Work Text:
Some days are uneventful. There’s petty theft, a bit of arguing, arrests and paperwork.
But some days, Ellie is painfully reminded of the fact that Hardy isn’t unattractive.
Sure, he’s grumpy. And thin. And grouchy. And nibbles his toast instead of biting it. And reheats his tea because he doesn’t bother drinking it when it’s hot. Overworks himself to exhaustion. Doesn’t sleep. Rarely smiles. Though, when he does smile, his eyes crinkle around the edges and deep dimples cut through his cheeks.
Sometimes, Ellie wonders what it would feel like, to lightly run the pads of her fingers over his cheeks – would his scruffy stubble sting or would it be soft? Would he smile when she’d touch him? She’d cup his bearded cheek and caress his dimple with her thumb. His eyes would crinkle further and –
Stop it.
What an impossible thought. Hardy would never let her do that. Not that she wants to. Besides, he’d just shrug her off and give her an incredulous look – eyebrows drawn close in annoyance; lips pursed. It’s a wonder his lips aren’t chapped - he hardly drinks any water. Unless it’s in tea, of course.
So what, if he’s got dimples and possibly soft lips? The man can’t comb his hair if his life depended on it! They’re always shabby, overgrown, weeks past a much-needed trim. His stupid fringe keeps falling over his eyes and he keeps shoving it away, only for it to fall back again.
His silly glasses make him look old, resting on the edge of his pointy nose like they’d slide off any moment. Would serve him well for having such a sharp, angular nose – poking it about in everyone’s (official) business, burying it in his work. And glaring at anyone who dares to disturb him! He doesn’t even bother looking up, just angrily stares through his thick lashes with his bloody doe-eyes. Which are brown, by the way. Like kit-kat.
Alec Hardy has kit-kat coloured eyes.
Oh God.
Anyway.
His shirts are always crumpled, his tie is always crooked, the only colours he’s heard of are white and blue because all his shirts are white or blue, his trousers are always hanging low on his hips and his arse looks quite fine in them.
Twat.
Yes, Hardy is occasionally attractive.
Ellie’s not the only one who thinks so. She’s seen the new PC eyeing Hardy (particularly his bottom) quite a few times, has even tried talking to him, poor girl.
He hasn’t noticed, of course.
It isn’t that Ellie’s keeping tabs on who’s checking out Hardy’s arse, she’s just a really good detective with commendable observation skills. That’s all.
Which is why she should’ve been done with the paperwork from their latest case, but she’s been, well, preoccupied.
The sound of files loudly hitting the desk is enough to bring her out of her reverie.
"Daydreamin’ on the clock, Miller? I need you to go through these files once you’re finished. Eh, your tea’s gone cold. I’m making another cuppa, you want one?" Hardy picks up her mug and goes to the break room before she can nod her head.
Ellie sighs. He’s alright, her Hardy.
And he has really lovely hands – long, elegant fingers…