A Thin Line Between Hate (Adrian Chase x reader)

The Unwanted Truce

Sleep never came. The ghost of him lingered in the apartment-the coppery scent of blood beneath the antiseptic, the indentation on the couch cushions, the empty coffee mug on the table. His final words echoed in the silence, a confession that had felt more like a surrender.

It doesn't work anymore.

By the time I dragged myself to the 11 AM briefing, the lack of sleep was a gritty feeling behind my eyes. The conference room was its usual self: Economos tapping away on a tablet, Harcourt standing with her arms crossed, and Chris already digging into a box of donuts.

And then there was Adrian.

He stood in the corner, leaning against the wall like he was trying to blend into the drywall. He wore a fresh, dark grey tactical shirt, but I could see the slight stiffness in his posture, the careful way he held his torso. Our eyes met for a fractured second before he looked away, focusing intently on a scuff mark on the floor. A faint pinkness tinged the tips of his ears.

The normalcy of the room felt like a bizarre dream.

"Glad you could finally join us," Harcourt said, her tone dry as dust. She didn't look up from the file in her hands. "We're debriefing the Blackgate extraction. Vigilante, why don't you start?"

All attention shifted to him. Chris paused, a powdered donut halfway to his mouth.

Adrian straightened up, wincing almost imperceptibly. "Right. The op. Went in, located the targets. Hostiles were... neutralized. Assets secured." His voice was a monotone, the familiar, clipped Vigilante delivery. It was a masterclass in omission.

"Neutralized?" Economos looked up, eyebrows raised. "The preliminary police report mentions a scene that looked like a bomb made of nails and rage went off in there."

Adrian's jaw tightened. "They had kids in cages. The plan changed."

A heavy silence fell over the room. Chris slowly set his donut down, his face hardening. Harcourt's stern expression didn't change, but she gave a single, sharp nod. "Understood."

The briefing moved on to logistics and next steps, but the energy had shifted. I kept my gaze fixed on the map projected on the wall, hyper-aware of Adrian's presence just a few feet away. I could feel the heat of his occasional, fleeting glances, quick and furtive, like he was checking to see if I was still there.

When Harcourt dismissed us, everyone began filing out. I lingered, pretending to study my notes. Chris clapped Adrian on the shoulder-a gesture that made him flinch-and said, "Hell of a thing, man. You did good."

Adrian just gave a tight nod, not meeting his eyes.

The room emptied, leaving just the two of us. The air grew thick, charged with everything left unsaid. He made a move for the door.

"How's the side?"

The question left my lips before I could stop it. He froze, his hand on the doorframe. He didn't turn around.

"Fine. It's fine."

"You should let Economos look at it. In case you need stitches."

"I don't." His reply was too fast, too defensive. He finally turned, his dark eyes a turbulent storm of conflict. He looked like he wanted to say a dozen things, his throat working. Frustration, gratitude, and that ever-present, bewildered shame warred on his face.

What came out was a low, strained mutter. "The bandage is... it's holding."

It was the closest I would get to a 'thank you'. It was also an admission that he'd kept my clumsy patch-job on.

We stood there, trapped in the doorway, the memory of the night a living thing between us. The rivalry was a script we both knew by heart, but last night had ripped up the pages. We were ad-libbing now, and neither of us knew our lines.

"Right," I said, mirroring his own goodbye from hours before.

He gave a jerky nod, a silent acknowledgment of the unwanted, fragile truce we now shared. Then he turned and walked away, his steps careful and measured, leaving me standing alone in the quiet room, the ghost of his pain still clinging to the air.