jim street oneshots

soft touch [ ❦ ]

The kitchen door opens with a squeak as Street pushes it in. He's greeted with the sounds of a soft tapping coming from the opposite side of the room, where you sit with your back turned to him and hunched over the table.

You don't notice his entrance, and if you do then you don't let on. He looks over at you as he pads across to the counter top, pouring himself a cup of coffee from the idling pot. He didn't actually think that you'd listen to Hondo when he ordered you to take a break and half-expected to walk in and find you still pouring over case files and documents, but as he crosses the room towards you and spies the blank, fatigued expression on your face, he wishes you were.

Setting his mug down on the table, Street reaches out across the table towards you. His hand finds the one of yours that's drumming against the tabletop, and the brush of his fingers across your wrist is enough to draw you out of your reverie. In case it wasn't, he pulls gently at the end of your sleeve to ensure your attention as you look up at him.

"Yeah?" You ask, narrowing your eyes at him for a second before your vision focuses again. He looks at you with a soft expression and an arched eyebrow, giving you time to concentrate before he does anything else. "Sorry. Something wrong?"

"Not on my end." He says. You straighten up, wincing a little at the strain in your lower back. Street watches as you shift in your seat, looking you up and down with a worried expression. "How are you doing?"

"M'fine." You say as you curl your fingers around the mug. It's still warm to the touch, even though it's been about half an hour since Street had pushed it into your hands after Hondo had banished you into the kitchen and away from the mountains of work you'd been burying yourself in for the last day. "Really, I am."

He nods, unconvinced. Setting his own cup down, he braces his forearm against the table and leans in. His other hand is still on your wrist, his fingertips brushing slowly back and forth across your inner wrist. "Is that why you've been staring into that cup for the last ten minutes?"

"Maybe it's just a really good coffee." You say with a small grin, a teasing tone to your voice as you raise the cup to your lips. He scoffs, and it quickly turns into a grin when you scrunch up your nose in disgust as the lukewarm coffee slips down your throat.

"Yeah, okay." He says with a smile. You cast him a sharp look as you set the cup down, a droplet of coffee spilling from the corner of your mouth. Street reaches out to wipe it away, brushing his thumb across your lips as they curve upwards in a smile.

"Maybe when this is over, I can come over tonight and make you another cup." His voice is quiet as he speaks, his eyes seeking out yours as he holds your cheek gently. His heart sinks a little at the sight of the bags underneath your eyes, and the tiredness within them. The concern is visible in his eyes, and you reach up to cup his hand with your own. You squeeze his hand, and he smiles brightly. "And give you a better view to go with it. That sound good?"

His hand lingers on your cheek as you nod happily. "Like music to my ears."

He looks like he's about to say something else when the door opens across the room, and the sound of uproarious laughter accompanies Tan and Luca as they tumble in. Street's hand immediately falls from your face before they have time to notice, reaching for his coffee as you both utter greetings to your friends. They talk loudly as they busy themselves at the counters and as they turn their backs, you quickly lift your hand off of the table and rest it on your thigh instead. Street doesn't take his hand away from yours, though, and smiles at you over the rim of his mug as he intertwines his fingers with yours and squeezes your hand underneath the table.