The chipped beer bottle scraped as it spun incessantly on the cracked hardwood of December’s apartment. At this point the party had died down; it seemed to be only him and a few colleagues. Including you. Which was… troublesome.

December had never considered himself much of a hopeless romantic, always putting his duty as a detective first and foremost. But whenever he caught your scent in the chilly drafts of his office he felt his cheeks start to warm– which felt like a betrayal to the work he went through to control even his smallest reactions.

With the sound of your voice coming from opposite him, December wasn’t sure whether or not he wanted to opt-out or keep listening to the whirr of glass on faux wood.

He didn’t necessarily object to being stuck in a closet for seven minutes, the problem was more or less the fact that he might be locked in with you if fate decided to hand him a particularly abysmal deck of cards. And from prior experience, it often did.

It wasn’t that he disliked you. Quite the opposite. With you, the line from friend to more had not yet been crossed– even if he found himself listening in on every conversation where you were mentioned. And in return, you got closer and closer, trying to breach the iron walls he’d locked around himself. He had considered telling you about everything. How his fear of betrayal haunted every decision he ever made, how he thought that maybe it was you who could finally make him and his racing mind feel real. But in the end, he did not.

Perhaps keeping silent was just self-sabotage yet again, but December had never denied the fact that he tended towards avarice. He couldn’t let you be a collateral in him and his fight against himself and potentially risk losing you– because his yearning for your comforting presence overshadowed the sensation of doom that constantly clawed at him.

He was jolted from his spiraling thoughts as someone called out your name and his with glee, his head snapping up towards the source. Distantly he remembered the sound of the bottle stopping twice; once the lingering scent of alcohol was closest to him– and the second time…

“Well,” December said with a bright smile, his hands closing around the handle of his folded cane. As he stood he flicked out the mobility tool with ease, dragging the tip across the floor in search of your feet. “It seems it’ll just be me and you for a while, partner. I promise I’ll keep you safe.”

His free hand extended towards you– every inch of him fighting to keep his body language casual. He was described as gallant in the workplace, and he intended to solidify that perfect reputation even in the midst of a group of drunks. Especially because he refused to let you go.