𝘉𝘓𝘐𝘕𝘋𝘚𝘐𝘋𝘌𝘋 | 𝘈.𝘏. ✔️

• Six

Chapter Six: Didn't They Tell Us Don't Rush Into Things?

You were left alone after he brought your things to the room across from the master bedroom. You told yourself- promised yourself- that you wouldn't cry over something so absurd.

So when the tears did begin to cascade down your cheeks, you told yourself it was the physical pain. There wasn't a way to explain how you were feeling. Vulnerable would be the simplest but not even near the extent of betrayal and stupidity you believed Axel had created.

The room was dark and cold and the only thing grounding you was the thick purple duvet that you clutched into. It was obvious that Hotch didn't decorate this room, the bright white walls and simple décor was contrasting to the earthy dark tones he gravitated towards.

You looked at the large grandfather clock across from the bed, listening to the ticks until each hour passed. A shattering breath escaped your lips as the pain began crumbling. The mental and physical feeling was blending together into a gray line.

Calling out for Hotch wasn't what you wanted. There was pain medication on the bedside table and a glass of water. You slowly turned to your side to switch the lamp on.

Underneath the water was a sticky note with what looked like broken cursive. You disregard whatever it says and grab the bottle, opening it and swallowing the designated amount dryly. Afterwards, you glanced at the note.

I ordered some food if you'd like some. I didn't want to wake you.

-H

Your lungs are constructed. You weren't sleeping, you were just afraid of him when he walked in. You'd never been afraid of the team let alone Hotch but it was like a switch was flipped inside of you.

The grumble your stomach produced was enough to realize that you needed to eat whether you liked it or not. Even if you didn't go downstairs, he would peek into the room and set it on the table for you later.

As you made your way out of the room, you took in the silence that filled the home. Here and there, the sound of a page being flipped was the other indicator that he was downstairs. It was at the third step that he spoke.

"I didn't expect you to come down," Hotch admitted, bringing the black coffee to his lips.

Urging yourself to continue down the stairs, you held your breath. "Me neither, but the doctor said I need to eat."

Subconsciously, you looked around downstairs as you stepped onto the wood floor, looking for weapons, hiding places, or anything just in case. The trust you had once established was gone, and failed to uphold its own weight.

"I got you chicken tenders and fries," he explained. Your brows furrowed as you made your way to the chicken island, spotting the styrofoam box on the marble countertop.

"Chicken tenders?" you queered.

He nodded though you couldn't see him. "You don't like change and I've never seen you eat anything different."

You hummed in agreement, still very on edge with the surroundings. Inside the box was exactly what he said, five chicken tenders and curly fries with ranch. You sat down at a bar stool and began eating slowly. Chewing was enough to cause pins and needles to shoot through your body. Every once in a while, you could feel his eyes glance over at you from the couch. Your backs were to each other, neither one wanted to say something.

There was a cutting board with a knife and apple slices next to you from his snack. You decided that if he'd attack you that the knife was the first thing you would grab. "What are you working on?" you ask.