"You moved," Audrey murmurs.
"You stabbed me."
"That's kind of the point of stitches."
Audrey's tone stays even. Her hands remain steady, threading the suture with calm precision. She keeps her focus—not on Santana's sharp jawline or the sweat beginning to form at her temple—but on the job. Still, she feels the weight of Santana's gaze on her.
"You always this careful?" Santana asks, voice low.
"Only when I don't want someone passing out in my lap," Audrey says.
A pause stretches between them. Not charged. Just quiet.
"You're good at this," Santana says eventually.
"I'd hope so. Been doing it long enough."
The fifth stitch goes in. Santana exhales through her nose. Audrey catches the slight rise and fall of her chest, how tightly her muscles are pulled—like she's been holding her breath the whole time.
"What do you do?" Audrey asks.
Santana's lips press into a thin line. "Construction."
Audrey hums. "And you punch drywall often in construction?"
A flicker of something flashes behind Santana's eyes. The faintest twitch of her mouth—close to a smirk, but not quite. "Something like that."
Audrey finishes the last stitch, then steps back. "All done. I'll wrap it and give you some antibiotics. No heavy use for a few days. Try not to reopen it."
Santana flexes her fingers slowly, testing them. She doesn't wince this time. But Audrey notices the slight tremble near her thumb.
"I heal fast."
"I'll be the judge of that when you come back for a follow-up," Audrey says, tossing used gauze into the waste bin.
"I'm not coming back."
"Then don't reopen it."
Santana slides off the table and adjusts the waistband of her sweatpants, already heading for the door.
"You're not done," Audrey says calmly.
Santana stops, turning halfway with one brow raised. "Thought you said we were done."
"You still need your antibiotics. IV, not oral."
Santana's jaw tightens. She hates this part. Audrey sees it—the stillness, the subtle twitch in her fingers, like she wants to disappear.
Audrey walks to the cabinet and begins setting up the IV. "You can sit or stand, but you're not leaving until it's done."
There's a long pause. Then Santana sighs and returns to the table, sitting back down with a quiet thud. Her eyes drift toward the floor.
"I won't talk," Audrey says, tapping the needle against the vein. "You don't have to either."
Santana doesn't answer, and Audrey doesn't expect her to. She just does her job.
⸻
Later That Night
Audrey unlocks the door to her penthouse apartment, takes off her sneakers, and tosses her keys into the ceramic dish by the door. She shrugs off her coat and drapes it over the back of the couch, heading straight into the kitchen for a bottle of water. Half of it's gone in a few gulps.
The day was long. Her feet aching and the tight band of tension at the base of her skull refuses to loosen.
She walks into the bathroom and catches her reflection in the mirror. Her locs are still pulled back, a few strands curling near her temple. Her eyes look tired—not just from lack of sleep, but from everything. The pressure. The expectations. The pretending.
She exhales.
Her phone buzzes.
[Text from: Nicole]
Got a spot open for this Friday. Invite only. Real lowkey. You in?
Audrey wipes the back of her neck, frowning slightly.
What kind of spot?
Nicole:
You ask too many questions. Just come. You'll like it.
What's the dress code?
Nicole:
Nothing fancy. Real chill. Dress however you'd like.
Audrey squints at the screen. For something invite-only, it's unusually vague. No flyer. No location yet. No theme. Just a hint of secrecy and the promise of something "lowkey."
She thinks for a moment, thumb hovering over her screen. Her mind flickers briefly to the woman from earlier—Santana, with the busted hand and that clipped, quiet attitude. Cold as hell. Just another walk-in, really.
Still... there was something about today that felt off. The clinic's rhythm. Or maybe her own.
She stares at the phone.
I'll think about it.
Nicole:
Don't think too hard. Trust me.
Audrey tosses her phone onto the bed and heads for the shower. The steam is already fogging the mirror before she steps in.
She doesn't know where Nicole's taking her. Doesn't know what she's walking into. But for once, she's willing to find out.






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