Archive of Our Own ^beta

It was nearing 11 pm when Smith decided he needed to get out of the flat for a while.

He’d been cooped up in his room for what felt like years (in reality, it had only been a week at most), and he felt like a caged animal.

Sighing, he pushed himself up from his bed, where he’d previously been staring blankly at the ceiling. His head spun, and he blinked rapidly to clear the sudden vertigo. Huh , he thought, when was the last time I had water ?

Smith makes his way out of his room and into the thankfully empty kitchen. By the looks of it, his roommate Ross had probably moved to his own room a little while ago. He flicks the light on and winces at the brightness.

Smith reaches into the cupboard by the sink, pulling out a glass. He turns the tap on and puts his finger under the stream, waiting for it to get a bit colder. Once it hits the temperature he’s looking for, he pulls his hand back, wiping it on his shirt and moving his cup underneath it.

His eyes get a little glassy as he loses himself in thought while it fills, mind racing for no reason but to fuck with him. He’s brought back to the present when he feels water overflow and drench his hand, cursing softly as he quickly switches it off.

He scrunches his nose up as water soaks into the sleeve of his sweatshirt. Pouring out a bit from the cup, he brings it to his lips and downs it in just a few seconds.

After finishing, he sets the cup onto the drying rack beside the sink and pulls the sweatshirt off, the feeling of the wet cuff making him unreasonably angry.

He chucks it to the floor, sighing as he leans against the counter. He takes a deep breath, forcing the anger away. Ross told him he’s getting better at controlling his outbursts, and he’s not about to ruin that over a wet sleeve, thank you very much.

Instead of going all the way back to his room, he opts to grab and slide a hoodie over his head, figuring it can’t be that cold out. It was the middle of summer, after all.

He shuffles down the hall, peering into Ross’ room. The man is sat at his desk, working on something Smith doesn’t care enough to find out about.

Ross notices him at the door and pulls his headphones down to rest around his neck.

“Alright, mate?” He asks, turning in his chair to give Smith his full attention.

Smith nods in response. “Alright. Just gonna go for a walk to clear m’head,” He tells the other. Ross nods, humming.

“Just be careful. And don’t forget the keys this time,” He teases with a slight smirk. Smith groans.

“That was one time , mate! And I was goin’ to get you meds because you’re a dickhead and get deathly ill instead of just having a regular cold like the rest of us!”

Ross laughs at his words, but Smith is already turned away from him and walking towards the front door.

He slips his shoes on quickly, grabbing his phone and keys and shoving them into his sweatpants pocket. Opening the door, he locks it behind him and shuts it, starting his walk.

After just a few steps, he pauses, cursing loudly as he realizes he forgot his wallet. He grumbles as he walks back up to the door, fishing his keys out of his pocket and unlocking it.

He grabs his wallet and locks the door again, this time almost slamming it closed.

Taking a deep breath, he puts both his wallet and keys into his pocket and pushes onward.

The air is nice and cool at this hour. There’s a small breeze that messes Smiths hair up, but he doesn’t mind, really. It makes him feel alive.

He adjusts his glasses a bit before shoving his hands into his pockets and making his way towards the park. Maybe he could lay on a bench for a while and stargaze.

The thought makes Smith snort slightly, shaking his head at the names Ross would surely call him if he’d joined the walk.

When he arrives at the park, it’s as empty as he imagined it to be. Not a single soul in sight. The only sounds surrounding him are those of his footsteps, the leaves of trees rustling gently from the wind, and crickets chirping every so often.

He spots a bench a little ways away by a sign urging people to stop feeding the birds. Smith scoffs at it, knowing it hasn’t changed a damn thing, and it probably never will. People are idiots.

He makes his way to the bench, sitting down right in the center of it. His arms spread across the back of it, and he sighs softly, head falling back and eyes closing. I should do this more often , he thinks to himself.

Time goes by, but Smith barely registers it, basking in the tranquil moment.

That is, until he hears footsteps.

He groans inwardly, cracking his eyes open and frowning. Looking to where he’d just walked from, another man is walking through the park. His eyes seem to be glued to his phone, though, and he hasn’t noticed that he’s walking straight towards the sign.

Smith feels his lips curl into a mischievous smirk, sitting up straighter to watch, knowing exactly where this was headed. It pays off when the man runs into the sign, flinching back and dropping his phone as he reaches up to cradle his face, exclaiming a loud “fuck!”.

Smith can’t help but burst out laughing, doubling over from where he’s sat. The man flinches again at the noise, and his eyes flicker to where Smith is, grumbling while cupping a hand over his nose.

“Y’alright there, mate?” Smith asks, trying to hold his laughter in. The man scowls his way. “Fuck off,” he mutters, wincing at the pain in his nose.

Laughing again, Smith pushes off the bench and makes his way over to the other, bending over and grabbing his phone. He presses it into the injured man’s hand, noticing the slight shake to it.

He chuckles again before clearing his throat. “You walk into signs often?” Smith smirks, looking down at him.

The man grumbles again, but his cheeks are flushed red with embarrassment. “Please just forget this ever happened,” He mumbles, voice deep and full of shame. Smith laughs again.

“I can promise you, I will be telling all my friends about this. I’m probably the worst guy to ask about keeping a secret like this,” He grins. The man groans, hissing when he moves his hand back from his face a bit.

Smith grimaces at the sight.

“Jesus Christ,” He mutters, moving a bit closer. The man’s nose is bleeding, pretty rapidly at that. Smith notices him waver slightly where he stands and rushes to guide him towards the bench. “Take it easy.”

The man stumbles alongside him, almost tripping over his own feet as Smith guides him to sit. Smith’s eyebrows furrow.

“Tilt your head up,” He instructs, forcing the man to look up at him instead of just waiting for him to comply. “And, like, pinch the bridge of your nose. Or somethin’ like that, I don’t fucking know.”

Smith looks at him, face scrunched up in concern, as he blinks his eyes open. They’re dazed as they try to focus on the taller’s face. He groans again, reaching a shaking hand to pinch at his nose.

“You’re not gonna die, are you?” Smith jokes. His hand is in his pocket, lingering on his phone, just in case he needed to call someone for this complete idiot. “That would be pretty embarrassing.”

The man glares. “I’m not going to die,” he grumbles, voice slightly nasally. “I’m really fucking dizzy, though.”

Smith hums, grinning at him. “Yeah, that makes sense. You did run face-first into a sign.”

He takes a seat next to the man. They’re silent for a moment before Smith speaks up. “So. What’s your name?” He asks, leaning back against the bench.

The man glances over at him as best he can from holding his head back. “Chris. But most people call me Trott,” He tells Smith, wincing as another bit of blood gushes from his nose. “Fuck. What’s your name?”

Smith raises an eyebrow. “Trott, huh?” He says, testing the name. “‘S that your last name or summat?” He grins when Trott nods slightly. “I’m Alex, but most people call me Smith. Guess calling people by their last names isn’t just something police officers do in movies, eh?”

Trott smiles at him blearily, readjusting his head slightly. Smith watches as he pulls his bloody hand away from his nose, grimacing at the squelch it made. Trott reaches a clean-ish hand out to him, and he laughs as he shakes it.

“Has it stopped bleeding?” He asks, pulling his hand back and wiping it against his hoodie. Trott nods a bit. “Think so,” he hums. “Thanks for staying with me to make sure I didn’t die. This… is probably the most embarrassing first impression I’ve ever made.”

His cheeks are flushed again as he admits it, and Smith can’t help but laugh.

“It was great for me,” he smiles cheekily. “Now I’ve got a great story to tell my roommate.”

Trott’s blush just deepens at that, and he grumbles, looking away. Smith can’t help but think he looks really nice in the moonlight. Even with the blood caked on his face.

He feels his phone buzz in his pocket and slides it out, seeing that Ross had just sent him a text asking when he’d be home. Glancing at the time, his eyes widen when he sees it’s nearing 1:30 am.

“It’s getting really fucking late,” He comments aloud. Trott’s gaze flicks back to him and he frowns.

“Fuck,” he groans, running a hand through his floppy brown hair. “I’ve missed the last bus, haven’t I?”

Smith grimaces again. “Sorry, mate. Didn’t account for running into a sign, did ya?”

Trott rolls his eyes at the comment and sighs, flopping back against the bench. “Guess not,” he mutters.

Smith pauses, pursing his lips.

“Why don’t you come back to mine for the night? I live near a bus stop. You could catch an early one,” He suggests. His brain is screaming at him for suggesting it, pointing out he doesn’t know this man at all. But his heart is saying otherwise. “Y’know. As long as you don’t have a plan to murder my roommate and I in our sleep. That would be really uncool of you.”

Trott huffs a small laugh and hums. “If you don’t mind,” He says, voice quiet.

Smith grins, shooting Ross a quick text, telling him he’s coming home and to prepare the couch. He shoves his phone back into his pocket, ignoring the rapid buzzing, and offers a hand to Trott.

The shorter man takes his hand and yelps as Smith yanks him off the bench, stumbling as he gets pulled behind him.

“Smith,” Trott whines, head spinning as he’s forced to catch up with the other. “I’m still dizzy!”

Smith just grins, chuckling a bit. “Don’t be a pussy, Trott!” He calls in a sing-song voice. “We need to get back to the flat before Ross comes and drags us there himself.”

Trott scowls at his words, but blinks a couple of times and gets his legs moving quicker in an attempt to match Smith’s stride.

They make it back to the apartment within a few minutes. Smith doesn’t let go of Trott’s hand once, even when they make it to the door. He fumbles for the keys and sloppily unlocks the door, shoving it open and pulling Trott inside.

“I’ve brought a guest,” Smith calls into the apartment. Ross peeks around the corner, eyes widening at the state of Trott. “What did you do, Smith?” He asks, exasperated.

Smith grumbles and Trott smirks a bit. “Why has it always got to be my fault?” Smith huffs, letting the smaller man’s hand go finally. He kicks the door shut.

“Because you’re always doing something dangerous,” Ross deadpans, walking into the kitchen and wetting a towel. He brings it back to where Smith and Trott are standing, offering it to Trott. “I sincerely apologize for whatever this dipshit did to you,” He sighs, glaring over at Smith.

Instead of denying it was Smith’s fault, Trott takes the towel and sighs dramatically. “He shoved me into a sign,” He pouts, forcing himself to stay neutral as Smith splutters next to him.

“Fuck you, Trott!” He spits through gritted teeth. “This little fucker ran into a sign and got a nosebleed! I didn’t do shit to him!”

Ross rolls his eyes, grinning lopsidedly. “Always coming up with excuses,” he tuts at Smith, earning himself a big ‘ol middle finger. He turns to Trott. “I set the couch up with an extra pillow and a couple blankets. Please don’t bleed on them.”

Ross wishes them both a good night, shaking his head at the scowl Smith sent him in return.

Trott grins when he leaves, still wiping the blood from his face. “I like him,” He hums, eyes twinkling mischievously as he sees Smith’s scowl.

The taller turns towards him, glaring. “You’re a right twat,” Smith grumbles. “I was gonna get you a new set of clothes to wear, but now I’m having second thoughts. I hope you get a rash from the blood, you prick.”

Trott feels a laugh bubbling up in his chest and lets it out. “You’re so rude! I’m a guest!” He laughs, pushing Smith lightly. “You’re not getting a good review on Yelp, that’s for damn sure.”

Smith smirks a bit at that. “I don’t want your fuckin’ review, anyway! Who even uses Yelp anymore? What are you, 80?” He turns towards his bedroom, making his way to the door to grab Trott new clothes, as the other laughs behind him. Smith can’t help the way his grin grows, heart fluttering at the sound.

He’s quick as he grabs some clothes for Trott, chucking them at him when he gets back to the living room.

“The bathroom’s over there. Just put your bloody clothes on the sink, we can wash ‘em later,” Smith hums, turning to busy himself in the kitchen. He hears Trott make his way to the washroom and sighs, leaning against the counter.

Exhaustion crashes over him like a wave, and he rubs a hand along his face. He doesn’t notice the footsteps coming into the kitchen, jumping when someone clears their throat. He straightens up, looking over to where Trott was standing, fidgeting somewhat nervously.

He cracks up at the jumper he’d lent the shorter, laughing at the way it completely swamps him. Trott frowns, flipping him off. “Mate,” Smith gasps, cheeks hurting from smiling. “You look like a kid in that thing. My bad.”

Trott scowls. “Shut the fuck up,” he shoots back, no real heat to the words. Smith grins, raising his hands in mock defense.

They stand there for a moment before Smith yawns.

“I’ve got to get to sleep,” He groans, pushing himself away from the counter. “Are you gonna be alright on the couch?”

Trott nods, following behind him as he leaves the kitchen. “Yeah. Thank you for letting me stay the night. Means a lot,” He hums, moving to sit on the made-up couch. Smith waves him off.

“No worries,” he says. “Couldn’t just leave you all bloodied in the park, could I?”

Huffing a laugh, Trott shakes his head a bit. “S’pose not,” He grins. Smith smiles back, face softer than it had been. “I’m gonna head to bed then. If you need anythin’ don’t be afraid to wake me,” The taller hums, stretching his arms. “Night.”

“G’night,” Trott says back, watching him walk into his room after shutting the light off. He lays back against the couch, letting out a tired sigh.

Smith collapses into his bed, clumsily shoving his glasses onto the nightstand, almost immediately passing out.

-

When he wakes, he rubs his fists against his eyes tiredly, getting out of bed and stumbling into the kitchen.

Ross is the only occupant, scrolling through his phone as he sips his morning tea. He hums a greeting towards the barely-awake Smith, who grumbles in response.

He notices the empty couch and shakes his head to wake up a bit more. “Where’s Trott gone?” He asks, voice still deep from his sleep. Ross nods his head towards a note left on the counter.

Smith frowns as he moves closer to read it.

‘ Thanks again for letting me stay the night. Left my clothes in the bathroom, hope you don’t mind… Call me when you want me to come pick them up? ;)

– Trott <3

(xxx) xxx-xxxx’

Smith laughs softly, shaking his head at the barely legible writing. Ross smirks from behind him.

“You’re going soft, Alsmiffy,” He comments with a teasing lilt to his voice, sipping his tea again. “For a man, nonetheless? What would your father say?”

Smith feels his face heat up and grumbles something that sounds like a string of insults, trying to ignore the butterflies in his stomach.

He pulls his phone out and types the number into his contacts, shooting Trott a quick text.

‘ I can’t believe you’re making me do your laundry, you cheeky bastard. After I heroically saved your life last night, too! x’

A text pops up almost immediately, making him grin.

‘ i needed an excuse to come see you again… and your sweater was too comfy to give back. soz xx’

Smith rolls his eyes and sends a middle finger emoji in response.