"You're lucky, you know. Having people like that."
"We've walked into burning buildings together." He shrugged. "That either breaks you or bonds you. We got lucky."
"No, I imagine not."
He looked at me. Lamplight caught the exhaustion in his face, the day's work etched into the lines around his eyes. He looked rumpled. Happy. So fundamentally good that something in me went soft and terrified at the same time.
"Pizza?" he asked.
"God, yes."
We ordered from the place down the street. The good one, with the thin crust and the perfect ratio of cheese to sauce.
Watson emerged from wherever he'd been, drawn by the smell of pepperoni. He wound between us, tail flicking hopefully.
"No people food," I told him.
He gave me his most pathetic look. It was entirely unconvincing, given his permanently threatening expression.
"He's not as cute as he thinks he is," Brian said.
"Don't listen to him." I scratched Watson's ears. "You're very cute."
"You're undermining my authority."
"You have no authority. He's my cat."
"He'sourcat now." Brian reached over and rubbed under Watson's chin. "We're roommates. What's yours is mine."
Our.
The word landed somewhere it shouldn't. I let it sit there anyway.
"Thank you," I said. "For today. For all of it."
Brian looked up. "You don't have to thank me."
Brian looked up. "You don't have to thank me."
He held my gaze in the lamplight. "You're part of the crew now. Whether you like it or not.
I should argue. Should remind him that this was temporary, that I'd find my own place eventually. Instead, I said, "Maybe I like it."
His smile came slowly. The real one—the one that crinkled the corners of his eyes and made him look younger, softer, like someone who hadn't spent years running into burning buildings.
That night, I lay awake in the bedroom that was beginning to feel like mine.
Watson was sprawled across my chest, purring. His weight grounded me to the mattress. The ceiling had a different crack than Brian's. Shorter. More like a pause than a wandering river. My mind kept circling back to everything that mattered.
The crew showed up without being asked. Maria pressed food into my hands. Rodriguez was calling me family like it was already true. The way they'd all just folded me into their rhythm like I'd always been there.
And Brian. In the next room, probably not sleeping either. Both of us pretending we weren't thinking about almost-moments and closed doors.
I tried to imagine it. Belonging somewhere. Letting the walls down long enough to find out what was on the other side.
I'd spent so long keeping people at arm's length. My mother had needed my father like oxygen, and it had hollowed her out. My father had loved conditionally, strategically—a reward system dressed up as affection.
I'd learned early: don't need anyone. Don't give them that power.
