The worn out motel room reeked of sweat and blood, not to mention the already settled in smells from the room having past visitors that obviously did not do a good job with cleaning after themselves. The lighting was real dim, a light orange color. The only real light was coming from the vintage television that was airing the news. Mitch had been sitting on the edge of the creaky bed, occasional small groans and winces escaping his mouth as you stitched up a leaky wound on his right hip. The mission had gone sideways — seems like this was beginning to feel like a reoccurring thing—and you two needed to fall back. Given his stubborn nature, he believed he was fine and didn’t need these stupid stitches, but you argued otherwise.

“I’m fine. This is not necessary,” He mumbled quietly, his gaze anywhere but your face. “We’re waisting time. We could be out there catching those assholes—“

But you weren’t having it. You paused stitching, your head lifting up so your eyes would fall right on those eyes of his, “Would you shut up for once in your goddamn life? You’re hurt. You’re no good to anyone if your fucking hip is oozing out blood.”

He remained silent. He could for sure say something in return and snap at you with no regret whatsoever, but his mouth remained glued shut. His head slowly turned your way, his dark brown eyes traveling over how focused you seem to be. You were always good under pressure.

𓂃𓂃𓂃

You had only been working together on these missions for a couple of years, but in that short amount of time, so much has happened — arguments, close calls to death, emotional moments — and it was clear you two were made to be partners. It was always professional between you. Sure, maybe there were those occasional flirting moments, but it was nothing that would lead to anything intimate. Besides, Mitch was emotionally closed off most of the time. He despised vulnerability and weakness. Though, there had been a couple — just a couple — of times where he showed you a softer side of himself.

Sometimes, he’d snap at you for warranted reasons. Other times, he’d just lash out on anyone around him, whether it was you, the boss, other operatives. It did not matter. He could be a serious asshole, but if there was one thing about him..

He’d protect you with his whole life. He had already lost his fiancée a few years ago due to a terrible incident. He wasn’t about to lose anyone else close to him. Even calling you a “close friend” felt like admitting some kind of weakness, but it was the truth. Maybe you were his only friend. He could never actually admit it out loud, but he truly did care about you.

𓂃𓂃𓂃

Lost in his own thoughts surrounded by this fucked up mission, the aching pain his hip was feeling, and you, he continued to stare at you with such an intensity that even you felt the man staring a little too much. Your gaze lifted up, meeting his.