Breathing hurt. Broken ribs sucked.

"This sucks," Jake complained.

He was confined to his bed and begrudgingly watching a lion documentary on Animal Planet. It was the only thing on TV that they had both agreed on.

"I know, Jakey," Boyle said from beside him.

Charles hadn't left Jake's side since he had given him a ride home from the hospital. He refused to leave. For some reason, he thought Jake was a flight risk who would flee his apartment the first chance he was given and injure himself even further. He supposed that was a fair conclusion to make, considering the past accident filled few days, but it was still aggravating to be treated like a child who couldn't look after himself.

"You don't have to stay you know," Jake told Charles, trying yet again to get his friend to leave and let him heal in peace.

Charles disagreed. "Yes, I do. The doctor left very clear instructions. You have a concussion and you were only allowed to leave because someone—me—would be monitoring you for any complications."

"It's only a tiny concussion," Jake grumbled.

His grumbling was ignored.

"Why don't you try and get some sleep?" Charles suggested. "Sleep and rest is the best thing you can do to heal yourself."

"Fine," Jake agreed, turning onto his side. He stopped abruptly and bit back a groan when pain erupted from his fragile ribs. Cursing his stupidly easy to break ribs, he turned back to his previous position, pulled the blanket up to his chin, and closed his eyes.

‹ ›

Jake awoke to the smell of something delicious coming from his kitchen. Moving like an old man, he carefully climbed out of bed, tugging on the waistband of the sweatpants that had fallen below his hips in his sleep, and slowly limped his way over to the edge of his bedroom. After what felt like an eternity, he finally reached the edge of the bedroom and peered down apprehensively at the ladder that would take him down to the living room. He really needed to move out of Gina's old apartment. He had originally thought the ladder was cool and would be like having a bunk bed / tree house, but now it just looked like another way he would injure himself further.

Summing up courage, he placed his good foot on the first rung of the ladder and carefully placed his traitorous broken toed one on the next rung. He repeated the actions (good foot down a rung, then the traitor one, followed by the good one) with minimal pain. Jake was a few rungs shy of finally reaching the blessed ground when the room started to spin. He took a deep breath, wincing when it aggravated his ribs, and leaned his forehead against the wooden rung in front of him.

"Jake!" Charles cried out in alarm.

Hurried footsteps sounded against the wood floor before he felt two warm, sturdy hands against his back. Charles assured him, "I got you."

He concentrated on the wooden ladder rungs beneath his hands and the hands on his back to ground himself from the Tilt-A-Whirl the room had turned into.

"Let's get you down," Charles suggested while one hand soothingly rubbed circles against his back. He gave him another minute before asking, "Are you ready to move?"

Jake took another deep breath before cautiously opening his eyes. There were no more room acrobatics he was glad to note. "I'm good now," he assured Charles. Slowly, he took the remaining few steps down the ladder while the hands on his back remained, ready to catch him at any misstep.

When both feet were finally on the ground, Charles took Jake's elbow and guided him over to sit on the couch. Charles crouched down in front of him and peered into his eyes.

He announced his results, "No uneven pupils." With the crisis handled, the panic began. "Are you okay? Is it your head? Should I call an ambulance? Do you know where you are? Do you know who I am?" he asked frantically.

Jake rubbed his aching forehead. "I'm fine, Charles. I just got a little dizzy."

Charles's lips pursed in worry and his forehead wrinkled. He was not convinced.

He tried again to reassure his worried friend. "Really, I'm fine. You don't have to worry, buddy." Jake looked toward the small kitchen where steam was rising from something cooking on the stove. "What is that anyway?" he asked trying to change the subject. "It smells awesome."

Charles beamed, as he often did when the topic of food was brought up. He stood up and gestured proudly towards his creation. "It's Nanna Boyle's famous chicken noodle soup. My mom always made it for me when I was sick. You'll love it, Jake."

He continued, "The key to a good noodle soup is handmade noodles. You didn't have a pasta maker or a rolling pin," he paused to give Jake a judgmental look for his lack of kitchen supplies, "so I had to make do with a pizza cutter and my hands. The broth has thinly sliced carrots, finely chopped onion, garlic, bay leaves, sage, some thyme, a touch of rosemary, a dash marjoram, and a sprinkling of salt and pepper," he proudly listed. "And of course chicken, the main ingredient, which I simmered until it fell right off the bone. I would have preferred duck to the overused chicken, but I thought you would appreciate a classic."

"Wow, Charles, you didn't have to go through all that trouble. I'm—Wait," Jake interrupted himself. "I don't own any of that stuff." He frowned. "I don't even know what three of those things are."

"I know. Your fridge and cupboards are a true disappointment." He shook his head at him. "I don't know how you live like this. Terry helped. He was happy to bring over anything I needed and check on you himself." He leaned in and shared conspiratorially, "I don't think he believed me when I told him you were actually resting."

"Terry was here?" Jake questioned. He hadn't heard anyone stop by.

"Briefly," he confirmed. "Terry made me promise to call him if you gave me any trouble. He's still worried about you and wants you to rest and he will make you if he has to," Charles warned him. "It was very menacing when he said it and I think he may physically sit on you if you try to leave."

"What am I a hostage?" Jake joked.

Charles laughed in a worryingly high pitched volume. "No!" His voice rose higher, "Hostage? That's crazy, good sir." He quickly escaped to the kitchen and rushed to change the subject. "Soup? Do you want some soup?" Cupboard doors opened and shut, dishes clinked and metal clanked as he moved through the kitchen. "I think I'm going to have some soup. What about you? Soup?"

Jake blinked. He wasn't sure how he felt about apparently being held hostage—any hostage situation was generally bad—but the soup did smell yummy. Being held hostage in his own apartment by his best friend was a lot nicer than his last hostage situation when he had been held at gunpoint by Geoffrey Hoytsman. He mentally shrugged and went with it. "Yeah, I could eat."

The soup was even better than it smelled. He could get behind this whole being held hostage thing.

‹ ›

Jake was over being held hostage. It had lost it's appeal around the time he realized Charles would not let him out of his sight, not even to use the bathroom. That had been an awkward conversation, but they had compromised and Jake could now close the door if Charles was standing outside said closed door.

Charles was completely overreacting. Jake had had one more tiny dizzy spell when he stood up too fast from the couch—and may or may not have fallen if not for Charles's quick reflexes—but Charles's constant hovering was a complete overreaction. He loves his best friend, he does, but Jake was going to kill him soon.

It had taken an unbelievably long time to win the fight to be able to take a shower with the door closed, not locked, but closed. It had been worth it, though. Jake had still smelled hospital-ly and had been in desperate need of a quick shower. The hot water had helped loosen his sore muscles and made him feel more like his strapping young self and less like a 90-year-old grandpa.

"Jake?" Charles called from outside the closed bathroom door. "You okay in there?"

He sighed and called back, "For the sixth time, yes! I'm fine."

Jake sat down on the closed toilet lid and looked at his bare feet. He had successfully dressed in a zip-up hoodie, a pair of boxers, and another pair of sweatpants. Only the socks he held in his hand remained. He cautiously bent down, but abruptly stopped when it felt like Satan was stabbing him with a dull fork. Socks and bending over were overrated, he decided.

A droplet of water from his wet hair ran down his back causing him to shiver. Raising his arms above his head had proven to be overrated, too. He would rather have dripping wet hair than try to raise his arms again. Wet hair and no socks were two things he could live with until his body stopped betraying him with pain every time he moved wrong.

Getting to his bare feet, Jake sat his socks aside on the bathroom counter and opened the door. As expected, Charles was waiting for him. Jake tried again to change the mind of his stubborn friend. "You really don't have to wait right outside the door."

His plea was blatantly ignored. Charles's only focus was on his wet hair. "No, this won't do. You'll catch a cold with wet hair." He walked past him and picked up the towel Jake had thrown carelessly in the general direction of the towel rack. Towel in hand, Charles ordered Jake, "Sit down."

Jake sighed and sat back down on the closed toilet seat. "I'm not going to get sick, Charles. I'm pretty sure that only applies if I go outside, which I can't because you won't let me," he complained, growing increasingly frustrated with the situation he found himself in.

"Better safe than sorry." Charles stood over him and began to dry his wet hair. "You've gotten hurt enough this week, Jake. I'm not taking any chances."

Charles was gentle and, surprisingly, it wasn't as weird as Jake thought it would have been to have your best friend towel dry your hair. When he was satisfied with his work, he hung up the towel on the towel rack. His eyes were instantly drawn to the socks sitting innocently on the bathroom counter. He looked to the socks, at Jake's bare feet, then back to the socks.

"No," Jake said.

Again, he was ignored. Charles picked up the socks and knelt down beside Jake. "Foot, please."

This was getting ridiculous. He repeated himself, "No."

Charles picked up his good foot first, slipped a sock over his cold foot, and placed his foot back on the cold ground. Jake felt like Cinderella. The idea of warm feet were appealing, and he did already have one sock on, so he lifted his less favorable foot and allowed Charles to slip the sock past his broken toes so gently that it barely hurt.

Finished, Charles got to his feet, took a step back and nodded at his own work. "Better." He suddenly asked, "Hey, you wanna play Monopoly?"

Jake gasped in wonder. "Really?"

He had been banned from playing Monopoly by the squad years ago after a tiny incident involving Jake being a sore loser and a small fire that everyone blew way out of proportion. No one had agreed to play Monopoly with him ever since. Jake's fine detective skills alerted him to the very high probability that this was only a diversion to force him to rest and keep him occupied like an unruly child, but it hardly mattered if Monopoly was back on the table.

"Yeah, Terry sent it along with the food. He thought you might like it. I already have it set-up."

Terry had been the most vocal about Jake being banned from Monopoly for life. Jake must be worse off than he thought if Terry was finally lifting his lifetime Monopoly ban. He mentally shrugged and limped back to the living room. A lifetime ban removed was still a victory even if it was done out of pity.

Charles trailed behind him asking, "Do you want to be Rapunzel, Ariel, Belle or Cinderella?"

Huh? Jake saw the bright pink Princess Monopoly edition set-up on the coffee table. Oh, that makes more sense, he thought. Well, the joke's on Sarge, because Jake actually had a ton of fun the last time he played Princess Monopoly with the twins. Cagney and Lacey had been more than happy to play several rounds of the board game with him while Terry finalized some last minute case-related things.

Jake didn't have to think about his game token choice for the epic battle that was about to take place. "Rapunzel," he claimed as his token. Glowing hair that healed stuff and a frying pan as a weapon was insanely awesome. He was Rapunzel all the way.

"I'm Cinderella," Charles proudly declared.

Jake won 3 out of 7 games. It would have been 4 out of 8 games if he hadn't fallen asleep on the couch. He has a sneaking suspicion that Charles snuck a pain pill into the chocolate pudding snack he had handed him after their first game. It would explain his poor playing and his sudden attack of the sleepys.

‹ ›

He awoke the next day stretched out on the couch with a blanket covering him, a pillow under his head, and his feet resting on something soft. He was happy to note that only a slight twinge of pain followed after each deep breath today.

"Hey, Sleepy Head."

Jake jumped. Charles was sitting on the far end of the couch with a book in his hand and Jake's feet resting in his lap. This was why he didn't like taking the pain pills the hospital had given him. It really screwed with his detective skills. He rubbed his hands over his face and tried to wake up more. "What time is it?" he asked

"3:15. I thought you were going to sleep the whole day away."

Stupid pain pills. He didn't like losing so much time either.

Charles was looking at him in concern again. "How are you feeling? Are you hungry? I made brunch if you're feeling up to eating."

"I'm fine," Jake assured him. He took stock of himself. He did feel fine. Sleeping had helped. Maybe this resting thing had it's merits. "I could eat."

"Great! I made a bacon and cheese quiche that I think you'll love." Charles scooted out from underneath Jake's feet and patted his leg. "Be right back."

Jake heard the squeak of the oven door opening and closing and the clink of plates and silverware rattling before Charles came back carrying a plate with a fork resting beside something yellow and vaguely pie shaped. Jake couldn't help but stare at it in trepidation. He handed the plate to Jake and disappeared back in the kitchen before returning with a glass of water that he sat down on the coffee table.

Charles lifted Jake's feet and slid back to his previous position on the couch. He nodded at the yellow thing. "Go ahead," he urged looking at him, "Tell me what you think."

Jake didn't know what a quiche was and Charles's cooking tended to be hit or miss depending on what exotic ingredients he had decided to add. Although, if Charles was working with what was in Jake's kitchen then he should be safe, because he mostly survived on takeout and Cap'n Crunch. He took a cautious bite. "Umm, this is really good, Charles," he praised the delicious fancy-cheesey-bacon-eggs-creation.

Charles beamed. "Thanks! I wanted to add goat cheese, but you only had cheddar."

As nice as it was to be cooked for and taken care of so completely, it wasn't unnecessary. "You don't have to cook for me, Charles." He tried to reason again with his stubborn friend. "I can look after myself. You don't have to stay here to babysit me."

"No can do, Jakey. I'm not leaving until you're better. It's my solemn duty as your best friend to help and protect you and I take my duties very seriously."

Jake sighed and ate his delicious pie-shaped-egg thing. Once Charles pulled out the best friend duty there was no winning against him. He could be extremely stubborn when it came to Jake's wellbeing and any perceived threat to his best friend duties.

‹ ›

"Charles, you aren't sleeping in the same bed as me," he said when Charles followed him to bed and tried to get under the covers with him. Jake was tired of falling asleep on the couch and was looking forward to a good night's sleep in his bed—alone.

Charles put his hands on his hips. "What if you need me in the middle of the night?"

"Then you'll be on the couch downstairs a few feet away."

"But—" he began to protest.

"Charles…" Jake closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. He could feel a headache coming on. He sighed and looked Charles in the eyes. "Buddy, I need a little space, alright?"

"I don't know…"

"Please, just go downstairs for tonight," he practically begged.

"Fine," Charles relented, "but I don't like this."

"I'll be fine." Jake got into bed—alone—and closed his eyes. He could feel Charles staring at him. "Goodnight, Charles."

"Goodnight, Jake."

After a long moment, Jake finally heard footsteps turn away and descend the ladder.

‹ ›

Pain. Jake awoke to darkness with a burning pain in his ribs. He silently took stock of the situation and found himself laying on his stomach with his face smushed into his pillow. It was not a pleasant position for his broken ribs.

Jake mentally counted one…two…three before twisting onto his back. He couldn't stop the gasp of pain that slipped past his lips that seemed to echo in the silent apartment. Closing his eyes tight, he took a few calming breaths and tried to fall back to sleep. Luckily, he hadn't woken Charles.

As he drifted back to sleep, he could have sworn a softly sung melody followed him back into his dreams.

Lullaby, and goodnight, in the skies stars are bright.
May the moon's silvery beams bring you sweet dreams.
Close your eyes now and rest, may these hours be blessed.
'Til the sky's bright with dawn, when you wake with a yawn.

‹ ›

Neither one of them mentioned the previous night. Jake was unsure if the lullaby he heard had been Charles or a dream. During the disastrous stakeout at the Ukrainian mafia drop house, Charles had taken to randomly singing lullabies after 10 o'clock, which had driven Jake insane. Last night, though, it had been oddly comforting. Jake got dressed and pushed all thoughts of lullabies from his mind.

Charles must have been listening for Jake to finally rise from bed because by the time he came downstairs brunch was already halfway prepared. He was preparing Jake's favorite meal—grilled cheese sandwiches dipped in Campbell's canned tomato soup.

As soon his Charles laid eyes on him, Jake was ushered to the couch and soon after a plate and bowl with his favorite food was thrust into his hands. Although Jake wasn't a culinary genius, he did know how to make a good grilled cheese sandwich, but his never tasted this good. Somehow Charles always made his favorite sandwich better than he ever could. Even tomato soup directly from the can somehow tasted better when Charles made it.

He was only half listening as Charles talked his ear off beside him about being prevented from making the sandwich and soup at his usual gourmet level of excellence due to numerous missing ingredients and kitchen supplies. He continued to bemoan his lackluster pantry and mourned how much better the sandwich and soup could have been if only Jake had had yeast to make the bread, ripe tomatoes for the sauce, a drop of fresh lemon, and fresh herbs for seasoning.

Before now, Jake hadn't realized how much work his best friend had always put into making his favorite food for him. After a bad case, bad breakup, or sometimes just because, Charles would bring him his comfort food at work. Charles had been taking care of him in subtle, loving ways over the years that Jake hadn't paid much attention to beyond a simple thank you.

Oblivious to Jake's thoughts, Charles continued talking about food. "I was looking up recipes earlier while you were sleeping and came across Cap'n Crunch Chicken Tenders. Perfect, right?! I know how much you love your Cap'n and it's one of the only things you have in your cupboards and we have extra chicken leftover from the soup. Win, win. I'll make it for dinner tonight as the main course. The side dish will be a surprise," he announced excitedly.

He continued, lost in a world of food possibilities, "Tomorrow I'm thinking something with noodles. I'm still pondering the options with your limited food. Oh, that reminds me," Charles said digging into his pocket and producing a long handwritten list. "I'm going to have to pop-out to the store soon. I have the essentials of a good pantry already written down—your days of an empty fridge and bare cupboards are over my friend—but didn't know if you wanted anything. I do have peanuts and fruit rollups written down, I saw you were almost out. Did you want anything else from the store?"

Jake was overwhelmed. Charles kept cooking for him like it was second nature and even had future meals planned, ones that incorporated his favorite foods. He was even going grocery shopping for him, too. He stayed by Jake's side as if taking care of him wasn't an obligation or a tedious task, but something he honestly enjoyed doing. Jake didn't know what to do with that level of devotion and caring. Charles was always there for him and he wasn't going anywhere, he didn't even consider leaving an option. People didn't do that for Jake. People didn't drop everything for him. His dad never had and as much as his mom loved him she was too busy trying to provide for them as a single mother to be able to drop everything to care for him. He didn't know how to handle this…this suffocation—this drowning in emotion. He wasn't equipped for this.

Jake snapped.

"Charles, stop!" he shouted, jumping to his feet, ignoring the pain that followed. "I don't need you to take care of me. You don't have to stay here with me. Go home. Go back to work." He deflated. "Just…stop."

"No!" Charles yelled surging to his feet, refusing to back down. "You could have died, Jake. Do you get that?" He took a menacing step towards him. "You were hit by a car and you could have died!" He admitted in a small voice, "I could have lost you."

Oh. He should have noticed what was going on right in front of him. Charles's overprotective behavior was just him reacting to Jake's near death experience. Even if getting hit by a car hadn't caused serious damage, he still could have died if the car had been going faster when it had hit him. Jake had been so focused on himself that he hadn't stopped to consider how Charles might have felt about seeing his best friend injured.

Jake took a calming breath and braced himself for a terrifying feelings talk. He could do this—for Charles he could do this. Here we go. "That's the job, buddy," he said, placing a hand on Charles's shoulder. "There's always the risk that one of us will get hurt. I know we joke about me dying in a fiery explosion on the job and you killing yourself at my funeral, but you'd be fine without me—we both know that." As much as Jake liked to think the world would stop turning if he died and no one would be able to go on living without him, it wasn't the case. "If the worst happens and I die you'll be fine, Charles," he assured him. "Any detective would be lucky to be your partner. You don't need me."

"Poppycock," Charles loudly objected, shrugging off Jake's hand from his shoulder, "Of course I need you! I can't do this without you."

"You'll find a new partner, a better one—"

"That's not true and we both know it." He paused. "You're Jake. It's Jake and Charles 'til the end. I've got your back, on the job and off," Charles assured him. "You don't have to do everything by yourself. You have people that care about you. Trust us to take care of you and stop taking idiotic risks. It's not losing my partner Detective Peralta that scares me the most—it's losing my best friend Jake. I saw you get hit by that car and all I could think about was that you could have died. I could have watched you die and you know what? It would have been your own fault."

Jake winced. It was true, but harsh.

"You lied to me about Atlantic City and put yourself in more danger by going after a suspect," Charles admonished him. "I'm your partner. You should have trusted me and told me what you were planning. Maybe then I could have talked you out of it and you wouldn't have gotten hit by a car.

"It kills me that you won't trust me and think I wouldn't fall to pieces if you died. It hurts me that you don't see how important you are." Charles put his hands on Jake's shoulders and peered into his eyes. "It breaks my heart that you can't see how extraordinary you are and don't value your life as much as I do."

"I…" Jake stopped. Jesus, what was he supposed to say to that? No one had ever said anything like that to him before. He was so far out of his depth that Google Maps couldn't even help him find his way. "I'm…I'm sorry," he finally said.

Charles squeezed his shoulder. "You don't have to be sorry. Just let me have your back. It's okay to let people in and make mistakes. We're here for you—I'm here for you. You have such a big heart, Jake. I love that you care so much about people and want to help everyone, but I hate that you don't think your life is worth the same care.

"It is, I promise you, and I'll keep saying it until you believe me. You are the kindest, bravest, most deserving man of love in the world and it breaks my heart you don't see yourself how I see you. The world would be a bleak place without you in it, Jake. My life would be a bleak, dreary place without you in it." He gently squeezed his shoulder once more before removing both hands.

Tears welled in Jake's eyes and he willed them not to fall. Charles looked so goddamn earnest, genuine and…loving. He wasn't sure how to deal with this level of emotion. He didn't know how to handle this. No one had ever looked at him like Charles was looking at him—like he was everything, like he was something precious. Jake felt a tear roll down his cheek.

Charles reached out and gently brushed the fallen tear away with his thumb. His touch lingered.

Jake stared into Charles's eyes and leaned forward. Charles moved his hand to tenderly cup Jake's face. He closed his eyes and pressed his lips against Charles's. He melted into the tender kiss.

Holy shit, he was kissing Charles. Jake jerked away. Holy shit, he had kissed Charles.

Jake stared at his best friend and wondered if his eyes looked as wild and frantic as Charles's. He opened his mouth then closed it when no words tumbled out. "Ummm…" he uttered.

"Yeah…" Charles replied just as stupefied.

Jake blinked. "We kissed…and it was nice…"

"Yeah," Charles said, seemingly incapable of saying anything else.

Jake could do this. He could adult his way through this. He was an adult. This was an adult conversation. He could adult. Gathering his courage, he candidly stated, "You're my best friend and I love you." He paused for a moment before divulging more truths. "I've always imagined us growing old on the force together. I freaked out when you were going to move to Canada, because I couldn't imagine doing this job without you. I couldn't imagine my life without you in it. You're Charles. Of course you're in my life. It's Jake and Charles. You're always there for me. You're my partner, I trust you to have my back. I'm lucky you're in my life. You're always taking care of me, supporting me, having my back and making sure I'm okay, and you make me those delicious grilled cheese sandwiches whenever I'm sad, and you always know just what to say to cheer me up, and…huh."

He stopped. Jake hadn't ever considered Charles as anything other than his partner and best friend before. It hadn't occurred to him that maybe they could be more. Charles had been a part of his life for so long that Jake took his presence for granted. He took for granted all the times Charles expressed his love for Jake, especially through his cooking. All week Charles had been making Jake's favorite food to show how much he cared. Charles poured his heart into his cooking, which he had seen countless times before with whomever Charles was dating. Food was his way of expressing his love and Jake hadn't noticed that applied to him as well.

When Jake thought of who he wanted to spend his life with he always pictured someone who made him a stronger person, someone who believed in him and motivated him to be better, someone that made him happy, someone he could always lean on. That was Charles. He hadn't realized it before now, but his dream person was Charles.

Charles's brow furrowed. "Jake?" he questioned worried

He snapped out of his enlightening thoughts. Before he lost his courage, he asked in a rush, "Do you want to go out on a date with me?" Without pausing for a response, he hurriedly continued. "I know it might be a little weird, but we work great as partners and I think we could work as partners because my life would be bleak without you in it, too." He couldn't stop himself from nervously babbling further, "And I think we owe it to ourselves to see where this goes because I think we could make each other happy. So date? You? Me?"

Jake held his breath in silent terror, suddenly more nervous than he had been when he had asked Jenny Gildenhorn to his Bar Mitzvah.

Charles beamed. "I'd like that."

"Cool, Cool, Cool," Jake couldn't help but say. He wondered what the protocol was when you asked out your best friend who had also been living with you the past couple of days. Should they keep hanging out like nothing changed? Should one of them leave? Should Jake leave?

Thankfully, Charles broke the silence and took control of the situation. "I'm sorry I've been smothering you so much," he apologized. "I know you can take care of yourself. I just wanted to reassure myself you were fine, but," he grimaced, "I went a little Full Boyle about it. How about I get out of here and pick you up for our date on Saturday?" he suggested.

Jake was taken aback. "You don't have to do that," he said, unclear if he was referring to leaving, Charles picking him up, or both.

"I think a little space would be for the best." He moved behind the couch to pick up his overnight bag. "Besides," Charles said with a bright smile, "I have a date to plan."

"Shouldn't I be the one doing the planning? I did ask you out," Jake pointed out.

"You can plan the next one," Charles assured him, stepping close to him once more. "You should still be resting and I want the pleasure of planning our first date." He reached up to lightly place a hand on the back of Jake's neck and gently tugged him downwards so he could place a quick kiss on his forehead. He let go. "Take care of yourself, call if you need anything. I'll see you in two days for our," Charles beamed again, "date." He was halfway out the door before he turned back to call out, "Oh, there's leftover chicken noodle soup in the fridge. Goodbye, Jake."

"Bye, Charles," he said back automatically.

The door shut. The apartment was silent. For the first time in days, Jake was alone. His apartment had never felt so empty before.