean it. I was too close to the door. Just… let it go.”

Bill’s expression stayed hard, but his voice came lower, rougher.
“You always make excuses for people who don’t deserve them?”

Holden tried for a smile, but it came out faint, crooked under the cloth. “Maybe. But this time it really was just bad timing.”

For a moment, Bill said nothing. Then he exhaled sharply.
“Fine.”

Holden looked down quickly, hiding the small curve of his mouth. “I’ll make sure to keep my distance from doors.”

Bill huffed, but didn’t quite smile. His hand landed briefly at Holden’s shoulder—firm, grounding before he pulled back again.

Chapter 4

The bullpen was noisy, but at their corner desks it was the comfortable kind of noise — background chatter, phones ringing in other rooms.

Bill was leaning over Holden’s desk, pointing out something in the case file. His hand rested flat on the page, broad enough to cover half of it.

Holden’s eyes drifted, not to the note Bill was indicating, but to his hand — the thick fingers, the blunt nails, the way his knuckles stood out like they’d been broken once or twice.

He didn’t realize he was staring until Bill’s voice shifted.
“You gonna read that, or keep memorizing my fingerprints?”

Holden blinked, caught. “Sorry.”

Bill raised an eyebrow, pulling his hand back slowly. “The file, Ford.”

Holden smiled faintly, flipping the page as instructed.

Chapter 5

The air was colder than it should’ve been, the steel table between them drawing it in like ice. Robert Lang sat in the bolted chair, pale eyes steady and fixed on Holden in a way that made the skin on the back of his neck itch.

“Tell me what you felt after the first murder,” Holden said, voice even, pen loose between his fingers.

Lang’s smile came slow, deliberate, like pulling a blade from a sheath. “You want me to say guilt, don’t you? So you can jot it down and feel like you’ve got me figured out.”

Holden didn’t react.

Lang leaned forward, chains whispering. “What I felt was alive. Like you are right now. Your pulse is jumping in your throat — I can see it.”

Holden’s grip tightened just slightly.

“You’re a pretty one,” Lang went on, his gaze sliding over Holden in a way that made the air feel thinner. “Cleaner than the last guy. Soft skin. Bet you taste clean too.”

Holden’s stomach clenched.

Lang’s gaze caught on his mouth. “I bet you make a sound when someone grabs you from behind.” His fingers twitched against the chain. “Wouldn’t take much. You’d let me do it.”

The chair beside Holden scraped suddenly — Bill had moved in before Holden even realized the door had opened.

“Shut up and focus on the case, Lang.” The words were sharp, cutting through the air like a whipcrack.

Lang grinned wider. “Oh, here comes the handler. Afraid I’m gonna tell your little boy what I’d do to him?Afraid he might like it?”

Holden’s throat went dry.

Bill leaned in just enough to cast a shadow over him. “I said that’s enough. You talk about the case, or you I’ll help you to shut your damn mouth.”

Lang tilted his head, lips curling. “He’s too soft for this kind of work. He should come back without you next time. I’d take my time with him.”

The sound of the punch was dull but heavy — a single, brutal arc of Bill’s fist connecting with Lang’s jaw. The chair rocked against the bolts, chains clattering, Lang’s grin wiped clean.

Bill didn’t say a word. He straightened, reached for Holden’s elbow, and steered him toward the door as if nothing else in the room mattered.

---

In the hallway, the metal door shut hard behind them. Holden could still feel his pulse hammering, but the pressure of Bill’s hand at his back was steady, unshaken, as they walked.

 “You didn’t have to end it like that,” Holden said, eyes on the floor.

“The hell I didn’t,” Bill shot back.

“He was talking.”

“He wasn’t talking, Ford. He was circling you like a damn shark.”

Holden said nothing. Bill stopped, turning to face him, worry edging out his anger.

“You know what guys like that do? They push and push to see how far they can go. And you just sat there and let him—”

“I can handle it.” Holden’s voice was softer than he meant it to be.

“Not the point.” Bill stepped closer, lowering his voice. “I’m not letting some psychopath get under your skin for fun.”

Holden looked away, but felt the warm weight of Bill’s hand on his shoulder.

Chapter 6

It started with the tie.

A ridiculous shade of navy, with tiny golden shapes that looked like pineapples if you squinted.
Holden squinted. A lot.

“You know,” he said, leaning one elbow on the desk between them, “this might be your boldest fashion choice yet.”

Bill looked up from his notes, blinking.
“It was a gift.”

Holden tried to look serious. Failed.
“From who? Your worst enemy?”

Bill sighed through a laugh.
“You’re an ass.”

“I’m serious!” Holden grinned, reaching out to touch the fabric. “It’s kind of… endearing. Like you’re trying to tell the world: I’m dangerous, but I also enjoy tropical fruit.”

Bill swatted his hand away, but lightly.
Holden didn’t move. Their hands hovered for a second too long.

Then Holden sat back, still smiling — softer now.
“You’re cute when you’re pretending to be annoyed.”

Bill looked at him, startled. Something shifted behind his eyes.
“I’m not—” He stopped. Blinked again. “Don’t say things like that.”

“Why not?” Holden’s voice was quieter now. Not teasing. “You don’t believe me?”

Bill glanced down. His tie suddenly very interesting.
“It’s not that,” he said. “It’s just…”
He gestured vaguely. “You.”

Holden tilted his head, like a curious bird.
“Me?”

Bill looked like he was about to explain, then changed his mind.
“You talk strange,” he said finally.

Holden looked down at his own hands, fiddling with a paperclip like it was a nervous tic.
“I just like… being around you,” he said simply. “Even if you’re wearing that tie.”

Bill laughed — quiet, real.
Then, without thinking, he pulled the tie loose. Slowly, casually.
Folded it, set it on the desk.

“There. Better?”

Holden’s eyes flicked to his now-open collar. His throat.
“Dangerous,” he said playfully. “But still very cute.”
Bill didn’t say a word, but shook his head with a slightest smile on his lips.

Chapter 7

Rain drummed steadily on the roof, the headlights catching silver streaks in the slick asphalt. Holden sat curled in the passenger seat, knees drawn closer in a way that made him look younger, almost like a teenager on a long road trip.

“You always drive this careful?” he asked, eyes on the blurred lights outside, though he was watching Bill from the corner of his vision.

“Careful gets us there,” Bill said.

Holden adjusted his seatbelt but didn’t lean back. Instead, he turned slightly toward him. “I like when you drive. Feels… safe.”

“Are you kidding me?” Said Bill, remembering last car-crush episode.

“No.” Holden said simply, without a hint of teasing or joke, but he caught the way Bill’s fingers tightened around the wheel.

 “Just keep your seatbelt on, Holden,” Bill replied, but there was a softness buried in the tone.

Holden smiled.

Chapter 8

The FBI’s holiday party was… tolerable. The drinks were weak, the music was worse, but there were white lights strung across the ceiling and something about the quiet hum of conversation made the whole thing feel softer than their usual world.

Bill was nursing a glass of something that claimed to be bourbon. Holden had just made some comment about the assistant director’s dance moves, and for the first time in days, Bill laughed.

It made Holden’s mouth curve into something subtle. Something like fondness, tucked between his cheek and the flicker in his eyes.

“You know,” Bill said, after a moment, shifting the glass in his hand, “we could… I don’t know. Do something sometime. Something that isn’t work.”

Holden turned toward him. Slight tilt of the head. That fox-like glimmer.
“Something like what?”

Bill hesitated. Scratched the back of his neck.
“Catch a movie. Or whatever you want. Doesn’t have to be a thing.”

Holden looked at him. His gaze lingered, longer than necessary.
“Whatever I want?” he echoed, teasing just enough to be felt.

Bill blinked.
“Yeah. Sure.”

Holden’s eyes dropped to Bill’s mouth for half a second. Then he looked away, faint color rising to his own cheeks.
“Maybe I want to see you outside of fluorescent lighting for once,” he said lightly. “See if you still look so intimidating in a theater seat.”

Bill chuckled nervously. “I probably don’t.”
Holden gave him a soft grin.
“That’s okay. I might like you better that way.”

Bill looked stunned. Not offended—just caught, exposed, like someone had taken the ground out from under him and replaced it with warm carpet.

They didn’t talk about it again for the rest of the evening.

When it was time to leave, the air outside was sharp with winter. Holden walked beside him, hands in his coat pockets, shoulders slightly hunched.

They stood by Bill’s car for a moment too long. Neither moved. Neither spoke.

Then—quick, uncertain—Holden leaned in.

The kiss was barely a kiss. Just a brush of his mouth against Bill’s. Awkward in its approach, brief and trembling.
And yet, it stopped the world.

When he pulled back, Holden looked at him with quiet panic in his eyes, like he wasn’t sure if he’d just ruined everything.

Bill didn’t speak. His hand came up, slow, resting against the side of Holden’s coat.

“You sure that wasn’t the bourbon?” he asked, voice low, almost tender.

Holden smiled, just a little.
“I didn’t finish mine.”

They stood there a few seconds more, their breath rising between them like fog.
And when Bill opened the car door, Holden hesitated—then got in beside him.

Chapter 9

Holden had barely sat down when the office door flew open. Gunn stepped out, scowling.

“Ford! Where the hell is last week’s report? It was due on my desk this morning.”

“I’m still—”

“Still? We’ve been over this—”

“Hey,” Bill’s voice cut cleanly through, flat and hard. “He’s been juggling three case files since Monday. If you want that report on time, stop dumping last-minute assignments on him.”

The room went quiet. Gunn stared at Bill for a moment, then turned on his heel and left.

Bill looked back at his paperwork, but not before giving Holden a brief, grounding glance. “Don’t let him get to you.”

Holden let out a slow breath, forcing his shoulders to relax. He tapped his pen against the page, but his focus was still rattled.

“You didn’t have to do that,” he muttered.

Bill didn’t look up. “Yeah, I did.”

Holden glanced at him, lips parting as if to argue, but stopped. There was something in the set of Bill’s jaw, in the steady way he turned back to the file, that made it pointless.

Instead, Holden leaned back in his chair, the corner of his mouth tugging upward despite himself.
“Guess I owe you one.”

Bill finally looked over, just for a second.
“You don’t owe me anything,” he said simply.

Holden smiled faintly into his notes, the weight in his chest easing.

Chapter 10

The office was nearly empty, the hum of the vending machine the loudest sound. Holden sat hunched over his desk, tapping his pen against the margin of a report.

“You’re still here,” Bill said from the doorway, holding two steaming paper cups.

Holden looked up, surprised. “You brought me coffee?”

“No,” Bill deadpanned, setting one down in front of him. “I brought coffee. You just happen to be sitting there.”

Holden smirked, fingers curling around the warm cup. “You know, most people would just admit they’re being nice.”

“I’m not most people,” Bill replied, settling into the chair opposite him.

Chapter 11

Bill barely had time to turn the key before Holden pushed inside, swaying just enough for Bill to catch him by the elbow. The hallway light caught in his hair, the faint sheen on his skin. He smelled of beer, warmth, and something sharper — whatever had been slipped into his drink still humming through him.

“I’m fine,” Holden murmured, the words muffled as he leaned in, pressing against Bill’s side. He tilted his head up, eyes unfocused but locked on Bill like there was no one else in the world.

Bill shut the door with his foot. “You’re not.”

Holden’s hands found his jacket, sliding down the lapels, fingers curling like he needed an anchor. Then, with a slow, deliberate shift, he rubbed his cheek along Bill’s chest, nuzzling in as if seeking heat. The movement was unhurried, intimate — like a cat weaving itself around someone’s legs, demanding to be noticed.

“Holden…” Bill warned, though it came out rougher than intended.

Holden looked up at him, lips parted. Then he leaned in and kissed him — hungry, needy. The taste of beer mixed with something sweeter, the press of his body molding against Bill’s.

Bill’s hands landed on his waist, meaning to steady him, but Holden arched into the contact, sliding closer until there was no space left. His hip brushed firmly against Bill — and stayed there. The hard, undeniable ridge between them made Holden’s eyes flash, a slow smile ghosting across his mouth.

“Take me,” he breathed, voice low, coaxing. He moved again, deliberate, and Bill felt the burn shoot straight through him.

Every muscle in Bill’s body tensed. His pulse hammered, his breath shortened, his hands gripped tighter. He wanted — God, he wanted — but Holden’s weight against him was too unsteady, his gaze hazed.

“I can’t,” Bill said, the words rasping out.

“Please,” Holden looked up with his hazy eyes. “You want it too. I can feel it”. 

His hand went lower.

“Holden,” Bill sighed heavily, catching Holden’s hand.“Stop”.

Holden blinked, confusion flickering, but he didn’t move away. He just stayed pressed in, warm and insistent, like he thought maybe Bill would change his mind if he waited long enough.

“Not like this,” Bill said, one hand still braced at his back, the other curling gently at the base of his skull. “You’re not yourself tonight. And I’m not going to be the one who..” He stopped himself, swallowing hard.

Holden leaned against him, eyes drifting shut, but the echo of his warmth and the tension in Bill’s chest didn’t fade.

Chapter 12

Most of the bullpen had emptied. Holden leaned against his desk, jacket slung over the back of his chair. Bill was at the file cabinet, sleeves rolled, looking heavier than the hour allowed.

Holden tried to break the quiet.
“You’re still thinking about it.”

Bill didn’t glance up. “Damn right I am. Guy like that loose, and you telling me someone followed you home? That’s not something you shrug off.”

Holden shifted, defensive already. “I didn’t say it was him. Just… a car lingered a little too long behind mine. Could’ve been nothing.”

Bill turned, eyes narrowing. “Or it could’ve been everything. You should have backup until they bring him in.”

Holden scoffed. “You don’t have to hover over me, you know. I can take care of myself.”

“I’m not talking about hovering. I’m talking about staying alive.” Bill’s tone sharpened. “You want a Bureau car on you, fine. Or I drive you for a while.”

Holden blinked. “You’re serious.”

“Dead serious.”

Holden let out a short laugh, shaking his head. “What, you think I can’t handle myself? I’m not some rookie—you know that.”

Bill’s mouth hardened. “You’re a damn good mindhunter, Holden. Best I’ve seen. But physically?” His pause carried weight. “I’m not convinced.”

The words cut deeper than Holden expected. His shoulders squared, voice quick and bristled.
“Excuse me? I passed the same tests in Quantico you did. Physical, firearms, all of it.”

Bill closed the drawer. He stepped closer, the weight of his presence enough to make Holden shift back a little.
“Tests don’t mean a damn thing when it happens for real.”

Before Holden could answer, Bill’s hand shot out. In one smooth motion he caught his wrist, pulled it down and used the shift of momentum to turn Holden back against the desk. Holden’s hip hit the edge, Bill’s body closing in, solid and unyielding.

Holden let out a startled sound, caught between a laugh and a gasp.
“Jesus, Bill— I wasn’t ready”

“That’s the point. You never know when it gets you. ” Bill’s voice was low, even.

Holden’s free hand pressed against the desk for balance, his eyes darting up to meet Bill’s. They were close — too close — enough to catch the flecks of green in his gaze, the rough shadow along his jaw where the razor had missed. And then he felt it: Bill’s thigh firm against his hip, the heat of him undeniable.

The realization made Holden’s breath falter, his chest tight as the silence between them thickened.

Bill noticed too late. His jaw tightened, but he didn’t move right away. The air between them thickened, electric.

Holden’s gaze flicked down, then back up to Bill’s mouth before he could stop himself. His heart hammered so loud it drowned out the silence.

Bill’s face changed—something like panic flashing under the surface. Abruptly, he let go, stepping back so fast the space between them felt cold.

Chapter 13

The elevator doors slid shut with their usual metallic sigh. Bill pressed the button for the lobby, shifting the folder under his arm.

The car hummed as it started down. For a moment, it was just the two of them in the narrow quiet — Holden standing a little too straight, eyes fixed on the glowing numbers above the door.

Bill was about to say something, but then the elevator jolted hard, lights flickering once before going dim. The floor numbers froze.

The sudden stillness hit like a blow.

Bill swore under his breath, jabbing the button again. Nothing. “Damn thing,” he muttered, already reaching for the emergency switch.

Behind him, Holden went very still.

“Guess we stuck here for good,” Bill grinned. 

Silence stretched. So did the tension.

“Hey,” Bill said, glancing over his shoulder. “You all right?”

Holden didn’t answer. His jaw was tight, lips parted just enough to draw shallow, rapid breaths. His hands hovered in the air, uncertain, before gripping the rail behind him like he needed it to stay upright.

“Holden.” Bill’s voice sharpened.

“I can’t—” Holden rasped, his eyes darting to the walls, the ceiling, the sealed doors. His chest rose faster, each inhale sharp and shallow. “I can’t..breathe”

Bill dropped the folder to the floor, closing the distance in two steps. “Yes, you can. Look at me.”

Holden shook his head violently, gasping now, his tie tugged loose, collar pulled open as if there still wasn’t enough air.

Bill caught him by the arms, firm and steady. “Not the walls. Me. Right here.” He exaggerated a deep breath, slow and controlled, then let it out. “Match me. In. Out.”

Holden tried, but the rhythm broke, splintered into choking gasps. His fingers twisted in Bill’s jacket, clinging hard, panic burning through him.

Bill pulled him close, one arm wrapping around his back, the other cupping the back of his neck. “Hold on to me. I’ve got you.”

Holden’s forehead pressed against Bill’s chest, his breath hot and ragged. Slowly, painfully, the erratic gasps began to mirror Bill’s steadier rhythm.

“That’s it,” Bill murmured, his voice low, almost a whisper against Holden’s hair. “You’re doing good.”

Minutes stretched. Holden’s grip loosened, though he didn’t move away. His body still trembled, but the panic was ebbing, leaving only exhaustion.

When the elevator jolted back to life, Holden startled, flinching closer against Bill.

The doors slid open with a mechanical sigh. Light from the lobby spilled in, too bright after the close air of the elevator.

Holden straightened quickly, pulling back as if nothing had happened. His hands smoothed his jacket, his hair, searching for order. He didn’t meet Bill’s eyes.

“I’m fine,” he muttered, stepping out. His voice was rough, unconvincing.

Bill followed close behind, watching the stiffness in his shoulders, the way his breath still shuddered at the edges. “Well, I don’t think so.”

Holden gave a sharp shake of his head, already moving toward the glass doors. “It’s over. Let it be over.”

Bill caught his arm before he could push outside. “Don’t do that.”

Holden froze, eyes flicking to where Bill’s hand held him. His throat worked, but no words came.

“You can’t just pretend,” Bill said, voice low, steady. “I was there. I saw you.”

For a beat, Holden stood rigid, the façade threatening to crack. Then he pulled his arm free, but he didn’t move away. He stood there, chest heaving once, eyes finally lifting to Bill’s.

The vulnerability in them hit harder than the panic had.

Bill softened his tone. “Let me walk you home.”

Holden hesitated. His mouth opened, closed again, like he wanted to protest but couldn’t find the words. Finally, he gave the faintest nod.

They stepped out into the night air. It was cool, carrying the faint smell of rain on concrete. Holden tugged his coat tighter, his pace brisk as if he could outwalk what had just happened.

Bill matched him easily, long strides steady, hands deep in his pockets. He didn’t speak. Streetlamps passed one by one, their light breaking across Holden’s pale face.

By the time they reached his building, the silence had grown heavy, almost unbearable. Holden stopped at the entrance, pulling out his keys with stiff fingers. He tried to fit one into the lock, but his hand shook — just enough to fumble it. The metal slipped, clattering softly against the door.

“Damn it,” Holden muttered under his breath, stooping quickly to retrieve it.

Bill’s hand was there first, picking up the key before Holden could. He held it out, steady. Holden hesitated before taking it, his glassy, exhausted eyes finally lifting to Bill’s. “I hate this,” he whispered, voice almost breaking.

“I know,” Bill said. And then, gently, he took the key from Holden’s hand and slid it into the lock for him. “Come on. Let’s get you inside.”

Holden let him.