We Fix Broken People!

Aelin had been at her desk since sunrise. Her notes were scattered across the surface like fallen leaves—coffee rings marking the edges of a marathon study session. She paused, pressing her hand to the aching spot between her neck and shoulder, trying to knead away the tightness. Her laptop screen glowed softly, a quiet witness to her endurance. The sound of the apartment door clicking open snapped her out of thought. Patrice stepped inside, hair pulled into a loose bun, fatigue etched into her features. Twelve hours on the floor of the hospital had drained her, but she still managed a small smile when she saw Aelin. “Still at it?” Patrice asked, kicking off her shoes. “Deadline’s tomorrow,” Aelin murmured, rubbing the side of her neck again. “If I can keep my spine from fusing into this chair, I might actually finish.” Patrice chuckled softly and disappeared into her bedroom. When she returned, she was in an oversized T-shirt, bare legs curling up as she sank into the couch with a relieved sigh. For a few minutes, the only sounds in the apartment were the quiet tapping of Aelin’s keyboard and the soft hum of the refrigerator. Eventually, Patrice peeled herself off the couch and padded into the kitchen for a snack. She froze halfway through opening the fridge when she noticed Aelin wincing again, fingers pressing into her stiff neck. “You’ve been doing that all night,” Patrice said. “Is it really that bad?” Aelin grimaced. “It feels like my muscles staged a rebellion. I’ll live.” Patrice took a step closer, crossing her arms. “You’re terrible at self-care. Move.” Before Aelin could protest, Patrice stood behind her, her hands finding the tense muscles with practiced ease. Her thumbs worked circles into the knotted tissue, gentle but firm. “Oh my god,” Aelin mumbled, head tilting forward. “You actually know what you’re doing.” “Occupational hazard,” Patrice teased, leaning closer. “We fix broken people for a living.” The tension melted under her touch, replaced by something far warmer. Aelin closed her eyes, breathing in the faint scent of citrus lotion and laundry detergent. She could feel the slow rhythm of Patrice’s breathing align with her own. “Better?” Patrice whispered near her ear. Aelin swallowed. “Yeah. Much better.” Patrice’s hands slowed, resting lightly on Aelin’s shoulders. For a long moment, neither moved. The air between them felt electric, something unspoken pulsing beneath the soft quiet. Aelin turned her head slightly, their cheeks brushing. Patrice’s voice came out as a whisper. “You’re staring.” “Maybe,” Aelin admitted, a shy smile tugging at her lips. “Maybe I just needed a better kind of break.” Patrice leaned in, close enough for Aelin to feel her breath. “Then take one.” Their lips met—soft, hesitant at first, then deeper, slow and certain, like an exhale they’d both been holding for far too long. The textbooks, the exhaustion, the white noise of the day—all of it faded until there was only the warmth of that shared, quiet moment.