I don't think I've been this comfortable since I was back home in Minneapolis, not nearly. I've never felt this warm, never felt this cozy.

For one, the bed below me is radiating comfortable heat, while it's soft yet sturdy and firm. It's broad, and smells really good. Like laundry detergent or some sort of soap, spices. It also moves up and down just slightly, rhythmically. There's a steady beat below my ear, one after another, which I've syncopated my breathing to.

As I come around, obviously lifting from a deep and heavy sleep, it begins to dawn on me, what this bed is.... Or... who this bed is.

My eyes fly open in surprise, and I groan. The full extent of last night is pounding in my head, behind my eyes and down my neck. "Good morning sunshine." Will half whispers from underneath me, and while I'm not looking at him I can hear the smile in his voice.

Oh. My. God. This isn't happening.

I shriek and roll off of his body, and unfortunately fall off of the couch we're laying on and onto the floor. Where am I? What the hell is going on? I know I got drunk last night, and I'm ashamed of myself for that, but the details are fuzzy and won't seem to come to me now.

Will, grinning, looks over the side of the couch at me. "Having fun?" I blink rapidly, begging my mind to cooperate with me.

"No." I squeak, rubbing my temples. Michael... something happened with Michael. Humiliation burns in my face as it finally comes back to me. He tried to... get in my pants. And when I asked him to slow down, he exploded on me. I ran, I remember that, and somehow that ended with me getting into Will's truck. How he got there to save me? Don't know. I remember I climbed inside, he asked me if I was cold. He blasted the heat, along with some Rolling Stones music, and now I'm here.

"What..." I look around the room. I'm lying on shiny and polished wood, brown and well kept. I sit up slowly, holding my head. It's beautiful, the room. Tasteful, with expensive furniture, and huge glass windows looking out at the skyline. There are shelves filled with records, the kitchen (which I can see from my spot on the floor) is filled with stainless steel and spotless appliances.

There's an elegant circular staircase leading upstairs, a big black piano, and beautiful artwork on the walls. It's classy, it's everything I thought Will would hate. I ignore the beauty of this penthouse apartment for a moment to look back up at Will. "Um... did we...?" He laughs, a deep hearty laugh, that makes me feel even more embarrassed.

"If you're asking if we had sex, no. I'm pretty sure I would remember if we did," He winks, still smiling. I clear my throat, looking down at myself. Good. I'm dressed in last night's clothes. "Then... what happened?"

"Well, first you told me about your struggles with puberty." "What?" "Yeah, you told be about how from sixth to seventh grade you completely changed, got boobs and hips." "Please do not continue." God, I must've been so drunk.

"You talked about how you got your first period during the play in seventh grade, and how embarrassing that was." "Don't-" "Then you asked me when I got my first period." He chuckles, looking down at me. "Then you asked where I keep my maxi-pads, and then-" "Please, Please! No more!" I beg, covering my ears and laughing.

"I thought you were a very hilariously cute drunk." He says, stretching his long legs as he stands. I flush, looking away from him. "I was pretty conscious last I remember. How did I get so loopy?" He gives me a guilty grin. "Well... you kept telling me you were thirsty, and all I had to drink was beer..." Seriously?

I roll my eyes, rubbing my temples again as if that will help the unbelievable pounding in my head. "So... this is your place?" I feel him walk past me across the floor. "Yup. Surprised?" "Very."

"Yeah, you went on about it forever last night." I bite my lip again in intense humiliation. "I hope I didn't say anything else..." "Oh, you did," He grins, running a hand through his messy blonde bed head.

My eyes widen as I study him, and my mouth goes paper-dry. His black tank top sticks to his chest, and his arms, in their full tattooed glory, are exposed. He's still wearing jeans from last night, and I find myself fantasizing about what's underneath them. He's a grown man, I know this, but he's a sweet person. He's sweet to me at least, and listens. Smiles when I talk. That's more than Michael can say. Will and I have plenty of conversation when I'm working on his charting with him in his office at night.

"So, uh... you alright?" He asks in a softer voice, his soft green eyes searching mine. I clear my throat over and over, but I doubt I can swallow past the lump growing in my throat at his tone. "Um... why wouldn't I be?" "Well, for one, you must have a killer hangover right now, and... the whole Michael thing..." I shake my head (which is a painful, painful mistake) and dare to look back up at him.

"Yeah, I... I shouldn't have dragged you into this. I'm sorry." He shakes his head, biting into his apple. I watch his lips wrap around the apple as he bites into it. I wonder what they would feel like pressed to mine.

"It's fine. I'm happy to help you." He stands, tossing the apple to the side, and slipping his feet back into his shoes. "So... you don't have to worry about work today, you can stay here." I shake my head, and stand too. "If I stayed here all day my head would explode."

He shrugs. "If you say so. We can put you on some IV fluids to help the hangover, and until your blood alcohol content is back to zero." Blood Alcohol Content... Michael teased me about this yesterday.

"Yeah, alright." I finally stand from my spot on the floor, and glance at him as he walks to the door. "What is it?" He says, opening his amazingly beautiful and elaborate front door, looking back at me. "Nothing... I just woke up on top of my boss." I mutter to myself. He shrugs. "I don't think it was bad at all."

****

I sag as I walk down the hall, dragging my IV stand after me. IV liquids are cold, and feel too thick for the vein they're forced into. That's not the problem, it's that I was still too hung-over to scrub in on Will's sagittal sinus bypass surgery. The only one I'll see in ten years.

Will strolls down the hall towards me, smiling. "Hey, you feeling alright?" I shrug, staring at my scrubs. "Did the surgery go well?" He nods. "Don't worry, I'm sure someday you will see one. I'm sorry you couldn't." This is all Michael's stupid fault.

Speaking of, Michael comes strolling down the other way, his eyes widening at the sight of me. I want to run, to hide, to do anything to get away from Michael. I never want him to look at me again. Will squares his shoulders, standing taller. The air in the room thickens drastically, I can barely breathe. Will's mood seems to have shifted to an almost protective state. He steps half in front of me, his eyes narrowing as Michael passes.

Michael pauses slightly as he nears us, the corners of his mouth turning down and his eyebrows furrowing. He looks between Will and I, and me, knowing Michael, can see the rage growing behind his eyes. I scoot a little closer to Will just to irritate him further. He has no right to be angry at all, he has no right to any emotion by me. "Move along." Will says forcefully. Michael opens his mouth to say something, but clamps it shut soon after.

Instead, he speeds down the hall, seemingly unbothered. But I know on the inside he's raging mad, due to the way his fists clench and unclench accordingly.

****

The dark of the room comforts me as I pull the needle through the wax skin of the skin model over and over. It's a nice quiet rhythm, and while most interns find suturing boring, I think it's therapeutic. Especially with everything that's been going on recently, it's hard to concentrate with Michael on my mind constantly.

Instead of thinking of what a fool he made out of me yesterday, I find myself thinking of his smile. It's a rare occasion to see one of them, but when he does it's like he's a kid again. Shiny, happy and all brand new. I think of the time he built a fort out of pillows as a curly-headed little boy, and other happy memories he's regaled me with. I think of the time he held me in bed and we fell asleep.

"Junior! What're you doing in the skills lab?" I jump, and turn to face Will standing in the doorway. I swallow hard. "I was just... practicing my four-corner whip stitch is all." He nods, leaning against the frame of the door.

"You could do that in your sleep." I shrug, tying off my thread. "Practice makes perfect." He's quiet as I finish my work. I guess if he's here, I should use his professional opinion. "Hey, could you take a look at this for me?" I ask, turning back and slipping out of my lab coat.

He walks over slowly, right up behind me. My heart rate jumps through the roof, his body is inches from mine as he looks over my shoulder and into the dim lamplight. "Beautiful, perfect and amazing. Like you." My breathing catches in my throat, and I clear it a few times. I'm pretty sure I heard that wrong. "Thanks," I whisper, expecting him to retreat to his office. Instead, he doesn't move an inch.

"Why don't you show me your serpentine stitch?" His voice is low and rumbling in my ear, and my eyes fall closed for a second. "Yeah, alright."

I struggle to thread another needle (my hands are shaking so hard) and start the serpentine stitch. It's an extremely difficult neuro stitch that somewhat prevents scars. He inches closer until his front is literally pressed against me. I do my best to ignore it, but his hands creeping down to hold my waist aren't helping.

They stay there, holding gently. "Now, your form is key. If your form is off, you'll get tired, and mess up the stitch pattern. Beautiful work so far." His mouth is nanometers from my ear. Sweat begins to collect on my hands, making is hard to work. My face and chest heat, and my knees won't keep still. My mind can't even begin to comprehend what is happening.

He doesn't loosen his hold on my waist, I can feel his fingertips through the thin material of my scrubs. I finish quickly out of nervousness. Will must be really tired, he's had a long day. His fatigue must've tricked him into feeling up and intern. That's it. I mean, I don't exactly mind his sculpted chest on me. Or his big hands holding my waist.

I cut the string quickly, and basically drop the needle and thread. "I finished." He nods, looking down. "Perfect." I turn to face him, and almost have a heart attack. His face is right there, causing my hands clutch the lab table harder than necessary. The metal digging into my skin doesn't distract me from his kind and smiling eyes like I wanted it to.

His eyes rake over me slowly, eventually meeting my eyes again. "Don't move." He whispers, leaning closer slowly. It's the most excruciating wait of my life his slow and drastic lowering to my level. I guess I am pretty short. My heart in my throat, his mouth meets mine in the softest and most pleasant way possible. This was a long time coming, and I unknowingly felt it approaching. He was too kind to me, too nice, flirtatious in ways. I hope this doesn't mean he only wanted me to be his intern because he had a schoolyard crush.

His mouth is warm and soft, tasting the way he smells. As soft and sweet as the kiss is, it ends fairly quickly with me pulling away gently. I was much too nervous to continue. I look down immediately, remembering the soft tickle of his stubbly facial hair.

"I can feel your heart beating." He states, fighting for eye contact. "Could you show me your serpentine stitch?" I blurt, wanting to change the subject. It wasn't that the kiss wasn't nice, but I'm not stupid. This is the wrong road to go down, that will end terribly. He's so cute, he's so amazing, and if he was younger... I wish so badly for him to be younger. He's perfect for me in every other way.

"It's late. I can give you a ride back if you'd like." His voice is melodious, his eyes lidded and his mouth slightly open. I kissed that, and I feel guilty while oddly pleasured.

Michael. That's my next thought. He will die if he finds out... or kill someone else.

"No, that's ok, I... I can walk." He laughs as I walk to the door. "Ok, well... see you Wednesday." He calls after me as I speed from the room. I nod and that's it.

I force myself out into the cold air to punish myself for liking it so much. Michael or Will, Will or Michael?

And so, the sick, masochistic lion/surgeon fell in love with the intern/lamb.

OMG WRITING THIS GAVE ME MAJOR FEELS IDK WHY. Tell me what you guys think. Will and Skipper? Michael and Skipper? Is Will a pedophile? Does Michael deserve Skipper (Probably not)? Ok, I'm seriously contemplating actually double updating today because I'm too excited for this. Vote, comment, I wanna know :)