It should not be attractive.
Unfortunately, my standards have become unreliable.
“You look terrible,” I say.
His eyes lift to mine.
“Good morning to you too.”
“It’s almost seven.”
“Exactly. An immoral hour.”
“You’re a journalist. I thought you people survived on coffee and deadlines.”
“Coffee, yes. Deadlines, yes. Three consecutive night shifts while trying to understand firefighters as a species? Less so.”
“You wanted authenticity.”
“I wanted a strong feature. I did not understand there would be this much yawning.”
Kev, passing behind him with a bowl of cereal, snorts. “You’ve been here just three nights.”
“I have aged.”
“You’ve become quieter,” Mish says from the counter. “It’s been lovely.”
AJ turns his head slowly. “That was hurtful.”
“That was feedback.”
“I’ll reflect on it after I sleep for fourteen hours.”
“You’ll sleep for five,” Dan says, not looking up from his toast. “Wake up confused, eat something stupid and come back tonight looking worse.”
AJ stares at him. “Is that a prediction or a curse?”
“Experience.”
“Excellent. I love this journey for me.”
I lean against the counter because my legs are tired and because standing too close to him still feels like a bad idea.
A bad idea I keep finding reasons to revisit.
The shift has been quiet. Not completely dead, because the universe never gives us that gift without charging interest, but quiet enough that we only had two minor call-outs and neither of them left anyone crying in an office.
So that is progress.
Tonight is ending in pale morning light, stale tea and the particular exhaustion that comes from making your body stay alert while the world insists you should be asleep.
One more night.
Then AJ goes back to Carlisle.
That thought has been sitting in the corner of my mind since about three a.m., pretending not to be important.
And yet it is.
