You can't remember how it started between you and Butcher. You figured it was because you two were the only ones who didn't have anyone else. You worked together. It was convenient. That's all you let yourself believe. Convenience was where your moments started and ended. It started as quick hook-ups in bathrooms and the office after everyone was gone, which turned to spending the night at his flat sometimes, which somehow turned to spending whole weekends with him. But you still never let yourself hope. He'd been through too much. Too many scars. Too many open wounds.

It was one of those nights. You fell asleep in his bed, your body covered by the covers you got for him, only because you couldn't stand the scratchy ones he owned. You wake up to the feeling of his fingers carding through your hair, his nails gently scratching at your scalp. It's still dark out, you notice, and he's staring at you. It almost makes you chuckle. "You're still awake?" You murmur, your voice hoarse from the sleep that hasn't fully left you yet. He hums, letting out a sigh as he pulls you closer. "Couldn't sleep." He answers. It's all too common for him. He rarely ever sleeps, no thanks to his nightmares and overthinking. Even though you kept yourself as detached as possible, you couldn't help but feel something. The way he touches you, the way he looks, no, stares at you. It can't just be... convenience. Right?