Synopsis: After a late-night skating accident brings Y/N into Dr. Jack Abbot’s emergency department, a little flirting turns into something neither of them expected. Between rink-side lessons, busy shifts, and quiet moments together, Jack and Y/N discover a love that feels effortless, warm, and completely theirs.
Contains: Romantic relationship, Flirting and slow-burn romance, Emergency-department and medical scenes, Figure skating and coaching, Mild injury and stitches, Explicit consensual sexual content, Strong language, Fluff, emotional intimacy, and a happy ending
The rink is almost completely silent. It’s the kind of silence you’ve always loved: the soft hum of the refrigeration system beneath the ice, the occasional creak of the boards, and the familiar scrape of your blades cutting across the surface.
You’ve spent most of your life on the ice. You started figure skating when you were young, and for years, it was everything to you. Eventually, when you realized you couldn’t imagine your life without skating, you started coaching.
Tonight, you’re supposed to be home. Instead, you’re standing alone in the middle of the rink, staring down at the choreography notes for one of your students.
You push off. One edge. Three turns. A transition into the spin. You stop and shake your head. Something isn't quite right. Your student has been struggling with this section for weeks, and you’re determined to figure out a way to make it work.
You push off again. Faster this time. Your blade catches unexpectedly. “Whoa-” You stumble toward the boards, catching yourself before you fall. Then you feel it. A sharp slice across your palm.
You freeze. For a moment, you simply stare at your hand. “Oh.”
Blood immediately begins running between your fingers. A lot of blood. “Okay.”
You grab a towel from your bag and press it firmly against the cut. It soaks through almost immediately. You stare at it. “That’s... probably not good.” You grab another towel. That one starts turning red too. You try applying more pressure.
Eventually, you look around the empty rink. Yeah. You should probably go to the hospital.
The emergency department doors slide open sometime after midnight. You walk toward the ward clerk, keeping your injured hand pressed tightly against your chest.
“Hi,” you say. “I’m Y/N L/N. My date of birth is-” You give her the information. Then you carefully lift the towel from your hand.
The clerk's eyes immediately widen. “Oh.”
“How long has it been bleeding like that?”
She looks at the blood-soaked towel, then back at you. “Okay. We're going to get you back.”
The clerk gives you a look.
You glance down. Blood is already dripping onto the floor. “Okay,” you admit. “Maybe I’m slightly less okay than I thought.”
A few minutes later, you’re sitting in a triage room with your injured hand elevated.
A nurse walks in. “Hi, im Mateo,” he introduces himself.
He pulls up a stool. “What happened?”
“Figure skating accident.”
His eyebrows rise. “You’re a figure skater?”
He looks at your hand. “What happened?”
“I was working on a routine for one of my students.”
You give him a sheepish smile. “I lost track of time.”
Mateo shakes his head. “Okay. Pain?”
“Can you move your fingers?”
You carefully flex them. “Yeah.”
He begins examining the wound. “You’re going to need somebody to take a look at this.”
You nod. “That’s what I figured.”
“How long ago did it happen?”
Mateo looks at the towel. “You've bled through that in twenty minutes?”
You look down. “Apparently.”
He types something into the computer. Then the curtain shifts.
A man steps into the room. “Mateo.”
And then you forget how words work. Dr. Jack Abbot. Senior attending physician. Night shift. And, unfortunately for your ability to act normal, incredibly handsome. Dark hair. Tired eyes. A calm, slightly serious expression. He looks like someone who has been working all night and somehow still manages to look unfairly good doing it.
His gaze moves from Mateo to you. Then to your hand. Then back to your face. He pauses. Just for a second.
His eyes stay on yours. “Hi.”
You suddenly become very aware of the fact that you’re sitting there with blood all over your hand and probably looking like you haven’t slept in a year.
Abbot steps closer. “How did you do this?”
His eyebrows lift. “You skate?”
He looks at your hand again. “Looks like the blade won.”
You smile. “Temporarily.”
The corner of his mouth lifts. “Good attitude.”
Mateo glances between the two of you. “She’s been remarkably calm.”
You look at him. “I’m trying.”
“You've bled through three towels.”
“Okay. Maybe I’m not that calm.”
Abbot gives a quiet laugh. You look at him. And there it is. That smile. You have absolutely no business thinking a doctor is attractive while sitting in an emergency department with an open hand wound. Unfortunately, your brain doesn't seem particularly interested in your opinion.
Abbot pulls on a pair of gloves. “Let's take a look.”
His fingers gently wrap around your wrist as he begins removing the towel. “Tell me if this hurts.”
You glance at him. “I’m optimistic.”
He looks up at you. For a second, there’s something almost amused in his eyes. “I can see that.” He carefully removes the towel.
Abbot notices immediately. “That hurt?”
You shrug. “I’m trying to impress you.”
The words leave your mouth before your brain can stop them. Silence. Mateo looks up from the computer. You stare at the ceiling. You would very much like the floor to open up and swallow you.
Abbot, however, just looks at you. Then his mouth twitches. “Is that so?”
You clear your throat. “I meant... impress you with how tough I am.”
Mateo coughs suspiciously into his fist. You glare at him.
Abbot looks back at your hand. “You're going to need a few stitches.”
“When was your last tetanus shot?”
He nods. “Then we'll check.”
You watch him for a moment. He’s focused completely on your hand now.
You raise an eyebrow. “Doesn't feel particularly lucky.”
“It could've been worse.”
“That’s what everyone keeps telling me.”
He glances up. “They're right.”
You smile. He holds your gaze for a second longer than necessary. Something changes in his expression. It's subtle. But you notice.
“You really love skating?” he asks.
Your smile softens. “Yeah.”
“How long have you been coaching?”
“Having something you care that much about.”
You study him. “You don't?”
You tilt your head. “That’s not what I asked.”
For the first time since he walked into the room, Abbot looks genuinely caught off guard. Mateo looks down at his computer, clearly trying not to smile.
Abbot shakes his head. “You're trouble.”
You grin. “That’s what my students say.”
“I believe them.” He turns toward the supply cart.
You watch him for a second.
Then Mateo leans closer. “He's not usually this talkative.”
You look at him. “Really?”
You smile. “Interesting.”
Across the room, Abbot glances over his shoulder. He catches you looking. You catch him looking back. Neither of you says anything. But there’s the smallest hint of a smile on his face.
And suddenly, you have a feeling that getting cut by a skate blade might not be the most memorable thing that happens to you tonight.
Abbot pulls the stool closer to the bed. “Okay,” he says, looking at you. “I'm going to numb the area first. You’ll feel a little pinch.”
You nod. “I can handle a pinch.”
“I believe you.” He gives you a small smile before turning his attention back to your hand.
A few minutes later, the local anesthetic has taken effect, and Abbot begins carefully cleaning the wound. You watch him work. He’s incredibly focused, his eyes moving between the injury and the needle in his hand with practiced precision.
You’re not sure what’s more distracting: the fact that you can barely feel what he’s doing or the fact that you’re sitting close enough to notice every little expression that crosses his face. Eventually, he starts stitching.
You glance down at your hand. Then at him. “You’re really good at this.”
Abbot looks up briefly. “I’ve done this probably a thousand times.”
You smile. “A thousand times on pretty women?”
His eyes flick toward you.
You can see the amusement immediately.
You shrug innocently. “What? You said a thousand times.”
He looks back down at your hand. “I’d say once.”
“On a very gorgeous woman.”
You immediately try to hide your smile. You fail. “Please do tell me about her, Dr. Abbot.”
Jack's mouth curves into a smile as he carefully guides the needle through your skin. “Well...” he says slowly, clearly trying to concentrate on the stitches. “She’s got a breathtaking smile.”
He continues. “Very optimistic.”
Your smile grows. “Sounds like you have a crush on this woman.”
He pauses for half a second. Then continues stitching. “Maybe.”
You tilt your head. “Does she know?”
“That I have a crush on her?”
You smile. “Then you're probably going to have to tell her.”
He looks up at you. “Probably.”
Your eyes meet. The room suddenly feels quieter. Mateo is nowhere in sight, leaving the two of you alone.
Abbot looks back down at your hand. “She’s also stubborn.”
You laugh softly. “That's unfortunate.”
He finishes another stitch. “She doesn't seem to realize when someone is flirting with her.”
You raise an eyebrow. “Really?”
“Well, that's unfortunate too.”
He glances at you. “Yeah.”
He carefully ties off another stitch. “She loves what she does.”
Your expression softens. “She sounds nice.”
He smiles. “I'm trying to be objective.”
He looks at you again. “And she has a tendency to stay at the rink until midnight because she cares too much about her students.”
You go quiet. Your eyes widen slightly. “That's oddly specific.”
He doesn't answer. Instead, he finishes the final stitch and cuts the thread. “All done.”
You look down. The cut is neatly closed. “Wow.”
Abbot carefully cleans around it one last time before placing a sterile dressing over the stitches.
Then he wraps your hand and wrist with gauze. “You did really well.”
You look up at him. “So did you.”
He smiles. “Thank you.” He begins removing his gloves. “Okay. You're going to want to keep this clean and dry. Don't soak it, and don't go skating until it's healed enough that you aren't risking opening the wound.”
You make a face. “That's going to be difficult.”
“I have lessons tomorrow.”
“You'll need to take it easy.”
He gives you a pointed look.
You sigh dramatically. “Fine.”
“You'll need to watch for increasing redness, swelling, warmth, drainage, fever, or worsening pain. If you notice any of those, come back.”
“And we'll want the stitches checked and removed at the appropriate time depending on how the wound heals.”
He pauses. “And don't use your injury as an excuse to ignore the fact that you need to rest.”
You smile. “You're very bossy.”
“Occupational hazard.” He finishes the bandage and steps back.
For a moment, neither of you says anything.
Then you look down at your hand. “You know, for a terrible night, this turned out pretty well.”
Abbot raises an eyebrow. “Getting stitches is your definition of a good night?”
You look at him. “Not exactly.”
His expression changes. Just slightly. “Oh?”
You smile. “No.” A beat passes. “Meeting a very handsome doctor was the good part.”
Jack looks at you. And for once, he doesn't seem to have a clever response ready. He simply smiles. That same warm, almost shy smile you've caught several times tonight. “Well,” he says quietly, “I'm glad something good came out of it.”
You look at him. “Me too, Dr. Abbot.”
He glances toward the door before looking back at you. “Y/N?”
“Try not to come back here just to see me.”
He laughs softly. “Goodnight.”
He pauses at the sound of his first name. Then he smiles again. “Goodnight.”
Fourteen days later, you find yourself back in the emergency department. Not because anything is wrong. At least, not medically. You’ve just finished one of your evening lessons, still wearing your leggings and a quarter-zip with your hair pulled back, when you decide it’s finally time to get the stitches removed. It’s six o’clock.
You walk up to the ward clerk, give her your name and date of birth, and explain why you’re there. A few minutes later, you’re called back to triage. You’re expecting Mateo. You aren't expecting Jack. The second you step through the curtain, you see him.
He's standing near the nurses' station, talking to someone, already dressed for his shift. Your stomach does an annoying little flip. His eyes find yours. And for just a moment, he looks surprised.
You smile politely. “Hi.”
“Hey.” His gaze drops to your hand. “How's it feeling?”
Before either of you can say anything else, Mateo walks over. “I can take the stitches out,” he says.
Mateo glances toward Jack. “Or Dr. Abbot could.”
You look at Jack. He raises his eyebrows slightly.
Mateo continues, far too casually, “He's not busy right now.”
You smile. “I feel like you know what you're doing. Plus, I don't want to bother him.”
Mateo nods slowly. “Right.”
There's something about his expression that makes you suspect he knows exactly what you're doing. You sit down. Mateo begins removing the stitches. Jack stays nearby for a moment. You can feel him there.
But you don't look at him. Not really. The conversation between you two feels different tonight. Two weeks ago, there had been teasing. Flirting. That easy little spark. Tonight, you're careful. Maybe too careful.
You can't stop thinking about what he'd said. ‘Try not to come back here just to see me’. You'd taken him seriously. Maybe he hadn't meant anything by it. Maybe he'd just been joking.
Either way, you weren't going to embarrass yourself.
Mateo finishes. “All done.”
You look down at your hand. “That's it?”
“That's it.” He stands. “I'll grab your discharge paperwork and aftercare instructions.”
Mateo disappears through the curtain. You're alone. For approximately ten seconds. The curtain opens again. You look up.
Jack. He's standing there with his hands in his pockets. “So,” he says, “you're not here to see me?”
You give him a small smile. “Well, you said not to come back to see you.”
His expression changes. Just slightly. The teasing disappears. “Oh.”
You look down at your hand. “So no.”
Jack studies you for a moment. “How's the hand?”
He gently examines it, careful not to touch the healing skin too much. “Looks good.”
He looks up at you. For a second, neither of you says anything. Then Mateo comes back in.
He immediately starts going over the discharge instructions. “Keep the area clean, watch for redness or swelling, and don't-”
You nod along. Jack remains standing nearby. Quiet. You glance at him once. He's watching you. Not obviously. But enough.
Eventually, Mateo finishes. “You're good to go.”
You stand. “Thanks, Mateo.” You grab your bag. Then you look at Jack. “See ya later, Dr. Abbot.”
You give him one last smile before walking out. Jack watches you disappear through the doors. Mateo waits. Five seconds. Ten.
Then- “There's only two skating rinks in town.”
Jack slowly looks at him. “Okay.”
Mateo stares. “I'm sure she does lessons for... adults.”
Jack rolls his eyes. “Go do your job.” He walks away. Mateo grins to himself.
An hour later, Jack is still thinking about you. It's irritating. He'd been hoping you'd come back. He hadn't realized quite how much until you walked through the department and didn't flirt with him. Didn't tease him. Didn't give him that smile.
You'd seemed almost... avoidant. Maybe you really had taken what he'd said seriously. Don't come back here just to see me. He'd meant it as a joke. Mostly. Except now he's wondering if perhaps he hadn't made that clear enough.
Jack leans back in his chair. Maybe he shouldn't have said it. Maybe he'd been too cautious. He'd liked talking to you. Liked your sense of humor. Liked how easily you'd challenged him. And, if he was being honest with himself, he'd been hoping he'd see you again.
Now he has. And somehow, he's managed to make you think you shouldn't come near him. He sighs. Then Mateo's words come back to him.
There's only two skating rinks in town.
Jack stares at the computer. No. Absolutely not. He is not going to show up at a skating rink because he's interested in a woman he met in the ED. That's ridiculous. He's a grown man. A physician. He has dignity.
He has boundaries. He should not be looking up skating lessons. He definitely shouldn't be wondering whether the rink offers adult classes. He definitely shouldn't be considering pretending he's interested in learning to skate. Jack glances toward the clock.
Then back at the computer. Maybe he'd just stop by. Just once. Completely innocent. He could say he was curious. Or that he'd been thinking about taking up a hobby.
He could even ask Mateo which rink you taught at. Except Mateo would know exactly why he was asking. Jack sighs. This is ridiculous. He rubs a hand over his face. Then he thinks about your smile. The one you'd given him before leaving.
And how careful you'd been not to flirt with him. Maybe you really did think he didn't want to see you. Maybe you'd decided to stay away because you'd respected what he said. Jack looks toward the clock again. Maybe stopping by wouldn't be such a bad idea.
Just to clear things up. Nothing more. Definitely nothing more....Maybe.
By seven in the morning, Jack's shift is finally over. He should be going home. He should be sleeping. Instead, he's sitting in his car outside a skating rink, wondering how exactly his life got to this point. It had started with Mateo.
Jack had swallowed his pride somewhere around five-thirty in the morning and finally asked the question he'd been avoiding.
“Which rink does she work at?”
Mateo's grin had been immediate. He'd pulled up the website, scrolling past advertisements for hockey leagues, summer camps, and youth programs.
Then- There you were. Jack had stopped him. The bottom of the website was filled with clips of you teaching. Pictures of your students standing on podiums with medals around their necks. Videos of you demonstrating jumps. And a schedule.
Your lessons started at eight. Mateo had looked at him knowingly. “You've got time.”
Jack had stared at him. “You're encouraging this?”
Now, sitting in his car, Jack wasn't so sure. He rubs a hand over his face. This is creepy. He knows it is. He'd never normally show up at someone's workplace uninvited, especially someone he'd met as a patient. But Mateo had insisted.
Jack hopes he's right. He sighs. “Okay.” He gets out. The second he walks through the doors, music echoes throughout the building. Jack stops.
He hears the sound of blades against ice. And then he sees you. You're alone on the rink. Skating effortlessly. He watches as you push off, gain speed, and launch into a jump. You rotate in the air.
You land perfectly. Jack's mouth falls open slightly. He hadn't expected this. He'd seen pictures. He'd seen videos. But seeing you in person is different. You look completely at home on the ice. You skate another few feet before transitioning into a spin.
Jack watches in awe. A smile slowly pulls at his lips. You're incredible. Eventually, you glide toward the boards. You grab your phone and pause the music. You pull out your choreography notebook and begin writing something down.
You still haven't noticed him.
Jack suddenly becomes very aware of himself. He's standing in a skating rink at seven in the morning, watching a woman he met in the emergency department skate. What is he doing? He rubs the back of his neck.
Maybe he should leave. Yeah. That's probably the smart thing. He turns toward the doors.
Damn. He stops. Slowly turns around. You're looking directly at him.
You skate toward the edge of the rink.
You step off the ice. “What are you doing here?”
He can't tell what your tone means.
Maybe a little creeped out?
“Um...” He clears his throat. “I was just checking the place out.”
You stare at him. “You're not a good liar.”
Jack winces. “Yeah. I get that a lot.”
You walk over to the bench and sit down, beginning to untie your skates.
Jack stands there awkwardly. “Look,” he says, “I'm sorry.”
“I know this is weird, and I'm sorry Mateo said you'd be pleased to see me and clearly I just look like a creep, so I'll go.” He takes a step backward. “I'm sorry again.” He turns. And starts walking away.
You watch him. Something about the way his shoulders have dropped makes you smile. You call after him. “I don't think you're a creep.”
Jack stops. His shoulders relax slightly. He turns around.
You’re still sitting on the bench, one skate off now.
He looks at you. “You don't?”
You shake your head. “No.” A small smile appears on your face. Then you tilt your head. “Did you want skating lessons...” You pause. “Or did you just want to come and see me?”
Jack stares at you. For a second, he doesn't know what to say. Are you flirting with him? You have to be. Right?
He takes a step closer. “I-”
He exhales a quiet laugh. “That's a very direct question.”
You smile. “I'm a very direct person.”
You pull off your other skate. “Well?”
Jack looks at you. Then at the ice. Then back at you. His smile slowly returns. “Honestly?”
He slips his hands into his pockets. “I came to see you.”
Jack watches your expression carefully. “I thought you might be mad.”
“Because I told you not to come back just to see me.”
You look down at your skates. “I thought you meant it.”
Jack's voice softens. “I was joking.”
“You weren't very clear.”
A small silence settles between you. Then you smile. “Well...” You gesture toward the ice. “You're here now.”
“You still want to learn?”
He looks at the ice. Then back at you. “Do I get a private lesson?”
You laugh. “Is that why you're here?”
“No.” He takes another step closer. “But I wouldn't complain.”
You shake your head, smiling. “You're trouble, Dr. Abbot.”
He grins. “You've said that before.”
“Probably.” You stand and pick up your skates. “Give me ten minutes.”
Jack watches you. “Okay.”
You walk toward the changing area. Then stop. You look back over your shoulder. “And Jack?”
Your smile is unmistakable now. “I'm glad you came.”
Jack's smile grows. “Me too.”
You disappear around the corner. Jack exhales. Maybe Mateo had been right after all.
A few minutes later, you come back carrying an extra pair of skates.
Jack looks up from the bench. “Everything okay?”
You nod. “Actually, you got lucky.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Lucky?”
“My eight o’clock lesson just canceled. One of my students is sick.” You hold up the skates. “So…” A smile spreads across your face. “You get a full hour lesson.”
Jack laughs. “Seriously?”
“Seriously.” You toss the skates onto the bench beside him. “Unless you're suddenly afraid.”
“I've never skated before.”
You laugh. “Okay. This should be interesting.”
Jack looks at the skates. “You're going to be patient with me, right?”
You grin. “Come on, Dr. Abbot.”
Ten minutes later, Jack is standing on the ice. Very carefully.
You glide backward in front of him, watching his posture. “Okay. First thing: bend your knees.”
Jack immediately bends them. “Like this?”
“More.” He bends a little farther. “Good.” You smile. “Keep your shoulders relaxed.”
“You're holding your arms like you're about to fall off a cliff.”
He looks down at his arms. “That's because I feel like I'm about to fall off a cliff.”
You laugh. “Fair.” You skate closer. “Okay. Don't look at your feet.”
“Because you're going to trip over them.”
He immediately looks up. “Right.”
“Good.” You demonstrate a simple glide. “Just push off gently with one foot and let yourself glide.”
Jack watches you. “Like that?”
He tries. For approximately two seconds, it works. Then he wobbles.
You reach out and grab his forearm. “Easy.”
Jack looks down at your hand around his arm. Then at you. “Thanks.”
Neither of you immediately moves.
He nods. This time, he pushes off. One foot. Then the other. A few feet.
He grins. “That was actually fun.”
“Told you.” You skate backward again. “Now we're going to work on stopping.”
Jack's smile fades. “Stopping?”
“Very.” You demonstrate the snowplow stop. “Turn your toes slightly inward and push the inside edges of your blades into the ice.”
Jack watches carefully. “Like this?” He tries. Nothing happens.
You laugh. “Okay, not quite.”
“You're thinking too much.”
“I'm a doctor. That's kind of what I do.”
You smile. “I've noticed.” You skate closer. “Here.” You position yourself beside him. “Try it again.”
Jack does. This time, his blades scrape against the ice and he slows. His face lights up. “I stopped.”
He looks at you proudly. “I'm getting pretty good at this.”
You laugh. And somehow, the hour passes faster than either of you expects. You teach him how to glide properly. How to turn. How to shift his weight. How to stop without looking like he's trying to fight the ice.
Every time he improves, he looks at you with this almost boyish excitement that makes you smile. And Jack? He's loving every second of it. Not just because he's learning something completely new. Because you're beside him.
Every few minutes, you skate past him, demonstrating something and then patiently waiting for him to try. You encourage him when he gets it right. You laugh when he nearly falls.
And when he finally manages a clean turn, you clap. “There you go!”
Jack grins. “Did you see that?”
“Okay,” you admit. “I'm impressed.”
You skate closer. “You know, you're a quick learner.”
You look at him. “That too.”
There's a brief silence. The music continues playing softly through the rink.
Jack looks at you. “I can see why you love this.”
Your expression softens. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” He glances around the empty rink. “You're different out here.”
You tilt your head. “How?”
He thinks for a moment. “Happy.”
He looks back at you. “I like seeing you like this.”
Your heart skips. You try to hide your smile. “Careful, Dr. Abbot.”
“You're flirting with your instructor.”
You shake your head. “Come on.” You skate backward again. “Let's see if you can make it all the way to the other side without falling.”
Jack pushes off. “I won't fall.”
You laugh. And as you skate beside him, watching him slowly gain confidence on the ice, you realize something. You don't want the lesson to end either.
The hour goes by far too quickly. Eventually, you both make your way off the ice.
Jack sits on the bench, unlacing the skates while you grab your things.
“You did pretty well,” you tell him.
“For someone who couldn't stand up ten minutes ago.”
He looks at you. “I could stand.”
You walk over and hold out your hand. “Give me your phone.”
Jack looks up at you. “My phone?”
He pulls it out and hands it to you.
You quickly type something into the screen before handing it back. “There.”
He looks down. Your number. He looks back up at you.
“So we can arrange your next lesson,” you say casually.
Jack smiles. “My next lesson…” He pauses. “Or our first date?”
You roll your eyes. “A date? I don't know about all that.”
Jack laughs. “Oh, come on.” He stands. “I have to pay you for my lesson somehow.”
You laugh softly. “That's not how lessons work.”
“I'm aware.” He steps closer. “I'll take you out.”
You look up at him. He's close now. Very close. Only inches separate you. For a moment, neither of you moves. You can see the tiredness around his eyes from working all night, but there's something else there now. Something warm.
You smile softly. “Text me the details…” You lean just slightly closer. “And I may or may not show.”
Jack's eyes flick briefly to your lips. For one heartbeat, he thinks you're going to kiss him. He leans in almost imperceptibly. But then you smile, step away, and walk toward the changing area.
Jack stands there. Blinking. He lets out a quiet sigh and shakes his head, smiling to himself. “I'll see you later?”
You glance back over your shoulder. “If you're lucky.”
Jack laughs. “Right.” He watches you disappear around the corner. Then he looks down at his phone. Your number is still on the screen. He smiles.
Yeah. He definitely plans on being lucky. Jack heads out of the rink and toward his car, already wondering what he's going to text you.
A week passes. Somehow, the two of you have fallen into an easy rhythm. Text messages throughout the day. A few late-night conversations.Two phone calls that were supposed to be quick but somehow lasted well over an hour. You've learned that Jack is terrible at ending phone calls.
You've also learned that he has a dry sense of humor that catches you off guard more often than you'd like to admit. And now it's Saturday. Your first date. With Jack. You stand in front of your mirror, looking yourself over one last time. You smooth your hands over your outfit and turn slightly from side to side.
You let out a slow breath. “Okay.” Your stomach flips. You grab your phone from the dresser. Almost immediately, the screen lights up.
Jack: I'm out front whenever you're ready.
You smile. Of course he is. You grab your purse and head downstairs. When you step outside, you see him immediately. Jack is standing beside his truck, hands tucked into his pockets. He's dressed casually, but somehow looks incredibly put together.
You smile and wave. His face lights up when he sees you. He pushes away from the truck and walks toward you.
“You clean up good,” you tease.
He laughs. “I had to impress you.” He looks you over for just a moment before meeting your eyes again. “You look very good yourself.”
Your cheeks warm. “Thank you.”
Jack walks around to the passenger side. He opens the door and holds out a hand. You place yours in his. He helps you into the truck carefully, then waits until you're settled before gently closing the door. You watch him walk around the front of the truck.
A nervous smile stays on your face. A few seconds later, he climbs into the driver's seat.
He looks over at you. “Ready?”
He starts the truck. Neither of you says anything for a moment. Then Jack smiles. “You know, I was starting to think you weren't actually going to show.”
You laugh. “I told you I might.”
“You did.” He pulls away from the curb. “And you made me wait a whole week.”
You glance at him. “You're dramatic.”
“Only when it comes to you.”
You smile and look out the window, trying unsuccessfully to hide how much you like hearing that. Jack notices. And smiles to himself as he drives.
The restaurant Jack picked isn't particularly fancy. It's warm and cozy, with little tables tucked into the corners, soft golden lights hanging overhead, and the smell of garlic and fresh bread filling the air. It's the kind of Italian restaurant where nobody seems to be in a hurry.
You glance around as Jack holds the door open for you. “I like it,” you say.
“You were nervous about choosing?”
“Because I wanted you to like it.”
Your smile softens. “I do.”
Jack seems satisfied with that answer. He leads you to your table, pulling out your chair before sitting across from you.
You pick up the menu. “Okay.”
Jack looks at his. “There are too many options.”
You laugh. “You're the one who picked the place.”
“I didn't realize they'd make me choose between seventeen different kinds of pasta.”
You smile as you scan the menu. For a few minutes, the two of you quietly debate what sounds best.
Eventually, Jack sets his menu down. “I think I'm going with the chicken parmesan.”
You look over the menu again. “Probably the pasta.”
You laugh. “I haven't decided which one.”
A server comes by with water, and after ordering, you settle back into your chair. For the first time since arriving, there's a comfortable silence between you.
Jack looks across the table. “So.”
“I feel like I know you, but I don't actually know you.”
You smile. “That sounds complicated.”
“Okay. Ask me something.”
He thinks. “What made you start skating?”
Your expression changes immediately. “That's a long story.”
You smile. “I started when I was little. My parents put me in lessons because I had way too much energy.”
Jack laughs. “I can picture that.”
“You haven't even met me as a child.”
“I can still picture it.”
You shake your head. “I loved it immediately. I don't know how else to explain it. The second I got on the ice, I just... felt like I belonged there.”
You give him a look. “I was okay.”
You laugh. “Fine. I was pretty good.”
“I've watched you skate.”
Your smile softens. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” He leans back slightly. “You're incredible.”
You look down at the table, suddenly a little shy. “Thank you.”
“What made you stop competing?”
You take a breath. “I got older. Life changed. And eventually, I realized I didn't miss competing as much as I thought I would.”
“So you started coaching.”
You smile. “Now I get to watch other kids fall in love with skating.”
Jack nods. “I think that's pretty special.”
You look at him. “What about you?”
He smiles. “What do you want to know?”
Jack considers the question. “I think I always wanted to help people.”
“You were one of those kids who wanted to be a doctor?”
You laugh. “Unfortunately?”
“You should.” He takes a sip of his water. “My parents weren't doctors. It wasn't something I grew up around. I just liked figuring things out.”
“So medicine was a puzzle.”
He nods. “I like that no two nights are the same.”
You smile. “That sounds familiar.”
“Yeah.” He looks at you. “Maybe that's why I like talking to you.”
You raise an eyebrow. “Because I'm unpredictable?”
You both laugh. The conversation continues effortlessly. You tell him about some of your favorite students, carefully avoiding anything that would identify them. He tells you stories about residency that make you laugh. You ask about his favorite food.
He asks about yours. You discover he hates overly sweet coffee. He discovers you can never say no to dessert. He asks about your family. You ask about his.
Somehow, an hour passes without either of you noticing. Your food arrives, and the two of you continue talking between bites. At one point, you realize you've been smiling for almost the entire evening.
Jack notices too. “What?”
You shake your head. “Nothing.”
You look across the table at him. “I’m having a good time.”
His expression softens. “Me too.”
The restaurant around you seems to fade into the background. For once, neither of you is thinking about the emergency department. Or work. Or skating lessons. Or stitches.
It's just the two of you. And you're beginning to realize that the man sitting across from you is much easier to like than you expected. Jack seems to be realizing the same thing.
He reaches for his glass, his eyes never quite leaving yours. “So,” he says.
“Think I earned a second date?”
“You really like making me work for it.”
Because you're already hoping there will be a second date too.
Jack pulls up outside your house a little while later. The drive back had been easy. Comfortable. The kind of comfortable that makes you realize you could probably sit beside this person for hours without needing to fill every silence. He puts the truck in park.
Neither of you immediately moves.
Jack looks over at you. “I really enjoyed tonight.”
“I was a little nervous.”
He laughs. “Yeah. Believe it or not.”
You shake your head. “You hid it well.”
“I was trying to impress you.”
His smile grows. He gets out and walks around the truck, opening your door for you. You step out. He walks you to your front door. And then neither of you says goodbye. You stand facing one another beneath the porch light.
“I really don't want tonight to end,” he admits.
He takes a small step closer.
You tilt your head up. “You gonna kiss me, Dr. Abbot?”
His smile is immediate. He leans closer, just enough to make your heart skip. “Is that okay, Y/N?”
Jack closes the distance. The kiss is soft. Sweet. Unhurried. His hand settles gently at your waist while you rest your hand against his chest. For a few seconds, neither of you seems particularly interested in remembering that eventually, one of you has to leave.
When you finally part, Jack lets out a quiet sigh. “I don't ever want this date to end.”
You laugh softly. “Unfortunately, the ED needs you.”
He shakes his head. “Unfortunately.”
He takes a step backward, starting down the porch steps. “Until next time, sweetheart.”
You glance away shyly. “I like that.”
He tilts his head. “Like what?” He steps back up the stairs. Closer to you. “Sweetheart?”
You try to hide your smile. “I like when you call me that.”
His smile turns softer. “You do?” His voice drops slightly. His hand gently cups your cheek.
You lean into his palm without even thinking. “I do.”
“I like you a lot.” The words come out quietly. Almost like you're admitting something you weren't planning on saying yet.
Jack smiles. He leans forward and presses a gentle kiss to your forehead. “I like you a lot, a lot too.”
You take a small step backward. “Drive safe.”
He nods. “Anything for you…” He pauses. “Sweetheart.”
You grin. Jack smiles back before turning and walking toward his truck. You stand on the porch and watch him climb inside. He starts the engine. Before pulling away, he looks toward the house and catches your eye.
You turn and walk inside. You close the door behind you and lean against it. You let out a breath.
You were absolutely putty in his hands.
The next few weeks are busy. Really busy.
You're preparing several of your students for an upcoming competition, which means your days are filled with choreography, practice sessions, costume fittings, music edits, and more time at the rink than you probably spend anywhere else.
Jack understands. He knows you're busy. He doesn't take it personally when your texts become shorter. He doesn't complain when your phone calls become less frequent. But after two weeks of barely seeing you?
So when his shift finally ends one morning, he finds himself stopping for coffee. And a breakfast sandwich. You'd mentioned it once, weeks ago, during one of your late-night phone calls. You'd told him exactly how you liked your coffee and which breakfast sandwich you always ordered when you were running late.
He'd remembered. Of course he had. Jack gets back into his truck and checks the time. 8:45. He knows you'll probably have a student right now. He pulls into the rink parking lot.
For a second, he sits there with his hands on the steering wheel. Then he smiles to himself. “Why not?” He grabs the coffee and sandwich and heads inside. The familiar sound of music echoes throughout the building.
Jack walks toward the bleachers and climbs a few steps before sitting down. And then he sees you. You're on the ice with one of your students. A young girl Jack recognizes from the pictures he'd seen on the rink's website.
You're skating backward beside her, demonstrating something and talking her through the movement. Jack watches quietly. He smiles. He'd forgotten how much he liked watching you teach. You're completely different on the ice.
The girl tries a jump. She lands it, but her balance isn't quite there.
You immediately skate toward her. “Again.”
She nods. She tries. Again. And again. Then finally- She lands it. Cleanly.
Jack can see the excitement on her face from the bleachers.
You skate toward her. “OH MY GOSH!”
Jack laughs quietly from the stands.
You grab the girl's hands. “That was amazing, Kinsley!”
You spin around in excitement with her. “Okay, okay. That's a good ending point.”
“I'll send your mom the footage so you have it.”
The girl skates toward the edge of the rink and disappears into the locker rooms. You follow more slowly. Jack watches as you step toward the boards and begin talking to who he assumes is Kinsley's mother. He can't hear everything.
“I think she has a solid chance at gold.”
“She’s truly grown so much.”
The mother smiles. “She really, really likes working with you. Thank you so much.”
You shake your head. “No, thank you.” You smile. “I'll see y'all again Friday.”
The woman walks away. You skate toward the opposite side of the rink and step off. You grab your things. Then look up. Your eyes land directly on him.
He smiles. “The one and only.” He walks down the bleachers toward you.
You stare at him. “What are you doing here?”
He holds out the coffee and breakfast sandwich. “I missed you.”
Your expression immediately softens.
“So I figured I'd bring you some coffee.”
You smile. “That's very sweet, but you just worked twelve hou—”
He cuts you off with a quick kiss. Just a soft press of his lips against yours. When he pulls back, his hand cups your cheek. “I missed you.”
You lean into his touch. “I missed you too.”
His thumb gently brushes your cheek. “I figured you were busy.”
You look at the coffee in his hand. “You remembered my order.”
Your smile grows. “You're pretty good at this boyfriend thing.”
Jack's eyebrows rise. “Boyfriend?”
You realize what you just said.
He smiles. “I like the sound of that.”
You laugh softly. “Do you?”
He leans in and kisses your forehead. “You ready for your breakfast?”
You take the bag from him. “Very.”
You glance back toward the ice. Then at him. “Can you stay for a little while?”
He doesn't hesitate. “Yeah.”
Your smile brightens. “Good.”
You take his hand. “Come on.”
Jack follows you toward the rink. And for the first time in two weeks, the two of you are exactly where you want to be.
Jack stays in the bleachers. He has his coffee beside him, one arm resting against the back of the seat, and a smile on his face as he watches you move around the rink. He thinks he could get used to this. Watching you do what you love.
Seeing the way you light up when one of your students succeeds. At ten o'clock, another girl walks onto the ice. Jack recognizes her immediately.
He'd heard you mention her before. Sixteen. She's been your student since you started coaching. Ten gold medals. And a dream of making it to the Olympics. Jack watches as she skates toward you. You greet her with a smile.
But something is different. With Kinsley, you had been all excitement. You'd cheered. You'd laughed. You'd practically tackled the poor girl with a hug when she landed her jump.
With Becca, you're quieter. More focused. You don't need to say much. You know her. You know exactly what she needs. The music starts. Becca pushes off. Jack watches her begin her routine.
Her movements are beautiful. Controlled. Precise.
You stand at the edge of the rink, watching silently. Your eyes follow every movement. Becca goes into a spin. Something goes wrong. She lands awkwardly.
Her skate hits the ice. “Damn it.” She stomps her foot. “This damn turn.” She skates toward you. “Can you show me?”
You nod. “Yeah.” You restart the music. Then you push off.
Jack sits forward slightly. He watches you move across the ice. You don't just demonstrate the routine. You become it. Every movement is deliberate. Every edge precise. Becca follows you, mirroring your movements.
Jack realizes what you're doing. You're giving her something to picture. Something to feel. You leap. Spin. Land perfectly.
You skate back toward Becca. “Come here.”
You place your hands gently on either side of her shoulders. “Just breathe.”
“Squeeze.” You give her shoulders a tiny reassuring squeeze.
“And spin, girl.” Becca rolls her eyes. You grin. She pushes off. “Spin girl, spin.”
Jack smiles from the bleachers. Becca enters the turn. One rotation. Two. Three. She lands. Perfectly. You smile.
Becca skates back toward you with an unmistakable oh yeah, I just did that attitude.
She slows in front of you.
“See?” You laugh. “Come here.”
You pull her into a tight hug.
Becca laughs against your shoulder. “Ugh.”
You pull back slightly. “You're going to beat everyone.”
Becca rolls her eyes. “Y/N.”
“No, I'm serious.” Your voice softens. “Becca, you're so good.”
The girl's confident expression falters for just a second. “You really think so?”
Becca smiles. Jack watches from the bleachers. He realizes something. You don't just teach these kids how to skate. You believe in them. You make them believe in themselves. Becca glances toward the bleachers.
Her eyes land on Jack. She looks back at you. “Is that your boyfriend?”
Becca points. Jack suddenly becomes very interested in his coffee.
You glance toward him. He gives you a small wave. You look back at Becca. “That's Jack.”
Becca raises an eyebrow. “That didn't answer my question.”
You laugh. “Go practice your footwork.”
Becca grins. “That's a yes.”
She laughs and skates away. Jack watches you shake your head. Then you glance toward him. He smiles. You smile back. And somehow, even from across the rink, he can tell exactly what you're thinking.
Don't you dare let her know she's right.
By 10:30, Jack has been sitting in the bleachers for nearly two hours. He hasn't complained once. If anything, he seems perfectly content to stay there all morning. You're standing beside him near the rink entrance, watching another group of skaters take the ice.
You glance at him. Then at the time. Then back at him. “Go home and sleep, please.”
Jack smiles. “But I like watching you teach.”
You shake your head. “I know.”
You reach over and gently straighten the collar of his jacket. “But you need sleep, honey.”
The pet name makes his smile soften.
“You have to go to work again tonight.”
He sighs dramatically. “I know.”
“You've been awake forever.”
He looks at you. You give him the look.
He laughs. “Fine. I'll go.”
“But only because you told me to.”
You roll your eyes. “Of course.”
He leans down and presses a quick kiss to your forehead. “I'll see you later, sweetheart.”
You smile. “I'll see you later, Jack.”
He gives you one last look before heading toward the doors. You watch him disappear. Jack climbs into his truck and starts the engine. He sits there for a moment before pulling away.
He glances at the clock. He should be exhausted. He is exhausted. But somehow, he feels lighter than he has in days.
He thinks about the way you'd smiled when he'd walked into the rink. The way you'd looked when you were teaching. The way Becca had rolled her eyes at you. The way you'd hugged her afterward. He thinks about how completely yourself you were on the ice.
No hesitation. No second-guessing. Just you.
And, if he were being honest, he could have sat in those bleachers all day. He could have watched you teach every single student. Watched you skate. Watched you laugh. Watched you encourage kids who were trying to become the best versions of themselves.
He smiles to himself as he drives home. He doesn't think he'll ever get tired of watching you be you. And somehow, that thought makes the exhaustion worth it.
Competition day finally arrives. Jack knows how important today is to you. You'd told him beforehand that once competition started, your phone would be off. Not because you didn't want to talk to him. Because your students needed your full attention.
You'd wanted to be completely present for them. At noon, right before everything began, he'd gotten one last text.
You: Going in now. I'll text you when we're done. Wish us luck ❤️
Jack had smiled at his phone.
Jack: Good luck, sweetheart. You've got this. Go make them proud.
Exactly as you'd warned him. He'd checked his phone a few times throughout the afternoon anyway. Nothing. He wasn't worried. He knew you were busy. He knew how seriously you took competition days.
By seven, Jack clocks in for his shift. He looks at his phone one more time before slipping it into his pocket. Nothing.
“Come on,” he mutters. He knows the competition is about two hours away from the hospital. Surely, by now, things have settled down. Maybe you'd text soon. Maybe you'd call.
His shift gets busy. Patients come in. He moves from room to room. He talks with nurses. He checks charts. He does everything he's supposed to do. But somewhere in the back of his mind, there's a constant question.
What are you doing right now?
It's nine. Still nothing. Jack is standing at the nurses' station when his phone buzzes. He pulls it out. One message.
His eyebrows pull together. That's it? No explanation? He immediately steps away from the nurses' station. Mateo watches him go. Jack pushes through the ambulance bay doors.
Before he can even fully step outside-
You launch yourself at him. “WE WON!”
Jack barely has time to react before he's catching you. He laughs, wrapping his arms around you and lifting you slightly off the ground. “You did?!” His voice is filled with excitement.
You nod rapidly. “All of them!”
Jack carries you a few steps away from the ambulance bay doors so you're out of the way.
“Oh my God.” You can barely contain yourself. “They all did so good!”
He smiles at you. You look so happy. Completely glowing. And he loves seeing you like this.
He loves that you're sharing it with him. “What? What happened?”
You grin even wider. “All fifteen of my students got gold!”
Jack's eyes widen. “All fifteen?”
You nod. “All fifteen.” You laugh. “I've never cried so hard.”
Jack laughs. “I wish I could've seen it.”
“You'll have to watch the videos later.” You shake your head, still smiling. “I'll show you everything. You have to understand what I'm talking about.”
“I will.” He cups your face. “Thank you for coming and telling me in person.”
You lean into his hands. “Of course.” You smile. “I figured you'd enjoy my excitement.”
He nods. “I really do.” He leans in and kisses you. It's quick but warm. When he pulls away, you're still smiling. “After I get off...” he begins.
“Do you mind if I come over to your place?”
Your grin returns immediately. “I would love that.”
You nod toward him. “I don't have any lessons tomorrow, so I'm free all day.”
“Good.” He smiles. “I missed you.”
You open your mouth to answer. But before you can- An ambulance pulls into the bay. Jack glances over.
You sigh. “Duty calls.” You smile at him. “I'll see you later.”
He starts walking backward toward the ambulance.
You point at him. “Key will be under the mat waiting for you.”
He nods. “Okay. Sounds good.” He turns toward the ambulance. Then looks back at you. “Love you, bye!” The words come out quickly. Almost automatically. He turns and jumps into action with the incoming patient.
You freeze. Your smile disappears for half a second. “Did he-” You stare after him. “He definitely did.” Then your smile slowly returns. You shake your head. “Okay.”
You turn toward your car. “He definitely did.”
Inside the ED, Jack is suddenly very aware of his face. Because he's pretty sure he's bright red. Mateo is standing beside him. He looks at Jack. Then at the direction you disappeared.
Then back at Jack. “Did I hear what I think I heard?”
Jack doesn't look at him. “I don't know what you're talking about.”
Mateo grins. “Oh, you know exactly what I'm talking about.”
Jack focuses on the patient in front of him. “Go do your job.”
“That'll definitely be a conversation you have after you get off.”
Jack rolls his eyes. “I know.”
Mateo smiles. “You nervous?”
Jack finally glances at him. “No.” A small smile appears. “I wouldn't want to have it with anyone else.”
Mateo's grin gets wider. Jack turns his attention back to the patient. But he can't stop smiling. Because somewhere across town, you're probably still smiling too. And for once, the long shift ahead doesn't seem quite so long.
7:30 in the morning. Jack walks up the steps to your front door, his overnight bag slung over one shoulder. He's exhausted. But he's smiling. He reaches the mat and pauses. Then he flips the corner up. There it is. The little pink key you'd left for him.
He smiles to himself. “Still there.” He picks it up and unlocks the door. For a second, he's nervous. He'd been thinking about this all night. About what he'd said.
It had just slipped out. He hadn't planned it. He hadn't prepared some grand confession. It had simply been true. But now he's wondering if you're going to be standing behind the door waiting for him. Maybe with your arms crossed. Maybe asking him why he'd suddenly decided to say something like that.
Maybe- Silence. Jack steps inside. He closes the door quietly behind him. Your house is completely still. He sets his bag down near the entryway and looks around.
The couch is empty. “Y/N?” Nothing. He smiles to himself. Right. You probably went to bed hours ago. He walks down the hallway toward your bedroom. He stops at the doorway. And smiles.
There you are. Fast asleep. You look completely peaceful. Jack quietly walks inside. He sits carefully on the edge of the bed. For a moment, he simply watches you sleep. Then he reaches out and gently brushes a piece of hair away from your face. Just enough to see you clearly.
You stir. Jack immediately pulls his hand away. Your eyes slowly open.
You blink at him. Then smile. “You said you loved me.”
Jack freezes. His stomach drops. “You're dreaming, sweetheart.” He gives you a nervous smile. “Go back to sleep.”
Then- Your eyes open again. Fully this time. “I am not dreaming.”
“You...” You push yourself up slightly. “Jack Abbot, in the flesh, said you loved me.”
Jack sighs. He leans back and covers his face with one hand. “It slipped out.”
You smile. “Did you mean it?”
He slowly lowers his hand. His eyes meet yours. The nervousness is gone now. There's no joke. No teasing. Just honesty. “I wouldn't have said it if I didn't mean it.”
Your smile grows. “You really mean it?”
You sit up a little more. “How long?”
Jack thinks for a moment. “I don't know.” He gives a small laugh. “I think I realized it before I admitted it to myself.”
“Maybe around the time I showed up at the rink? Maybe before that.”
You smile. “Maybe when I came into the ED bleeding everywhere?”
Jack laughs softly. “Definitely not the blood.”
He reaches for your hand. “I just...” He pauses. “I don't know when it happened.” His thumb brushes gently over your knuckles. “I just know that somewhere along the way, you became the person I wanted to tell everything to.”
“And I missed you like crazy when you were busy.”
You squeeze his hand. “I missed you too.”
You look at him for a moment. Then quietly say- “I love you too.”
Jack's face changes. The exhaustion disappears from his expression. “Yeah?”
He smiles. Then leans forward and presses a soft kiss to your forehead. “I really love you.”
You smile. “I really love you too.”
He settles back against the headboard. “Can I stay here?”
You laugh softly. “You drove all the way here after working all night. I think you can stay.”
“Good.” He pulls the blanket over himself.
You curl closer to him. His arm wraps around you. Within minutes, his eyes begin to close.
You smile against his chest. “You still have to shower.”
He murmurs sleepily. “I know, sweetheart.”
Somehow, Jack does drag himself out of bed about twenty minutes later. He sits on the edge of the mattress for a second, rubbing his face with both hands before finally standing. You don't stir. He smiles at you over his shoulder before quietly padding toward the bathroom.
He turns the shower on and steps in. The hot water helps more than he expected. He reaches for the first bottle he sees and pauses.
His shampoo. His exact brand. Sitting right there on the shelf like it had always lived there.
Jack stares at it for a second. Then smiles. He picks it up and turns it over in his hands. You'd gone out and bought it. Just so he'd have it. Just so he'd feel at home here. He sets it back down carefully and lets the water run over him.
He finishes up, dries off, and pulls on his boxers and the shorts he'd packed. He looks at his bag for a second. Considers grabbing a shirt. Doesn't. He knows you like when he doesn't wear one.
He walks back into your bedroom. The curtains are still drawn. The room is quiet and warm and smells like you. You're right where he left you, curled up on your side, hair spread across the pillow.
Jack climbs back into bed slowly, trying not to wake you too fast.
He doesn't quite manage it.
He settles in behind you and presses close, one arm sliding around your waist, his chest against your back. His lips find the back of your neck. He isn't really thinking about it. He just wants to be close to you.
But he's also very aware that he wants you.
He's been awake for almost twenty hours and he still wants you. That felt like important information.
You're quiet for a moment. Then he feels it. The small smile. The way your shoulders shift just slightly, like you already know.
You start to turn over, probably to say something clever, and he doesn't let you finish. His hand finds your jaw and he kisses you before the words get out. You make a small surprised sound against his mouth. Then you melt into it.
Jack kisses you slow. Unhurried. His hand moves from your jaw to your waist, fingers spreading against the fabric of your shirt. He pulls you closer. You go willingly.
When he finally lets you breathe, your eyes are soft.
"Hi." He kisses you again before you can say anything else.
You laugh softly into it, your hands coming up to his chest. He's warm from the shower. Your fingers press into him like you're making sure he's real.
He takes his time. That's the thing about Jack. He's never in a rush with you. He kisses you until you stop thinking about anything besides his hands and his mouth and the weight of him slowly moving over you.
At some point your shirt disappears. You don't fully register when. You just know his lips are on your collarbone and then lower and then he's looking up at you from your chest with something in his eyes that makes your stomach drop in the best way.
He kisses across your ribs. Down your stomach. His hands move with him, warm and careful, touching every part of you as he goes like he's got nowhere else to be.
"Can I?" he murmurs against your hip, his eyes finding yours. His voice is low. A little rough.
He smiles. Presses a slow kiss to the inside of your thigh.
And then his fingers find you first. Two of them. Slow. Deliberate. Your breath catches immediately.
"That's right," he says quietly, watching your face. "Let me hear you."
You moan softly and your back lifts off the mattress. He works you open carefully, watching every reaction, adjusting without you having to ask. You grab the pillow behind your head and press into it.
"Jack-" His name comes out broken.
"I know." He presses a kiss to your inner thigh. "I've got you, okay? Just let it feel good." He pauses, fingertips still moving. "Can you do that for me?"
"Yes," you manage. "Yes, yes-"
He lowers his head and his tongue finds your clit and you gasp. The sound startles even you. He hums low against you like he's pleased, and the vibration makes your hips roll forward. His free hand spreads flat across your stomach, gentle but grounding.
He takes his time with this too. Slow strokes. Then a little faster when he finds what makes you grip the sheets. Your moans get quieter and more desperate at the same time, which is a thing you didn't know was possible until Jack.
He doesn't stop. He holds you exactly where you are and you come apart beneath him, your back arching off the bed, his name in your mouth like a prayer.
You're still catching your breath when he's kissing his way back up your body. Your stomach. Your ribs. Your chest. He takes his time there too, and you drag a hand lazily through his damp hair.
"Good girl," he murmurs against your skin.
His lips find yours and you pull him in. He tastes like you and you don't care even a little bit.
He pulls back just enough. His forehead drops to yours. "Can I?" he asks quietly.
You nod before he even finishes. "Yes. Please."
He smiles. Slow and warm. He reaches for the shorts, and they're gone. When he lines himself up and finally pushes inside, you both go still. Just for a second. Just to feel it. The sound he makes is low and quiet, pressed into your jaw.
You tilt your head back. "Jack."
"I know." He starts to move. Easy at first. Finding the rhythm with you.
His hands are everywhere. Not rushed, just present. Like he genuinely cannot stop touching you. He kisses you between breaths. Pulls back to look at you. Looks at you like you're the best thing he's ever seen, which does something completely unfair to your insides.
He shifts and his hand moves between you, thumb finding your clit, and you gasp into his shoulder.
"There it is," he says softly, and you can hear the smile in it.
"Yeah?" He kisses you. "So what?"
You laugh and it dissolves into a moan and he laughs too, low and warm, his face pressed into your neck.
His pace picks up just slightly. Not rushed, but more intentional now. You can feel him getting closer, feel the way his breathing changes against your skin. His thumb keeps working you, steady and perfect, and you're right there with him.
"Come on, baby," he murmurs into your hair. "Cum with me."
Your nails dig into his back, and you're almost there, right on the edge, and then he shifts just slightly and hits that spot, and you're gone. Your whole body tightens around him, and you gasp his name, and he follows you right over, burying his face in your neck as he finishes.
For a second, neither of you moves. Just breathing. Just holding each other.
Then he carefully rolls to the side, pulling you with him so you're pressed against his chest. His arm wraps around you, solid and warm. He lets out this long, satisfied breath.
You laugh softly. It's a small sound, but it fills the quiet room.
"What?" he asks, his voice rough and sleepy.
You look up at him, your chin resting on his chest. His hair is still damp from the shower. His eyes are soft. He looks completely content.
"I just love you," you say quietly.
His expression changes. Softens even more. He leans down and kisses you, slow and gentle, nothing urgent about it anymore. Just affection.
When he pulls back, he's smiling. "I love you more."
You roll your eyes. "That's not how it works."
"Yeah it is." He pulls you closer, tucking your head under his chin. "I love you more."
You smile against his chest and don't argue. Outside, the morning is getting brighter behind the curtains. But neither of you moves. You're both exactly where you want to be. His hand traces lazy circles on your back. Your fingers rest over his heart.
"Stay like this," you murmur.
"Always," he says, and he sounds like he means it.
