He’d dreamt of Alexei-- soft dreams interspersed with stressful ones. Sleeping in too long, late to a nonexistent job. Waking up alone. Not being able to remember what happened before he fell asleep; waking up in a strange bedroom with nothing more than a feeling of lingering shame.

Before it could really turn scary, he was startled awake by a gentle jostle and the sleepy murmur of his name. The dark room came into focus slowly, as did the lingering press of the weight at his back. “Mmmm?” he hummed, stuck somewhere between asleep and scared awake. He inhaled and sat up straight, clutching at the sheet that he had, somehow, wrestled away from the blankets bunded at the bottom of the bed.

“Holy shit,” he whispered, taking stock of the situation. Fully clothed. Feeling… normal.

“We just slept,” he said, sighing. “We just slept.” He fell back against the pillow.

“H-hi,” he said, shaky smile coming to his face.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Memo said, exhaling a steady breath as he woke up more and more. He scrubbed at his eyes with the heels of his hands. “What about you? You okay?”

It must’ve been late in the afternoon, bordering on early evening. Had they really spent the entire day sleeping?

He let his head fall to the side to look at Alexei, watching him slowly wake up.

“You feeling okay?”

“Good!” Memo said. He’d forgotten for a moment that that’d been the goal for the evening. He was smiling dopily at Alexei, watching the red spread from the tips of his ears to the apples of his cheeks and even a little bit down his neck. Dimly, he wondered if he turned red everywhere.

“Yeah, yeah,” Memo waved a hand, dismissing Alexei’s praise. “You did most of the work. You’re stronger than you think, you know.”

He stretched, groaning in satisfaction as his shoulders and spine shifted and cracked.

“Ah. Do you want breakfast? Er, dinner, I guess?” His arms flopped to the bed.

“Hey,” without thinking, Memo leaned over and reached out to touch Alexei’s cheek, brushing his fingers over the reddening blush. “You made it through. You are strong.” He was really tempted to kiss him-- a real, proper kiss this time, one that couldn’t be confused as one-- but he was still worried about being seen as taking advantage of Alex in his vulnerable moments. “If you make it through, you make it through. Can’t really argue with that.”

He dropped his hand and kicked his feet off the bed. “Nothing wrong with a little sleeping in. What are you in the mood for?”

At the mention of work, Memo laughed. “Hah!” He scrubbed a hand through his hair. “Work. That’s a funny one. No, love. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

They could go back and forth like that for hours-- Memo insisting Alexei’d made it through on his own power, with Alex insisting he’d only made it through because of Memo. So he stood up and stretched again, just as Alex’s stomach signaled that it was, in fact, hungry.

“Tacos it is, then,” Memo said when prompted to surprise Alex with a meal. “Whenever I don’t know what to make, I make tacos.”

He started heading for the door, feeling light as air, happier than he had in ages. Alexei’s question caught him off guard.

“I mean, eventually, I have to get back to my patrol,” he said, leaning back against the door and crossing his arms. “But my ringer’s on and if they need help from little old me they can call me, beep me, if they wanna reach me.” He snickered. “Let me at least make you something to eat and then if you want to get rid of me, you can, okay?”

Memo tilted his head, looking inquiringly at Alexei. He’d thought-- wrongly, apparently-- that after an emotionally charged night and the subsequent cuddle fallout that Alex might want his space. A tantalizing thought pinged in his brain and he got a thrill of excitement that Alexei-- that any human, honestly, but mostly because it was Alex-- wanted to spend time with him. More time.

He wanted, with the kind of bone-deep, stomach-clenching want that it takes physical effort to restrain, to crawl back into the bed and throw himself across Alex and snuggle into him and kiss him and probably order Doordash and--

--and then he was dismissed.

“I will,” he said, smile quirking across his face, as he unclicked the lock and pushed the door open, heading out into the flat proper.

He did have to step gently over a few Wooloo in the throws of an afternoon nap, but he found the kitchen easily and set about gathering everything he needed: ground beef, an onion, a tomato, various spices, tortillas, and he even found two ripe avocados at the back of the top of the pantry (he had to pull a chair over to climb up and find it).

While Alex is having his little feelings meltdown in the bedroom (secretly), Memo is having one of his own. In the kitchen. Which is where, he is realizing, he always ends up when he has too many emotions. In the kitchen. Cooking seems to be becoming his natural reaction to having too many things on his mind. It is better than running or lifting because he can’t just shut his mind off-- not while he’s chopping onions, measuring spices, and hunting down vinegar to do a quick pickle because he’s decided to make a slaw for the hell of it.

What does one do when they realize they’re falling helplessly in love with another? Someone who doesn’t quite seem to be getting the message? Someone who, for all their wonders, clearly has some baggage? It’s okay, he doesn’t mind baggage. He doesn’t, really. He just-- they just spent the night together, damn it, and Alex is still stuck in this-- this weird, ‘you’re so nice' phase.

He makes himself exhale as he stirs the browning mince and adds a can of crushed tomatoes-- on accident, he realizes, but he’ll just roll with it. Sloppy tacos. A new invention. Gourmet.

It’s fine. It’s all fine. Alex could’ve woken up and kicked him out, or something. It’s fine. He can be patient. He has to be.