Very short but I had to get this out of my system, needless to say I cannot stop writing these two. I have some Ideas for a multi-chaper fic would anyone be interested in reading that? Drop me a comment and let me know! thanks for reading!

"I thought of you" his blue eyes were troubled and in a distant place

he swallowed, almost choking on the confession

"That night, you know, when I-" he knew he didn't have to finish, in here eyes there was understanding, and also something else that he couldn't quite comprehend. Sometimes he felt that way, as if her eyes spoke a language of their own, fluent in their particular dialect of absoluteness.

He'd found the bugs fairly quickly in his apartment

but he'd left them, because he knew her eyes well, their depths and their mistrust and something inside him, however small and naive, thought maybe he'd be the one to convince them.

"I called out your name" over and over

Harlee's breathing was shallow and told him that she hadn't completely watched the woman with no name give herself to him. He wasn't sure what she saw or at what angle the cameras caught him unfastening the woman's bun to fall over her shoulders, or maybe she'd only seen him unzipping her dress.

The truth was that he had tasted the pain of Harlee's mouth on that of another, he'd pulled and tugged in the darkness of his delirium for the softness of Harlee's skin and the harshness of her eyes.

he hadn't found any of it, but god did he look, he searched blindly and hopelessly for something of her and the sounds he'd made were the melody of his fixation with the way her hair curled into itself.

"I searched for you" and he had been, he looked in everything for anything of her and nothing compared to the scent that lingered as a consequence of her.

He could feel her watching him and he wondered if she truly understood what her existence meant for him. She'd destroyed him, or at least a part of him, and she'd nursed another part, one that began and ended with her.

Under his pale grey bed sheets he knew there was a possibility that they'd never get past this. He'd always be the FBI agent and she'd always be the crooked detective. He felt it branded onto their skin when they touched and he tasted it sometimes on her neck right under where the clasp of her bugged necklace would betray her.

something innocent and foolish waited for her to tell him that she'd thought of him too, that she'd confused him for someone else in the darkness of her circumstances, but she didn't and he'd heard her through the clear wire of her bug call out for another man, one that didn't have a cold grip on her choices.

In another world maybe he could've been the man that gave her peace

"Will it ever end?" he didn't answer, mostly because he had no answer for her. Instead he kissed her again allowing her to exhale her affliction into his mouth.

He licked it off her lips and swallowed it whole

"I thought of you" he wanted to remind her so he spoke it onto the tops of her breasts

only you

I think of you

always, without reason and without a single drop of sanity.

Her fingers gripped onto the tops of his arms and maybe in that moment with their eyes probing, he could've confided something to her smeared lips,

but their ears were far too modest and tainted for their hearts to understand what was buried inside.