I guess you could say it was a strange relationship.

One where romance was just a joke and violence made entire conversations day in and day out. One where dates included bringing take out back to grungy apartments, getting completely smashed and then if we weren't about to break each other's necks or pass out on the floor we'd be in the middle of frantic sex.

We weren't together. No, never that. We were friends; the most fucked up friends in the world, who could beat the other until we were barely breathing but still come back the next day and tease the other mercilessly.

And I guess you could say it's the best friendship I've ever had.

I looked around the room; shadows covered most of it, and what was lit was shadowed with grime. Clothing was strewn about the room, some with blood splatter, but it wasn't bad. We were by the desk in his office; I guess you could say we've had our fair share of office hectic office sex tonight. I let my head tilt down to steal a glance, only to find his sleeping face. It was worn, even in sleep; scars and scraps and stubble and shadows; all angles and straight lines were his face. It was familiar.

I let my fingers brush against his skin, letting the silence in the room settle over us like a blanket.

He'd always call me sappy. That was who I was; a sappy, fansco-italian package delivery man and dealer who just happened to know every supernatural creature in the city. And a usually very grumpy, grungy, stubborn, med-school dropout doctor whose office we were sitting in was currently sounds asleep in my lap.

If this wasn't a Hallmark scene then I don't know what is.

Our relationship, if you can call it that, is something I've never been able to describe, let alone understand. Though there's more trust in what we've got than there is in anywhere else. We've managed to stick together since we were little; there isn't a power in this world that could force us apart now.

Even though I'm starting to realize that these feelings I've got stirring up are probably something close to love, we'll never be 'in love.' We're just not meant for that. What we are meant for is too complicated for even me to understand.

So we'll fight and we'll threaten to kill the other, but we'll always be back after storming out. We'll always know that the other will be waiting by the door ready to open it saying "Where the hell have you been and where's my takeout?"

It's almost all we've got.

"Mmm…Mont?"

"Hmm?"

"Hand over the vodka; now."