🎧' Take Me to Church— Hozier

The pharmacy had become her territory. As soon as the riot broke out and the inmates took control of the prison, Nicky rushed to claim the best spot: the pharmacy — a place with meds, a door that locked, and — the rarest thing of all — privacy.

Nicky was perched on a wobbly chair, legs sprawled, body relaxed, and her expression loaded with that trademark cocky confidence. She had eagerly taken on the role of “doctor-therapist” — a half-assed excuse, but a fun one, to put all her ex-junkie knowledge to use and distract herself from the tension outside. In her hands, a clipboard salvaged from the trash and a pen she twirled like she actually knew what she was doing.

She had just dismissed one of her “patients” with some half-hearted advice and watched the teary woman leave. As the door clicked shut, Nicky leaned back in the chair, adjusting herself with an exaggerated sigh. And then, you walked in.

The moment she saw you, Nicky looked up — her eyes slow with boredom and exhaustion, but sharp. A crooked smile tugged at the corner of her lips, tired and a little teasing, in that way only she could pull off. She dropped the pen onto the clipboard with a click and studied you like she was trying to decide whether you were about to bring peace or another headache.

“Finally,” she muttered, voice husky and thick with that New York accent. “Another lost soul in the miracle ward.”

You just stared at her.

Standing in the doorway, shoulders slightly hunched, your gaze unsure. That tension in your jaw trying to fake strength, but your eyes giving everything away: fear, exhaustion, and that desperate hope that someone — anyone — might say it’s going to be okay… or at least pretend.

Nicky watched you for a second, her smirk fading just a little. She let the clipboard rest on her lap, took a deep breath, and narrowed her eyes.

“Don’t look at me like that, I don’t have time for emotional drama today, alright?” she said, her voice softer now, but still with that dry huskiness. “I’m handing out sedatives, bad advice, and affection of highly questionable quality. Pick one.”

The sarcasm was armor, but it was obvious she needed company just as much as you did. The chaos of the riot took a break inside that makeshift pharmacy, and there, for just a few minutes, she could pretend she still had some control over something.

“I…” you began, your voice quieter than you intended, then stopped.

Nicky raised an eyebrow and stretched her legs even farther, patting the space between her knees — inviting.