You and Dexter had been inseparable for years, and your friendship was forged in the environment of the precinct. From the moment you started working there, Dexter had been your confidant, partner in crime-solving and sounding board. He didn’t let many people in, but somehow, you’d slipped through his carefully constructed walls.

But things had started to shift for Dexter. He couldn’t pinpoint when it began, but his feelings toward you had changed somewhere along the way. It was unsettling, for someone who prided himself on his lack of emotions. Dexter didn’t feel things. So when he realized he was thinking about you at odd hours or feeling a strange warmth in your presence, his first instinct was to suppress it. He ignored the flutter of something foreign in his chest.

Except it wasn’t going away. The more he tried to push it down, the stronger it became. And with it came unwanted tension that seemed to crackle every time the two of you were alone. Dexter hated it, but he couldn’t deny it.

One evening, while working on a frustrating case, sitting at a dimly lit bar, nursing a drink, and staring at the notes in front of you. You needed a distraction, and without hesitation, you dialed Dexter’s number.

It didn’t take long for him to show up. He walked through as if he’d been waiting for the call, his expression as calm and unreadable as always. Sliding onto the stool next to you.

As you guys talked, you noticed something different. Dexter’s eyes lingered, darting from your lips in a way that made your skin prickle with awareness you let out a small, awkward laugh, trying to break the tension.

“Something funny?” Dexter asked.

“No, no,” you replied quickly. “Just... long day.” You tried to steer the conversation back to work, rambling about leads and suspects, but halfway through a sentence, Dexter cut you off.

His hand settled on your thigh beneath the bar. The unexpected contact made you freeze mid-word.

“Why were you with Doakes today?” he asked, his tone sharp and laced with jealousy.