To keep himself from falling asleep at all the traffic lights, he alphabetizes the bones in the human body.

"Calcaneus." He mutters, "Capitate and carpals."

He blinks and presses his foot down on the gas pedal when the light changes. The car behind him honks for him to speed up.

"Cervical vertebrae—I'm going the legal limit, asshole—clavicle, coccyx."

If he could, he would speed up, but if he gets pulled over now, he'd probably fall asleep as soon as he stopped the car and the officer asked him for his driver's license. Right now, a comfortable 40 mph on Main Street is what the obvious incredibly important person behind him is going to have to deal with.

The fleeting idea of stopping at the 24-Hour diner on the corner of West and Main to get some dinner goes through his mind as he makes his way through "femur, fibula and frontal". It's shot down, however, when he realizes that means walking more than he needs to and includes the possibility of dozing off with angry Greek restaurant owners yelling at him to order or get out of their restaurant. He likes that restaurant, it's one of the few Travis and Connor haven't gotten them banned from yet, so he's going to try and keep it that way.

He's down to "humerus and hyoid" when he pulls into the parking lot in front of their building. He's the last car in the lot for the night, and in the spot the farthest from the door. Honestly, the idea of sleeping for a few hours in his car is sounding better and better, but a bed and a cup of tea is still, at this point, ideal and doable. Hopefully, Travis has even left him some enchiladas from dinner in the fridge.

Hauling himself out of the car, he digs the key to the building out of the pocket of his jacket (they lock up after midnight and it has to be 3:30 am at least) and struggles to get the key into the lock. If he wasn't dressed in his scrubs, he'd probably look like a drunkard.

He half wishes he was drunk. It would probably be nicer than feeling like this.

God, does he hate the night shift.

"Hey, wait a second!" He almost doesn't hear it in time to catch the door for the man that had called out to him.

Must've been wrong, he thinks, I didn't take the last parking space after all.

The man that yelled for him to keep the door open slips in under his arms. The stranger can't be more than five and a half feet tall, maybe a little more with his combat boots on. He's thin and smells of beer and sex, covered in a fine layer of silver and gold glitter. Bar tender, he thinks, or club go-er, even though it is only Thursday night. Friday morning. Whatever.

"Thanks." The stranger grunts.

"You're welcome." He says and doesn't know why he bothers. It's probably almost four in the morning, the last thing anyone should care about right now is manners.

They head to the elevator together, the stranger half a step behind him. The doors slide open immediately (who in their right mind would be up to use it?) and he asks, "What floor?" since he's closer to the buttons.

"Fifth." The stranger says, which is odd because that is also his floor and he's never seen the stranger before in his life, even on the way to the mailbox or in the morning when he jogs sometimes.

Connor and Travis know everyone in their building, and they've never mentioned anyone like this guy before. He would've remembered it, he's sure.

"Mandible, manubrium, maxilla." He says quietly to himself.

"Hm?" The stranger asks, "Did you say something?"

He almost kicks himself. Way to go. "No. Just…tired. Night shift," He explains.

"Tell me about it." The stranger says, though he seems much more acclimated to being nocturnal.

The doors open with a soft ding and he lets the stranger leave first. The stranger turns to disappear down the hall.

"Good night." He says, and again, he can't seem to come up with a good reason as to why he would say that. No doubt the stranger thinks he's crazy by now, mumbling about bones to himself in an elevator at four in the morning. He feels crazy, anyways.

"Good morning," The stranger answers, amiably.

He heads in the opposite direction, counting apartment numbers now instead of bones in the hand. He passes by the unusual stain in the carpet that's been there for as long as he can remember. Almost all the lights in the hallway are off, except the one in front of his apartment, signaling that Connor must be up, or the brothers were thoughtful enough to leave him a beacon in the night.

He's about to retrieve his apartment key when the door swings open with Connor behind it, dressed for work. "Hi Will, bye Will." Connor says around a mouthful of toaster waffle, the rest of his breakfast in his hand. His tan UPS polo is halfway untucked out of his pants and if he had brushed past him with a little more than a wave, Will would've pointed it out to him.

It isn't that big of a deal though. Connor needs to catch his bus and he can always fix his appearance there.

Will steps into the apartment, still smelling vaguely of half burnt cheese from the enchiladas Travis made for dinner. It smells like the best thing in the world, especially when the last thing Will ate was a package of peanuts from the hospital cafeteria's vending machine.

He drops his bag unceremoniously onto the floor by the door and turns around to lock up. His shoes and jacket are the next thing to go, kicked off and hung up haphazardly.

The light of the fridge is almost too much for his pupils to process and if the grumbling in his stomach wasn't so severe he wouldn't have even bothered. But it is pretty bad, and so he braves it.

Half congealed cheese never looked so good as he plops the thing onto a plate and sticks it in the microwave. The most awake part of Will's brain idly hopes the beeping of the microwave and his fumbling around won't wake up Travis, but then he remembers that Travis once slept through a hail storm and the fire department putting out flames right across the street so he probably has nothing to worry about.

Still, he tries to stop the microwave before it can beep and doesn't even mind when the cheese burns the roof of his mouth. It tastes like the food of the gods at this point.

After inhaling his tortilla and cheese-byproduct dinner, he sets the plate carefully in the sink, doing his best to not bang around too much, and makes his way to the couch, collapsing face first into the sofa. He mutters, "Radius, ribs and sacrum," before he falls asleep.

He wakes up to the sound of vacuuming and Travis trying to sing over the sound of it. Will blinks a couple of times, trying to get the sleep out of his eyes before pushing his face off the sofa. A paper towel that Will doesn't remember falling asleep on falls off the sofa as he moves to get up. Will takes another look at it and frowns. Must've been put there by Travis, but for what reason?

Probably Katie. She must be coming over if Travis had finally gotten off of his ass and started to clean. He only did it when he had the thoughts of his girlfriend to spur him on.

Somehow sensing that Will is kneeling on the sofa, readily awake and staring at him, Travis stops waltzing with the vacuum long enough to turn it off. He takes one earbud out of his ear and grins that lopsided smile he and his brother share, "Morning, Sunshine, how'd you sleep?"

"Like the dead…" Will says, eyes falling down to the paper towel on the floor. He picks it up and looks questioningly at Travis, to which the other responds with, "Had to stop you from drooling on the couch somehow. Katie's coming over and the last thing I need is your drool all over the place."

"Yeah, yeah," Will says, still feeling groggy and disoriented. The sun is coming through the window that faces the west so it must be past noon. God, how long had he slept?

"What time is it?" He asks Travis.

"'Bout a quarter after two," Travis says after he checks his phone, "You were out, man. The vacuum didn't even wake you up after half an hour. What time did you get in this morning?"

"Four? I think. I saw Connor run out the door." Will says. His stomach is growling at him again. And he needs to take a piss. And shower, maybe. Shit, he feels gross.

He decides to appease his stomach first and makes his way to the kitchen. In that moment, Travis seems to realize that his roommate has lost interest in conversation and decides to go back to his cleaning, sticking his earbud back in and starting to hum to something that sounded vaguely like that one Third Eye Blind song Will couldn't remember the name of. Oh well, things like that usually come to him eventually.

It seems to Will that he hadn't eaten all that long ago, when really it had been hours. Cereal seems to be the thing he could make the fastest, eat the fastest, and then get out of Travis' way when Katie came over. Travis would definitely want him out of the way.

He eats his bowl of Raisin Bran (he made himself in charge of cereal-buying simply because he couldn't stand one more bite of Lucky Charms) over the sink and tries not to think about how long he's spent in this one pair of scrubs. A trip to the washers and dryers downstairs was probably in order.

Maybe that's what he could do when Katie dropped by. He may as well make use of his time off while he isn't allowed in the general vicinity of Travis and his date.

He feels much more refreshed after his shower, finally like himself. He shakes his head a few times in front of the fan in his room to get the wetness out of his hair before he pulls a sweater over his head. Another reason to do laundry: he's run out of undershirts and wearing wool is no fun without them.

Will finishes gathering his laundry in the hamper when the doorbell buzzes, signifying that Katie has arrived. Originally, Will plans to say a quick hello-goodbye to Katie and Travis like Connor had done to him much earlier, but Travis' loud exclamation of: "What the fuck is that?" grabs Will's attention and prompts him to stay a little longer.

He tries to seem nonchalant about coming to investigate what Katie brought with her but his plan is foiled when Katie spots him lingering in the hall to the bedrooms.

"Oh, Will, hi! Come see what I found at your door!"

"That was at our door?!" Travis exclaims again, and Will's interest is really piqued.

In Katie's arms is the mangiest cat Will thinks he's ever seen. It looks like its coat was originally a gold color, now brown from the dirt caked into its fur. The feline turns to look at Will with a surprising amount of sentience that almost makes Will take a step back because honestly, the cat looks murderous and Will doesn't think he ever wants to take a step closer to it.

"Isn't he cute?" Katie beams, bringing the cat up to her face and nuzzling noses with it. Neither the cat or Travis look much amused.

"Awe, Katie-flower don't do that, you don't know where that thing has been!"

"He! The cat is a he, Travis. Use the proper pronouns!"

"I don't care what the hell it is, he's going back outside where he belongs. He could be carrying diseases and shit, right Will? Will, you're the doctor, tell her!"

Will, who is very much trying to stay out of this lovers' quarrel just nods vaguely and says, "Uh…you should probably wash your hands, or something, Katie. And I wouldn't recommend putting your face that close to any animal. Cat bites are particularly nasty."

At that statement, Travis thrusts his arms in the general direction where Will is standing and fixing his girlfriend with a pointed look as if to say, "See, the medical professional thinks you're crazy, too."

"I appreciate your input, Will, honey, but I think I'm going to clean this precious little baby up anyways. Who knows how long this little guy is been without a meal? Isn't that right sweetie, isn't that right?" Katie says, dissolving into baby talk and scratching the cat underneath his chin which the cat seems to enjoy only moderately more than the nose kisses from before.

Now's your chance, Will thinks to himself and slips out the door before Travis can rope him into trying to get the cat away from his girlfriend. Will knows it's kind of shitty of him to skip out of Travis like that but then again, Travis is the one who once sewed all of his underwear together and used it as a cape for a Halloween costume, so maybe it's alright to leave him be for once.

He hefts the laundry basket under one arm so he can push the button to call the elevator. The ding of the doors opening takes him back to earlier that morning and the mysterious (and honestly, handsome) stranger that he had last ridden in the elevator with. He presses the button for the ground floor and swallows down the familiar feeling of his stomach jumping into his chest as the elevator drops.

The basement smell permeates the elevator when the doors slide open. It's sort of mildew-y and stale from the water pipes and probably isn't very good to breathe in but Will will deal if it means clean undershirts.

The sound of his sneakers on the hard concrete echoes around the dim hallway while he walks from the elevator to the laundry room. The basket is straining his arms, it's so heavy and maybe Will should've done this without having to be kicked out of his apartment to motivate him.

He turns the corner into the laundry room that didn't have a door and found himself stopping short. So his sleep deprived mind hadn't just made him up. There stands the handsome stranger, his back half to Will, leaning over one of the washing machines and stapling a "LOST CAT" poster to the wall.

Will finds himself clearing his throat. The stranger turns. His eyes look impossibly dark in the bad fluorescent light and Will could now see that even for five foot six, the stranger is well muscled, like…a cat, actually.

"Um, I think I found your cat?"