“Frank. Please. C’mon, I never ask anything of you. Pleeeeease!”
“Sweetheart, we’re gonna give someone’s gramma a goddamn heart attack if we wear this stupid shit. Think ‘bout that. You want that on your conscience?”
On command, over the collar of the I’M LIFE t-shirt you hold up, your eyes well up. Ain’t ever seen you this fuckin’ sad over somethin’ so stupid. Looks innocent. The shirt. Sounds innocent, yeah, right?
Wrong.
Frank drags a hand over his face. Christ. The fuck’s he supposed to do?
“But I got these for us,” you whine, knees bending, the weight of his reluctance crushing. “I spent my money on these and you’re gonna let them go to waste?”
“Yup,” Frank nods to solidify the situation. Turns towards the counter to refill his coffee, back to you.
With his back turned, your pout goes to the opposite end of the spectrum. A glare. You’ll win. You’re going to win. You’re going to see—no, make—Frank Castle wear this shirt. “…You really mean it?” Soft, exaggeratedly wounded.
The coffee pot clinks as Frank sets it back in. Turns around, back against the countertop. Looks at you over the rim of his mug with poised indifference. “Told you. Ain’t changin’ my mind.”
Fine. You’ll play the long game. Sweetness in the bat of your lashes, innocence in the doe eyes you lift up at him.
“Real cute,” he says. “Ain’t gonna work.”
Dismissively flopping your hand, you toss the shirt over your shoulder and meander to the island counter. You hoist yourself onto it, legs dangling.
“You know, Frankie… you wearing that shirt would make me incredibly… happy…” you muse, drawing out each word to entice. Humming, you pluck a ripe lime from the tiered fruit basket and inspect it with a high chin.
Brows furrowing through a swallow of coffee, Frank’s eyes follow the lime you toss between your hands with pointed skepticism. “Yeah? Gonna have to get used t’not gettin’ everything you want.”
But you both know that’s not an option.
“And Frank…” Taking the upper hand, face honey-sweet, voice syrupy low, you shake the lime in your hand at him. “Can you think of something that would make you happy? Perhaps, I dunno… a pie?” You pause, eyes glinting with satisfaction when you clock the instant flash in his expression. “My pie. Key lime pie.”
Situation escalated, Frank sets his mug aside like handling a bomb, his dark eyes dissecting your bait. “Don’t say shit you don’t mean, sweetheart,” somewhere between a warning and hope that’s got him salivating. “Ain’t fair t’do that to a guy.”
“Oh, I mean it. Wholeheartedly. If you think about it, really, love is… compromise, right? So this is just a… compromise. Something so we’re both happy.”
“Public humiliation and love don’t sound like compromise. Sounds like I get fucked both ways.”
“Literally if you wear the shirt!” you chime, beaming a smile so big your intentions are to blind him. “C’mon, Frank! C’mon. Please. Please, please, please. Look! I’ll even start on the pie right now.” You jump down, getting right to work to collect the ingredients. “See?” You call back over your shoulder, on your tiptoes to swat a bowl beyond your reach. “I’m starting it, right now, because you’re going to make a very happy woman.”
Because he can’t let you struggle, Frank stalks over. Reaches overhead with ease, looking right at you as he grabs the bowl. Hands it to you with narrowed eyes. No fuckin’ around. “Better have some goddamn whipped cream.”
☠︎︎
Compromising’s got the handles of twelve shopping bags hooked in Frank’s fingers.
It’s got him trudging along beside you at the fuckin’ mall, closest thing to a blush he’s ever experienced plastered to his face as you two put on public display that you fuck. Ears hot, mouth set flat and tight, he keeps bunching his shoulders like that’ll stretch the t-shirt suctioned to him. All black cotton, a size too small plastered to the iron-wrought line of his shoulders, bold white font demanding attention over the swell of his pecs: I’M LIFE.
Delusional in some movie fuckin’ montage shopping spree, your arm linked through his, you’re glued to his side with a face-splitting smile you make sure to flash him every few seconds.
The fuckin’ problem? Ruining the innocence and screaming to the public masses? Your shirt. Tighter than skin, it stretches over your breasts. Same as Frank’s: black cotton, bold font, the final punchline: I MAKE LIFE HARD.
The lady at the lingerie store gushed over it. Oh, how funny! she ogled, I wish my boyfriend would wear matching shirts with me! Then proceeded to buzz you around the store, Frank’s hand in tow, his boots like lead through the aisles of pink, red, and black; lace, leather, and bodysuits looking like he’d rather eat dirt than be exploited like this.
The cashier at the bookstore gasped, grinned, and demanded you tell her where you got those shirts. You did. Extensively. Included the bribe, how, of course Frank couldn’t be bought with sex, but pie was the cherry on top.
In passing, another woman ‘round your age rushed up, squealing. Frank’s only ever heard a worse sound one other time, and that was in Central Park. This bitch? Wearing a shirt identical to yours, her boyfriend on a leash identical to Frank’s: invisible, undignified, and irrevocably chained.
Hers said: I’M PEACE
His said: I COME IN PEACE
And Frank somehow felt a little better.
He and the other guy, soldiers in the trench together, exchanged solemn nods of understanding:
Sorry, man, guy seems to say.
Sorry, kid, Frank agrees.
I’d rather eat a bullet right now, per the look in his eyes.
Makes two of us, Frank admits without a word.
The afternoon carries on excruciatingly slow. Every second is pain. Every minute added torture. Goddamn sadist, Frank thinks, as he imagines eating a piece of key lime pie off your ass in the lingerie you bought.
“It doesn’t take much to make me happy, Frankie,” you state with a dreamy sigh, lashes heavy when they flutter, following his lead entirely because you’re on cloud nine.
“Hm?” Frank breaks from his fantasy. Forgot—for thirty precious seconds—his community shaming. “Yeah, yeah, princess,” he grumbles, side-eyeing every person that passes. Watches how they duck their heads, giggle, nudge their buddies to bring more attention to it.
Just like you wanted.
An old woman scoffs and shuffle-scurries her rat-dog by, like the blasphemy of the shirt might be an airborne contagion.
A group of young punks cackle and point, saying some shit about the ‘pussy whipped tank’, which, you both know, is Frank.
Frank lolls his head over, dark eyes pleading you through the glare. “The shit I do f’you.”
Grin so big it crinkles your nose, you squeak excitement behind your teeth. “That’s why you’re the best, Frankie.”
He softens. Visibly. The knot of his shoulders untangles. The glare melts away. A slow, deflating exhale from his nose. His eyes track over your face, almost… new again. Same way he did when he first saw you, and when he makes love to you, and when the nightmares leave him gutted and trembling and you’re the only thing to keep him sane.
It drains the play from your face, bottoms out your stomach. “Hey…” you murmur, steps coming to a halt. You reach up, smooth your hand over the stubble of his jaw. “You okay?”
Conflict pulls his face tight, thinking hard about it. His eyes fasten to your mouth, something hypotonic in the plump of gloss, the part of them like a goddamn invitation… Thinks too many goddamn thoughts about that mouth until his gut stirs. His throat dries, words a gravel rasp. “Christ. Out here makin’ life hard, sweetheart.”
Worry laces your brows, face slumping to a frown. “…I make your life hard?”
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now pretty baby i’m running back home, frank langdon
frank langdon x fem!reader (5k words)
in which frank is back from rehab, trying to act like nothing’s changed — but the tension between you says otherwise. you quietly make his first day easier, even as he starts noticing just how much you care.
warnings: frank’s addiction and back pain, reader and langdon had a love-hate relationship, fluff, sweet and touchy langdon, kissing
<𝟑 .ᐟ<𝟑 .ᐟ
Your mood is lighter than usual as you walk through the doors of the ER. Way lighter than it should be considering the fact that the 4th of july is no celebration in an emergency department. So you hold your excitement in for no one to see, only thing left being the feeling on your stomach.
Frank is coming back today. Everyone knows it, the information being a hot topic going around for the whole week. It leaves you wishing you had heard it from him.
You don't blame him, it's not like you were the closest friends ever when he left. If anything people thought you hated each others guts, always bickering and making everything a competition. But it was comforting in way, because it felt way easier to tease him than to tell him you actually just hated the effect he had on you.
And you still remember how didn't feel like you were antagonists at all the day he left, when he gave you his most genuine smile through the frustration he felt as you kissed his cheek and told him to get better.
So it's safe to say you have no idea what you're going to say to him once you're confronted with it. Should you act like nothing happened? You don't want to come off as mean. But can you act like his best friend all of the sudden? That seems like a bit too much.
You think you have enough time to think about it until walk into the locker hallway and he's standing right there, letter in hand as he reads it carefully.
He looks good, is the first thing you can think about. Casual clothes look good on him, making you wish you had more opportunities to see that side of him. Hair covered by the sports cap, bomber blue jacket hugging his torso and jeans that fit him just right. The bag slung over his shoulder tells you he's in here for the same reason as you.
"Langdon." The name slips easily from your tongue. Not Doctor Langdon, not Frank — just Langdon and exactly like you'd call him before. "You're back." As if it's some kind of surprise.
Frank looks up, and you're surprised by the way his lips stretch into a wide smile. You're too used to the roll his eyes that's followed by a smirk, not a warm smile.
“Hey.” His voice is unusually gentle, and to add up to your shock he steps in for a hug. “It’s so nice seeing you.”
His hands find your upper back, head almost against yours. It takes you a moment too long to react, hands moving from their awkward place at your sides to rest on his waist rather uneasily.
"Am i the first to see you?" You ask once he pulls away, as casually as possible.
"Oh no, there was big 'welcome back' sign when i walked in." He jokes, though you catch an undertone to it.
You notice how subconscious he seems to suddenly be, like he feels that no one has paid any mind to his absence. Which is a lie, because you didn't realize how his antics with you were a big part of your day until he was gone. And you find yourself talking about him with Mel without even realizing.
So instead of feeling like rolling your eyes at his smug remark, all you want to do is be nice to him.
"It's good that you're back." You settle truthfully.
"Couldn't let you steal my thunder for too long." He playfully remarks, though it's obvious he doesn't mean it.
"Sure." You snort, having to busy yourself with opening your locker to hide how warm you feel.
Frank stands there for a second, still looking at you like he wants to say something but doesn't in the end. You pretend not to pay attention as the locker doesn't open when he clicks on the numbers, huffing in frustration once he looks over at the letter in his hands.
He kneels down to where is new locker now is, and you now feel bad for having a top shelf one as if you're superior to him.
Then you see it from the corner of your eyes, the way his face contorts with pain once he bends forward before quickly masking it away. It makes your stomach sink with realization, and you think about how he probably feels like it's mockery that suddenly his locker is at the bottom. A little reminder of the pain on his back that got him here.
The gears turn on your head as your next words come out impulsively, "Would you mind trading lockers with me?"
Langdon shoots you a confused look before you rush to explain.
"It's not that high up but i struggle to reach the back sometimes." You wave your hands towards your locker, hoping the excuse doesn't sound too made up.
Because if he were to inspect it, he'd realize it's a complete lie. Sure, you'd rather have a locker one row down but you can still reach just fine with little effort.
"Yeah, sure." He seems to take it, seemingly unaware of the true meaning behind.
His ears turn a little pink as he gets up, face slightly angled away and making you have to fight back a wince at the sight.
You pull the few things you keep in you locker out, transferring them into the new one as you trade codes.
"Sorry for the bother." You give him a small smile of appreciation, as if he's the one doing you a favour. You want him to think that, because the last thing you wish is for him to feel like you're pitying him.
"It was no bother." He murmurs as he pulls out some scrubs from his backpack before stuffing it inside the locker. His expression being free of pain brings relief to you.
A sense of protectiveness washes over you and you decide that if there's anything you can do to make this easier for him, you'll do it. Not because you think he needs coddling, but because that's a friend would do. At least that's what he seems to want to be.
You make way to the break room for your first coffee of the day, sipping on it a while later as Robby does a short debriefing before the shift starts. You watch as Frank's face falls at being told to take over triage, though you suppose it has some fairness to it — but you still throw him a sympathetic glance.
Your paths don’t cross much again until you’re midway through the morning, looking forward for a second coffee as you catch a small break.
And you’re surprised by his presence for the second time. Frank is sitting on one of the chairs of the break room, fingers playing with the bracelet in his wrist as he looks ahead.
“Oh, hey.” You greet, not wasting any time as you pull a cup and pour the brown liquid into it. “Want one?” You question politely once you realize he doesn’t have one.
His only answer is a nod, stance a little anxious. You don’t ask him about it, settling for making him the coffee the way you remember him liking before quietly placing it in front of him.
“Thanks.” His smile is tight.
You turn your back to leave, stopping on your tracks once he calls your name. “Do you have a second? Kinda wanted to talk to you about something.”
“Course.” You soften, pulling the chair beside him to sit. To be truthful, you’re not sure if you do have a minute but you’re praying no one interrupts it.
“I wanted to say that i’m sorry.” He starts, voice steady to make it clear he means it. “For a lot of things, really. Mostly for abandoning and disappointing you, none of it was your fault and i ended up just putting it out on you and making your time here a bit more miserable.”
Your heart tightens in your chest, and although you don’t agree with a lot of what he’s just said it’s still nice to know he’s acknowledging it. That he’s put thought into this and is trying to improve his communication.
“You didn’t abandon us. And you sure as hell didn’t disappoint me.” You retort with a reassuring look, even when you know he doesn’t believe it. “I was worried if anything.”
“I’m still sorry.” He clears his throat, sitting up straight in his seat. “I was addicted and made it everybody else’s problem. That’s not fair— even if our whole thing was being mean to each other.”
“You’re forgiven, then.” Your hands reaches to squeeze Frank’s, a small smile pulling at his lips.
“I kept like— meaning to text you.” The doctor cringes as the words come out, “Just didn’t know what to say. Felt weird.”
“It’s okay.” You chuckle.
But knowing that he had felt the same as you all these months brings relief to you.
“Missed you.” Frank breathes, vulnerable.
“Don’t go growing sweet on me, Langdon.” You huff, but the squeeze you give to his fingers tells him it’s okay.
You feel giddy once his cheeks turn slightly rosy at your words, a smile that shows teeth on his mouth. The roles would’ve been turned a few months ago, his flirty remarks thrown at you as you huffed in frustration when your skin grew as hot as a flame.
“You’re different.” You assert gazing at him.
“Good different?” He inquires softly, thumb tracing your knuckles timidly.
“Still under observation.” You shrug your shoulders, soft under the attention that he gives you.
You feel different around him now, more comfortable. Knowing him felt different before, all the ocasional intimate moments you shared with him didn’t come close to what this one feels like.
“So mean.” He gasps in false offense.
A laugh bubbles out of your throat, as gentle as you feel. You notice his eyes flicker to it but don’t think much of it.
The door opening has you pulling apart from his hand, as if being caught red handed. You’re not quite sure why you do it, because friends can hold hands.
Dana eyes you both with raised eyebrows before focusing on you without making any comment on it. “Mckay needs you on trauma 2.”
“Yeah, i’ll be right there.” You get up in a jump.
The nurse is out before you know it, already busing herself with something else.
The moment turns awkward and you avoid making it worse by heading towards the door with slight regret. Before your hand touches the handle, you turn back.
“You can still text me, you know? Just— about whatever if you need to.” Your suggestion is clear, hopeful look in your eyes.
“Yeah, i will.” He nods before picking up the coffee you made.
You leave the room feeling lighter, the weight on your shoulders finally off. Maybe it was meant to go this way. All you needed to start again was a little push.
The interaction has you feeling like a teenager, giddy and emotional. Your stomach tingling even more than used to when he’d brush his fingers against yours for more than needed.
Maybe different is good.
<𝟑 .ᐟ<𝟑 .ᐟ
The keyboard clicks under your fingers as you type fast, something you've gotten better at over the years of charting that piles up if you don't learn to be organized.
It's always a nice short moment to rest your legs before getting back to running back and forth, from patient to patient. So you've started looking at it as a relaxing period.
You roll your neck as it starts to feel a little stuck from being in the same position for long, tapping your finger victouriously against the table as you finish what feels like enough for now.
"Think fast." Langdon appears on your right, throwing you a packet that you manage to catch successfully.
It becomes familiar once you turn it, your favourite chocolate. And maybe it was a hunch because you don't remember ever mentioning it to him.
"Thank you." You shoot him a grateful look, it has been a few hours since you last ate. "I'll pay you back later."
"Don't worry about it." He brushes your idea off, standing in front of the big screen to take a look at the patient list. "Choose your next patient yet?"
"Nope." You manage through a mouthful.
"There's a guy who thinks he got bitten by an exotic spider, has it in a jar and everything." He brings up before suggesting, "That could be cool. You should check it out."
You find yourself unable to hold back the amused glance you throw him. "I might."
The doctor's answer is a hum, hands behind his head as he stretches. You pretend not to pay attention to the skin that peaks from under his scrubs shirt.
With a sigh, Langdon bends on one knee to tie the laces of his snickers that seem to be undone.
You're about to reach for an ipad when you hear him groan, caught midway through getting back up for a second. It's obvious that the sound comes out without his permission, teeth coming to bite on his lower lip.
"Fuck." He curses, hand pressing against his lower back and neck red from either embarrassment or pain.
You rush to get up from your chair, thorn between doctor and friend mode. "Langdon," Your call is careful as you approach him with worried eyes.
"M'fine." He mumbles, not looking you in the eye. An immediate lie that you can see is reflexive.
"I didn't even ask if you were." Your words are soft, somehow proving a point. You watch him exhale, eyes shutting for a second longer from what you think is probably his ache flaring.
"Just got up too fast, don't worry about it." He brushes it off, still his teeth are gritted.
You touch his arm with your hand, "Are you in pain? You can sit for a bit, i'll cover--"
"I don't need help." Frank interrupts sharply and fast, taking a step back so your hands falls.
You chuckle nervously, "I didn't say you do."
The tension builds in your chest as he starts to build a wall between the two of you, refusing to let you see any vulnerability that comes from prickling on his back. You try not to let it get to you, maybe he's not ready to acknowledge it yet and would react like this with anyone else.
But are you anyone?
"You insinuated it." He crosses his arms with a huff, blue eyes set on anything but you.
You fight back a scoff, about to say something when he steps in again.
"Look, just don't tell anyone about this." It's almost a beg, though the way he looks towards you makes you sure he's mad at you.
Now you just feel frustrated, because you don't think you've given him reason to think you go around telling things about him. Or that he can't trust you. The frown on your face probably tells him exactly how hurt you feel, because he steps away again before you get a chance to speak.
"Gotta go check on a patient." He shoves his hands in his pockets awkwardly before practically running from you.
You watch him walk away until he's out of your sight, aware of how stupid you look standing there like you were stood up on a date.
"Trouble in paradise?" Dana questions with a sly grin when you finally go back to your chair.
"Dunno how this ER is ever a paradise." You ignore what she's so obviously hinting at, doing your best to look like it's not affecting you.
"Is there something i should know about,?" She asks more seriously now, tucking her glasses on the collar of her scrubs.
"There's no something." You huff, unaware of the scrunch of your eyebrows.
"Right." She snorts sarcastically. "You seemed to be at his throat a few months ago. And now you're actually nice to him. So there is something, honey."
"I just know when to stop, he doesn't need that right now." You refer to the dynamic you had before. Though you can feel it building back up after the last interaction.
"He sure as hell still looks at you like the sun shines out your ass." The nurse's smile is teasing as she says, but her look tells you she's being honest.
"He doesn't" You wish he did. "Besides, he used to hate me too." You prompt.
"Cause it was the only way you'd pay him attention." She retorts with raised eyebrows before adding, "That boy is head over heels for you."
You remember how your first impression wasn't the best, the way he immediately eyes you up and down and acted confident, way too confident. As if you had no option but to already be charmed by him.
Yet you barely spared him a glance, even when he looked taken aback. And from then on the bickering started. You pretended to hate him, he did too. That was the easiest way through the path you didn't want to go into in the first place.
You catch yourself almost believing Dana's words, having to shake yourself out of it when you notice her knowing stare.
"I need to stop listening to you." You declare, getting up from your chair with the intention of distracting yourself with a patient.
"Kids these days." Is the last thing you hear her mumble.
<𝟑 .ᐟ<𝟑 .ᐟ
You make it your task to not be gloomy over one interaction for the rest of the day. Try to distract yourself with seeing as many patients you can, consequentely not having to see Frank again without having to look like you're avoiding him.
This not to mean that you're angry at him, you just have no idea how to act after that. Maybe tomorrow you can come back and pretend that it didn't happen, exactly like he wants.
So you get through your shift just as if it's just another one without him — like the many others in the past few months.
By the time it’s over you’re grouchy, bag thrown messily over your shoulder and earphones on as you make your way outside. The bus station is the last place you want to be right now and you feel like you might just take the long walk home.
The timing feels perfect, the 4th of july fireworks erupting through the sky when you’re making your way through the parking lot. It has you stopping for a moment, eyes looking up at the sparkling.
Hands stuffed on your jean’s pockets, you feel a little relieved at the fresh air hitting the back of your neck over the humid weather. A sigh leaves your nose, shoulders slumping as the tension of work leaves your body.
A hand touching your arm has you jumping, finding Langdon staring at you with an apologetic but tempting smile.
“Didn’t mean to scare you.” He’s now beside you on the sidewalk, back on his casual clothes.
“It’s fine.” You shrug, turning your attention back to the fireworks.
The silence between you goes slightly unnoticed by them, but becomes evident once the noise starts dying down.
“Heard about your closed cervical reduction.” You prompt, chewing slightly on the inside of your cheek in a nervous antic.
“Yeah.” He perks up, excitement in his voice. “I think i’m still shaking.” His hand lifts in the air, you try not think too much about how attracted you are to it.
“That must have been pretty cool.” You reply, a little regretful of not having been there to witness.
“Didn’t know i still had it in me.” Frank admits, self doubt all over the frown on his eyebrows.
“Of course you do.” You retort immediately, like it’s obvious. Because it is.
His whole expression softens at your words, big blue eyes staring right into yours and you think of how much he looks like a kicked puppy right now. It makes you want to smile.
“I’m sorry for snapping at you earlier.” His apology is genuine. And he looks regretful for having to do it for the second time today.
Your reflex is to want to say that ‘it’s fine’. But you don’t. Because it actually feels good to know that he is sorry. So you nod slowly, accepting but not leaving space for anything else.
“It’s still a little bit of a— sore subject? My back.” Langdon tries, grimacing at the way his words come out. “I’m working on it, i promise.”
You let your lips pull into a sympathetic smile, “I understand. Didn’t mean to make it seem like you’re weak or in need of help.”
“You didn’t.” He asserts with a shake of his head. “It was hurting. It hurts even more today because of how long i haven’t worked for.”
Your shoulders brush and you feel a shiver on your arms, even over how warm it feels. “Is there anything i can do to help?”
“Are you by any chance a good massager?” The doctor jokes with a teasing smile.
But you take it in consideration, fingers moving before you get to rethink your actions.
His eyes widen once he realizes what you’re doing. “I was just joking, you don’t—”
“I can do it.” You interrupt.
Your hand reaches for his lower back, moving closer as you press your fingers into the muscles there to try to bring some tension down. You use your thumb to make slow circles on the muscles on either side of his spine, pleased when he lets out a sigh.
“You forget i’m a pretty good doctor too.” You play, voice lower.
“You are.” He hums, a little distracted by the touch of your fingers even if over his shirt.
The realization of the intimate moments has your heart pounding against your ribcage, almost jumping out of your throat in the process. You’re glad he can’t feel how hot your skin right now.
“Does that help?”
“Yeah.” Frank breathes, air puffing out of his lips slowly — you can’t help but look at the way his throat looks good as it does, not even when he adverts his eyes back to yours.
You wish you had the courage to slip your fingers inside his shirt and feel his skin that radiates with warmth over the shirt.
With sudden embarrassment you pull away, breathing in a little too hard as you try to make yourself look composed. But the man next to you seems just as flustered, hand running through his hair like it became messy for no specific reason.
“Hey.” He calls after another moment. “Wanna go out for dinner?” It comes off casually, his lips pressed together in a line of an awkward smile.
You chuckle in surprise, “As celebration for your successful return?”
Something flickers in his eyes, “Sure.”
As much as you want to, it could get too late really quickly and you don’t have the will to walk all the way home late at night. “I’d love to, but i’ll have no way to get home after.”
“I can drop you off.” He says simply.
“Are you sure?” You ask with uncertainty, feeling a little like a bother.
The look Langdon throws you tells you he’s offended you’re even asking, eyebrows raised because the answer is obvious. “Never been more.”
“Okay.” Your words are sheepishly, “Thanks.”
“C’mon.” He motions with his head towards the street, arm reaching out for a moment like he’s going to wrap it around your shoulders before he drops it back on his side.
You end up getting take away, finding an empty bench on the park and making yourself as comfortable as possible with boxes scattered all around.
The hum that leaves your throat is honest as you have your first bite, stomach finally happy after not having a real meal for hours.
“I don’t know how you like those.” Frank grimaces as you stuff a french fry inside your mouth.
“They’re perfect.” You shrug with indifference, more interested in the food in front of you.
“They’re soggy.” He points with a bite of his own burger, sauce on the corner of his lips in an adorable way.
“More for me.” You retort happily.
Langdon can’t help but it set his eyes on you for longer than needed, taking in your tired expression and wrinkly clothes. Your untied shoes and the way you curl into yourself, eyelids closing and opening slowly. He could look at you like this forever, vulnerable and sweet.
“What?” You frown as you notice his staring, napkin coming up to your mouth in attempt to clean the reason of it.
“Nothing.” He shakes his head with a small smile. “‘S just weird. Us not arguing all the time.”
You cock your head to the side in confusion, “I guess.”
What you don’t know is that he’s scared you liked him better before. Because what you said about him being different is true and your words have stuck on his brain like a vine. He’s just hoping you mean it in a good way.
“Do you miss it?” The vulnerable question comes out before he gets to stop it, voice small.
“Miss what?” You ask after a sip of soda, still unaware of his distress.
“Our bickering.”
You pretend to think for a moment. “A little.” You answer teasingly, smirk on the corner of your lips.
Frank’s stomach drops just a little, “Wow. So rude.” He tries to joke back, but the way his chuckle comes out force has you looking at him.
“Frank.” You bump your shoulder with his as reassurance, “I like different.” I like this version of you. Although you don’t say it.
He takes it, relaxed at your words.
Conversation flows easily between you, and he feels like an absolute idiot for taking so long to finally get to know you and what you like. He’s wasted too much time. So he listens to you talking your mouth off about a movie you watched a week ago, paying attention like it’s the most important thing you’ve ever told him.
You talk about whatever comes to mind, work swirling into the conversation as you talk about your first day at work.
“I don’t even know why you hated me so much!” He quips in as you go on about how meeting everyone was.
“To be fair, you came off as quite cocky. Y’know, with your whole—” You gesture with your hands. “Perfect tidy hair and bluest eyes ever thing.”
Your defence has him grinning widely. "You think my hair is perfect?"
And the worse is that you truly do, eyes catching the strand that falls across his forehead in the most perfect pattern. You’d be stupid to say he’s not beautiful as hell. You’re sure a lot of girls think the same, it has brought a certain green eyed monster way too many times.
“Jerk.” You huff, not denying.
“I was trying to impress you, by the way.” He adds as if it’s an obvious thing.
You’re hot at the compliment, food discarded as you clean your hands with a napkin just to have something to do other than looking embarrassed.
His fingers come to grab at yours, pulling your attention back to him and making it impossible to avoid his words. “Honest.” They squeeze your skin.
You can almost hear your heart as his eyes trace every inch of your face, stopping for an extra second once they land on your lips. The urge to lean in is stronger than you, only until you almost get to feel his breath against your skin.
Frank angles his body towards yours back, hand dropping from yours to rest on your knee. His thumb brushes over your jeans, tentatively eyeing you as to make sure you’re okay with whatever is happening. You don’t seem to hate it at all, your own eyes glued to his lips.
He clears his throat gently, “I want to do this right, i promise. I’m not screwing up this time. And i-“
“Frank.” You stop him.
“Yeah?” He’s almost waiting for your rejection.
“Shut up.” You mumble, holding back a smile at the way his eyes look a little glassier when he’s up close.
“Okay.” He nods vigorously, letting you take charge as you pull him into a kiss.
Fingers immediately reach into his hair, leaving it messy as you run them through it like you’ve always dreamed about doing. He hums at the gesture, free hand coming to rest against your ribs.
You’re sure he can probably feel your heart beating wildly against them, moving closer on the bench so his hand slips down to the slot of your waist more comfortably.
The soft squeeze he leaves there has you melting against him, fingers wondering down to his bicep and squeezing it in retribution. His muscles flex under your touch, pulling you flush against him with gentleness. His nose presses to yours with a sigh, intoxicating taste invading your mouth and having you never want to kiss anyone else again.
He’s the one to pull away after a few minutes, pressing a wet kiss to your cheek for good measure and keeping you close even without his mouth on yours.
“Everyone’s betting on this at work.” You sigh at his mouth against your jaw. “We should pretend to hate each other and make them all lose.”
“They’re all betting on us getting together?” He asks unfocused.
“Yeah.” Before adding with a tease, “Wonder where they got that idea from.”
He hums with a pinch on the softness by your hip, “Don’t think i’m gonna be able to pretend i don’t wanna kiss you all the time.”
You could be okay with that. You think as he pulls you into a warm hug, pressing one last long kiss to the top of your head.
And now that he knows what’s at stake he’s not risking losing you again.
SUMMARY: Working a double shift on your birthday was a fine idea until you come to the realization that you have yourself a little stalker situation on your hands… and Jack is less than pleased to learn about it.
WARNINGS: mentions of a stalker and panic attacks, inaccurate medical reportings (by me lol), protective Jack, brief mentions of mental illness, non-established relationship, some light flirting and lots of internalised "he'll never want me how I want him" angst
A/N: hehe I had a dream about this and started writing immediately...it did turn out pretty long so I had to split it into two parts, I do apologise BUT I am aiming to have the second part out by the weekend (which I promise includes smut)!!
PAIRING: Jack Abbot x Reader
WORD COUNT: 8.5k
PART TWO
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆
The walk from your apartment to PTMC is usually one you take the time to appreciate. Twenty minutes of undisturbed, allocated music time. And more often than not, your only daily intake of fresh air and occasional sunshine.
This evening however, you’re having no such luck. You’ve forgotten to charge your AirPods—your only set of portable audio equipment—so music is out of the question, and the second your feet hit the pavement, the heavens above open up and rain down on you.
Not the most ideal start to your double shift, you know, but it could’ve been worse. At least you always keep a spare change of clothes and shoes in your locker and with any luck, the Pitt will be calm enough for you to savor a coffee while conducting shift change.
You hurry through the automatic doors at the ambulance bay in an attempt to find some warmth inside, and when you do, it’s in more ways than just the physical sense.
“Happy birthday!”
You blink at the scene before you. The central hub is littered with gift bags, balloons and banners. Half of your colleagues and friends are gathering around, beaming at you and a grin stretches across your soaked face when Santos pulls the string on a party popper.
Mel’s feet quickly bring her to you, her smile wide as she awkwardly wraps her arms around you from the side and pulls away with an overly ecstatic grin.
“Happy birthday,” she repeats again and you mirror her expression, though yours is slightly more softened.
“Thanks, Mel,” you breathe, turning back to the central hub.
You purse your lips together, can feel your eyes welling with unshed tears. In the eight years you’d been at PTMC, you’ve always managed to book your birthday off. And while they’ve always made an effort to plan a birthday meal or drinks to celebrate with you, you’ve never walked into something like this.
It makes your heart swell, makes it ache. You’ve had a few casual jobs before here, while you were in college and even before, but never once have you felt like you belong. Not like they make you feel.
You sniffle and wipe your eyes, smile still wide, and the rainy, music-less walk to work is suddenly completely forgotten about. Approaching the nurses desk, you take in the scene properly through a slightly distorted vision.
At least seven gift bags are scattered across the top section of the desk, two bouquets of flowers, three helium balloons and two large banners.
“You guys are so cute,” you coo as you inspect the bags. That’s when you notice the open white box and your eyes widen even further. A cream frosted cake sits neatly in the box, the words ‘Happy 30th Doc!’ are piped on in a green icing calligraphy.
You’re slightly overwhelmed at the amount of love they’re outright showing you.
You hear a clap of hands and turn to find Robby standing in front of you all, a fond smile on his lips when he looks at you and dips his head.
“Alright, you’ve all seen your favorite Doctor. Now, respectfully, fuck off and go home. It’s been a long day and the majority of you are back here bright and early tomorrow morning.”
Mel is the first to give you a hug goodbye, excitement still evident in her body as she bounces on her feet slightly. Then Santos, which is more of a pat on the back, and Whitticker hugs you like he’s still a teenager that hasn’t ever touched a girl before.
Langdon almost crushes you when he wraps his arms around your shoulders, Javadi opting to wave goodbye and Dana pressing a kiss to your cheek and smoothing down your wet hair.
“Have a good shift, doll. Enjoy the cake.” She grins as you blow her a kiss goodbye.
You feel the weight of Robby’s hand on your shoulder and turn to face him and the rest of the staff you’ll be working with tonight.
Only a few familiar faces looked back at you. Shen, Boone, Ellis, Mohan. Nurses flitter about but your eyes land on four new faces you haven’t yet seen.
Robby looks at them expectantly and you notice the way they shift to stand a little straighter.
The young blonde clears her throat and plasters on a smile. “Amelia Crovinch, MS3.”
The second is a short man, probably early thirties with a ginger stubble and a podgy stomach. “Ricky Perkins, MS2.”
The third is much taller. A man in probably his late twenties, dark hair, dark eyes and you would be stupid to not admit that he’s attractive. He grins at you, eyes flirty. Fucking fantastic. “Charlie Holloway, MS3. Happy birthday, gorgeous.” He winks.
You turn away from him to the final one, trying to hide your grimace at the wink. A woman who looks to be in her mid twenties, expressionless and far too snooty for your liking. “Karen Molloy, MS4.”
“Perfect.” Robby claps his hands together. “This is Dr. Y/L/N, R4, though hopefully soon attending. If Dr. Shen and Dr. Abbot are otherwise busy, this is who you will go to for a typical attending clearance.”
“But she’s not an attending,” Molloy argues.
Fantastic, you’re sure you’re going to get along just superbly with her.
You raise a brow, turning away to look back at Robby. “Jack’s working tonight?” You ask instead, hoping you hide your excitement well enough.
Robby nods, opens his mouth to speak when another voice does it for him. “Happy birthday to my favorite R4.”
Jack approaches swiftly, that crooked yet flirty smile on the corner of his mouth. Your stomach flips at the sight of him, the sound of his voice. It’s pathetic really, the amount of affect he has on you over something as trivial as speaking.
You roll your eyes fondly. “I’m your only R4.”
Jack stops just short of you, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “And if there were more, you’d still be my favorite.” He says it lightly enough for it to be perceived as a joke but you know better.
You know you’re Jack’s favorite. If his behaviour toward you compared to others is anything to go by. He taught you most of what you know, advocated for you to sit in on new things and take control when more authority was needed. Jack believes in you, respects you wholeheartedly, and he has never been afraid to show it.
It’s made you giddy for years, makes you silly enough to believe you’re his favorite something else, too. But Jack is a flirt, he gives eyes to everyone he speaks with and since you started working here eight years ago, you’ve had to remind yourself of the fact every day.
His gaze is still on you, one that lingers just a second too long. When he moves his eyes to look at Robby and most probably send him home, you take the moment to address the students with a kind smile.
“It’s nice to meet you all, night shifts can be a little crazy but we all try to work together as a team to get through.”
Another set of hands meet your shoulders as a presence looms over you from behind. His scent consumes you, warm and enticing, familiar in a way it shouldn’t be, in a way you want it to be more. It takes every ounce of composure you have to not allow your face to betray you.
“I am going to get our birthday girl up to speed…Dr. Ellis, Cravinch, do you mind moving all of this to the break room, please?” Jack gestures to the gifts and balloons on the nurses station.
Ellis nods, reaching for your arm and smiling wickedly. “Happy birthday, baby.” You grin at her, offering thanks and telling everyone to help themselves to cake whenever they want it.
You salute Robby playfully as you pass him, heading toward the lockers to rid yourself of your damp jacket and backpack and change your shoes. You can feel Jack following close behind you, can hear his soft steps before he leans on his crossed arm against the lockers, body facing you.
“Robby said you’re working a double?” You break the silence as you stuff your damp sneakers and jacket into the locker, toeing on your dry pair of spare converse. You side-eye him playfully. “Aren’t you getting a little too old for that shit now?”
Jack’s brows rise comically high at your comment, his own mouth curling into a smirk. He rolls his shoulders, not moving from his position leaning against the lockers. “I’m forty-seven.”
You nod slowly, lips pursed as you shut your locker and turn to face him, mirroring his body language. A playful look gleams in his eyes and you have to force your thighs not to clench together.
Jack is a flirt.
He does this with everyone.
You are his favourite R4 and nothing else.
“I didn’t think you were working tonight.” he comments and for a brief moment you let yourself be deluded enough to believe he keeps tabs on your shift pattern.
You sigh. “I was supposed to be in this morning but apparently there was a scheduling error, so instead I’m spending my birthday in my favorite place.” You grin at him sarcastically and the corner of his lips kicks up in a smile.
It makes your pulse thunder. You need to get a fucking grip.
You take a step away from the lockers and Jack follows, his arm brushing yours as you adjust the stethoscope around your neck. It’s comfortable and professional as he walks you around the ED, filling you in on the current patients, what they need, what they’re waiting for.
And Jack also makes a point of letting every patient know it’s your birthday and to be on their best behaviors. It makes you laugh, blush and cringe every time they offer birthday wishes, but it made you beam when a seven year old girl with a broken wrist sang to you. You promised to bring her a fat slice of cake for it.
“This is the last one. Caleb Dawkins, thirty-three year old male who has been persistent to the day shift that he is unhappy with their lack of diagnoses and insisted on waiting to be seen by a different doctor on the night shift.” Jack mutters to you as you both stop just short of outside the curtain.
You sigh, plaster on a smile and walk into his private sector.
The patient on the bed is quite attractive. Dark hair, long lashes, bright eyes that remind you of Langdon’s. His skin is tan, patchwork tattoos across his arms and absolutely no reason for his shirt to be off with no motoring equipment attached to him.
“Hi, Mr Dawkins, I’m Dr Y/L/N, what brings you in today?” you poise it as politely as you can but you really don’t have the energy tonight for someone coming in and wasting time and resources if there’s nothing wrong with them.
Caleb stills when he sees you, a smile breaking across his lips when he realises you’re a doctor that hasn’t yet seen him. “Hey Doc, I got some pain in my chest,” he grunts, rubbing at his sternum.
You frown, reaching for his chart and reading over the notes. You feel Jack’s presence behind you, looking over your shoulder at the notes and you bite the inside of your cheek.
“Caleb, your EKG and bloodwork came back all clear.” Jack tells him—which you feel like isn't for the first time with the huff that follows—and takes the chart from you as you approach the patient.
“Lay back for me, just gonna have a listen.” You recline his bed back, pressing the cool metal of the stethoscope to his bare chest. You keep it there for a few moments, eyes focused on the wall opposite you.
You pull away. “Your heart rate is perfect. Have you experienced any vomiting, fever, dizziness…?”
He shakes his head. “I’ve been feeling hot and cold on and off.”
You hum and reach for the thermometer, guiding it to his ear and checking for a fever. It beeps, flashing green and you place it back, side-eyeing Jack who stands at the foot of the bed with his arms crossed.
You turn back to Caleb with a friendly smile. “Your temp is fine, but I can get one of the nurses to come back and run some more bloods, see if there’s anything we missed.”
“Can’t you do that?” he argues.
You make a pout and let out a breath. “Our nurses are very capable and I have a lot of patients to check on, but I will be back soon when I have your blood results, okay?”
You don’t wait for him to reply before following Jack out of the section and loosening a breath. “He is going to be here all night isn’t he,” you mutter and he hums in agreement as he guides you both to the break room.
You corner Princess on the way, asking if she can run another lot of bloods for Caleb before the smell of coffee washes over you and Jack is handing you a cup, his fingers ghosting against yours for a brief moment.
The break room is filled with your gifts and balloons and cake. You smile at it all, that warmth in your chest returning. “Seems pretty calm out there, why don’t you take a look at what you got?” Jack says over the rim of his polystyrene cup.
“I’ll go through it when I get home.” You wave a hand, picking up the card in the flowers to read the note.
A bouquet of pink and white tulips from Robby. A bouquet of pink and blue hydrangeas from Whittaker and Santos, and a large bouquet of red roses with no note. You turn to Jack, pointing at them. “Do you know who those are from?”
He shakes his head, approaching to look at them. “Dana said they got delivered for you this afternoon, no card on them, though. Maybe Collins?” he suggests.
You laugh loudly at that. “Yeah, because Collins is going to get me roses for my birthday.”
That stupid fucking smirk spreads across his mouth. He shrugs again. “I don’t know then. Are you…seeing anyone?”
Your gaze snaps to his then, and you must be seeing things because you’re almost certain the smirk on his face is fading as he asks. You swallow, tongue swiping across your lower lip as you look back at the roses.
“No, I haven’t even been on a date in like…forever…” Realisation of the fact crept up on you and a crushing weight began to settle its way beneath your ribcage. While you haven’t been on a date in a hot minute, you have seen these exact roses far too often recently. Something that no longer feels like a coincidence.
For the past six weeks, every Wednesday, this exact bouquet has been left sitting on the steps to your apartment building. Something you never truly acknowledged much of before. There on a Tuesday, gone by Wednesday. But now, they are here. Left at the nurses station. A delivery for you.
It makes your blood run cold, a daunting fear that begins to wedge its way beneath your ribcage. You’re not seeing anyone, there is no reason for you to be receiving roses.
The stillness of your shoulders doesn’t go unmissed by Jack. It concerns him slightly, piques his interest. He takes a step closer, frowning at the roses then frowning at you.
“What—”
Jack’s words are cut off when one of the med students—that you’ve already forgotten the name of—calls out to you for assistance.
You take a breath, grab the roses and shove them into the trash in the corner of the break room. Jack watches with raised brows and confusion swimming in his eyes. He’s about to speak again when another call for help shouts across the ED, Jack’s name tagged onto the end of it.
He grabs your wrist and gives it a squeeze. “We’ll talk about this later.”
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆
The next five hours of your shift is chaos incarnate.
No coffee, no breaks. Three cardiac arrests, two addicts who had overdosed, three critically injured in a car accident and a guy who was stupid enough to attempt to breath fire after watching a four minute long youtube tutorial and ended up with third degree burns in his throat and across his face and neck.
You haven’t been on your game. You mind has been distracted, stuck on those fucking unsolicited roses.
And by the time it gets to 2am and you sneak off to the break room for at least a sip of coffee, all of your birthday cake has been eaten and the coffee pot is empty. It’s typical for you to be interrupted the second a fresh pot finishes brewing.
“Um, your phantom chest pain guy is refusing to speak to a doctor that isn’t you.” Amelia mutters apologetically.
You close your eyes for a moment, blindly pouring coffee into a cup and pressing the lid on. “I can come with you, assert some male dominance.” Charlie suggests, like it was an offer that would do you a favor.
You find yourself wishing it was Charlie that passed out at the sight of blood and got sent home instead of Perkins.
You look at him with a bored expression, brow quirked at the audacity. You wonder how far up his ass his head really is. A hand lands on his shoulder—one you’re too familiar with, one you fantasise about late at night.
“I am going to pretend I didn’t just hear you say that.” Jack speaks low, eyes peering into yours but you avoid his gaze.
He’s been trying to speak with you since your little outburst in the break room at the start of shift but you’ve been avoiding him. You don’t feel like admitting your little situation aloud to anyone—least of all to him. You won’t be able to handle the disappointment on his face when you also admit that you’ve been oblivious to it for weeks.
“Shen is about to perform a chest tube thoracostomy in Trauma Room 3, great learning experience,” he mutters to the students.
When you sneak another glance at him, he’s already looking at you, Charlie and Amelia rushing to the action. He jerks his head to the side. “Walk with me?”
You huff but relent, shoulders low and feet scuffling. “You gonna tell me what's going on?” he presses softly.
You keep your eyes ahead. “If I make it through this double shift, sure—Mr Dawkins, I heard you were asking for me, what’s going on?”
He sits up in his bed, still not attached to any monitoring equipment because it still isn’t needed. You truly don’t know how much longer you can keep your patience with him. You raise your brows expectantly when you’re ignored and follow his line of sight to Jack who remains close behind you.
“You her guard or something? She not capable of doing anything on her own?” Caleb’s voice is harsh as he addresses Jack and it gets your back up immediately.
You whirl back to look at him with raised brows. “I asked Dr Abbot to assist me. We’re at a loss here, Caleb.” You sigh as you take a seat on the swivel stool beside his bed. “Your bloodwork is coming back perfectly normal, your heart rate is steady, no temperature. You have no bruising or swelling, no abnormalities when we’ve checked over your chest.”
Jack watches with crossed arms from the curtain.
“So what are you saying?” he asks you softly.
But before you can even open your mouth, Jack is speaking. “We’re saying we don’t think you’re really having chest pains.”
Caleb’s face grows angry, expression furrowed as he sits up in the bed, all frustration directed toward Jack. You stand immediately.
“You’re saying I’m making this shit up?”
“No! No, we are not saying that,” you reassure as calmly as you can, palms in the air in a futile attempt at surrender, an offer to calm him. You sit back slowly on the stool when Caleb lays back in the bed.
You chew on your bottom lip, shifting closer on the stool and trying to keep your expression friendly and open. “Caleb, are there any…mental health illnesses within your family?”
He blinks at you, slowly before a brow raises just an inch. “You think I'm insane?”
You smile as you shake your head. “No, but I think you think you’re feeling sensations that aren’t there. We’ve run many tests, Caleb, and nothing is coming back to suggest that what you’re feeling is physical feeling.”
You let the words hang in the air, let him stare at you as he processes what you said. For a brief moment, you think he might lunge for you, so does Jack by the way he takes a careful step closer to your back.
Caleb blinks again. “My dad has uh…he has schizophrenia.”
With pursed lips, you nod. “Okay, I’m going to put you in for a CT scan so we can see if there are any enlarged ventricles or cortical atrophy. They can sometimes be a sign of schizophrenia, but not always. We have a social worker in the ED, her name is Kiara. I can get her to come down and speak with you if you’re open to it?”
Caleb shakes his head. “No, I don’t want to speak to anyone that isn’t you.”
You swallow with a nod, forcing a kind smile. “Okay. I won’t be able to take you for the CT but I will come and check on you when you’re done.”
You stand to leave, palms clammy as you approach Jack when Caleb calls your name again. Turning to face him, he smiles at you, kind, flirty. And not at all worried about the possibility of having schizophrenia. Figures.
“Happy birthday, baby.”
You nod a thanks a little hesitantly, irked by the nickname and with a hand on your lower back, Jack guides you to the nurses station. “Happy birthday, baby.” He mimics playfully in a low voice and the repetition of the nicknames makes your shoulders tense.
Because it doesn’t irk you when it’s coming from Jack’s lips. It sets your body alight in excitement and wonder. Baby. Oh God, you’ll be playing this moment in your head for weeks to come. Your mind is already storing the nickname and tone away into your mental Rub Hub.
Despite his attempt at lightening your mood, you can feel Jack’s eyes on you as you sit at a computer to chart, to book in that CT. You feel him hovering and while you’ll usually bask in the attention, this time you rear away from it.
The questioning is coming, you know that. But if you can avoid it until at least the end of the night shift, you will.
“You want me to make a call to Psych?” Jack asks and you sigh. “Would you mind? I know a CT isn’t a definite way to pick it up but at least it could rule out a mass or tumor in the meantime.”
“Hey, this got delivered for you about ten minutes ago.” Boone calls, pushing a brown take out bag in your direction.
You look at the bag, then her, your brows furrowed. “I didn’t order anything.”
She shrugs a shoulder as you open the delivery to inspect the contents. “Maybe someone on day shift wanted to surprise you.”
The smell of sushi hits you immediately and your stomach churns. Not because you don’t like it, but because it was your favorite and no one on day shift would be awake at midnight to send you sushi.
Anger burns your blood and Jack watches it happen. You scrunch the bag up, stand from your chair and throw the food into the trash with as much force as you can muster. You don’t look back to see wide eyes and confusion following your retreating form. Nor do you see the increasing worry that’s taking over Jack’s face.
You have a stalker. Someone following you. Who knows where you live and where you work. Who knows you’re working tonight. Who knows it's your birthday. It’s with that heavy and dizzying thought that you’re locking yourself in the restroom and bursting into tears.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆
Jack Abbot has a way with women. Well, not just women, he tends to have the same effect on people despite their gender.
Strong eye contact, lazy smiles, low tones. He’s sure, confident, assertive, nice. But right now he’s growing more and more pissed off by the second. He has no energy for lazy smiles or undisturbed eye contact.
Worry is beginning to wedge its way deep into his bones with every moment that passes, every slight behavioural change you display. Your outburst with the roses was one thing, but when it happened again with the take out delivery, the entire team was then beginning to notice.
On top of that, you’re avoiding him. Which in your eight years of working at PTMC, you have never done. Jack doesn’t like it. Not one bit.
“Who shit in her birthday cake?” Molloy mutters from her position where she charts, her distasteful eyes following you across the Pitt as you assist on a head trauma.
McKay gives her an unimpressed look before stepping up beside Jack to watch you through the glass window. “She doing okay?” she asks quietly, the concern evident in her voice.
Jack’s mouth scrunches slightly to the side, a barely noticeable movement of his head following. “Yeah, I think she’s just got a lot on her mind. Keep an eye on her for me?”
Mckay nods, not quite convinced at the way he tries to vouch for your mental state but she doesn’t press, it’s not her place. “You’re on a double right? It’s almost 4am, why don’t go for your break, we’ll be okay out here.” she offers.
Jack hesitates, he doesn’t think he’ll be able to sleep even if he tries. But ultimately, he knows McKay is right. He still has another fifteen hours ahead of him and his leg is fucking killing. Jack relents with a sigh, running his hand down his face as he nods.
“Yeah, okay. Make sure she goes for hers when she’s done.” he nods his head in your direction and Cassie nods hers.
It takes twenty minutes for Jack to even begin to feel comfortable on the small couch in the break room. An unofficial designated space for staff to get at least an hour's shut eye if they were on a double. His leg is aching, the pathetic massage he gave the stub doing little to ease it. But his mind is the one thing he can’t shut off from.
Something is wrong, bothering you to the point that it’s affecting your work. Your patience is wearing thin, your smiles are forced and tight. He’s never seen you like this; so out of your element to the point that you’re snapping at people for the smallest things.
Everyone is used to you being a ray of sunshine. Someone who laughs hard at things that aren’t that funny, who believes everything is a learning experience, who takes what is thrown at them with your head held high.
Tonight it looks like you’re barely swimming above water. And your outbursts with the roses and the take out bag…he can’t stop thinking about them. Jack has come to the conclusion that perhaps you have been seeing someone—a thought that sours his expression no matter how much he’ll try to deny it—and they are wanting another chance you aren’t willing to give.
But you told him earlier that you haven’t dated in a long time.
His mind is a mess of jumbled thoughts over the situation. It takes another twenty minutes before sleep finally begins to catch up with him. It’s short lived, though. It always is. Not even an hour later he’s blinking himself awake, his mind racing back to you as if he never even slept.
By the time he sorts himself out and grabs a cup of coffee for him and a chamomile tea for you, he’s back at the nurses station. The Pitt still seems as lively as it did before he retired for a nap, but everyone seems to have everything under control.
He notices you immediately, slumped on a chair as you no doubt chart for probably the hundredth time tonight. Jack approaches you steadily, body still slightly stiff from cramming himself on that small couch. He doesn’t speak at first, just places your tea beside your hand and waits.
Slowly, your eyes trail up his arm and chest before settling on his still slightly sleep-ridden face. Your hard expression softens just an inch and Jack’s shoulders relax briefly at the sight. “Thank you,” you whisper, eyes not leaving his.
Jack pulls a swivel stool to his legs, takes a seat beside you. He opens his mouth to speak; to tell you he’s worried, that if something is bothering you he will listen, he will help in any way he can. But he doesn't say that. You’re starting to soften and he doesn’t want to make you tense again.
“Why don’t you take your break,” he suggests instead. “We’ve still got another shift ahead of us.” Your shoulders droop at that, a heavy and exhausted sigh slipping past your pretty lips. A groan is soon to follow, your hand coming up to rub at your face.
“I’m so tired but I don't think I could sleep if I tried.” Your voice is defeated but Jack can’t help the soft smile that threatens to pull on his lips.
“Yeah,” he says quietly. “It took me a little while.”
You hum, eyes still on him. He doesn’t look away, doesn’t dare. Jack has always thought you were incredibly beautiful, those gorgeous eyes and pillow lips… he knows it’s inappropriate, but he’s never acted on any of those dirty thoughts that creep up on him in the middle of the night.
He’s too old for you, and you’re too good for him.
“I’ll keep an eye on your patients,” he promises.
You smile wider at that but a sleepiness overtakes your features. Jack doesn’t think you've ever looked so…soft. He wonders if that’s what you look like every night, when you’re settling yourself to sleep in your big, empty bed. He wonders if that’s what you’d look like if he woke you up to his head between your—
“Go,” he cuts his own thoughts off, jutting his head slightly to the direction of the break room. “Couch is already set up for you.”
You blink slowly at him, leaning in just a bit closer to playfully flick his knuckles with your finger. “You’re too good to me, Jack Abbot.”
His heart—he doesn’t want to think about the rhythm of his heart right now. Instead his lips turn downward to hide his grin as he shoots you a wink. You don’t offer the same restraints as a grin stretches across your mouth. Your hand meets his, squeezing in silent thanks before you stand with your tea and excuse yourself to the break room.
“Oh, by the way, phantom chest pain guy? He’s with Psych now, thank you.” you call back to him over your shoulder.
Jack watches you retreat, the sway of your hips, the heaviness on your shoulders. He’ll get to the bottom of whatever is bothering you. He won’t let you suffer alone.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆
Your nap is short lived, much like Jack’s. Barely an hour of sleep before you’re waking with a groan and a kink in your neck.
You have to push the fear of your crippling situation way deep down if you’re going to get through the last half of your double shift. You’re a doctor for fucks sake, you can’t not afford to not be on your a game.
So you do. You push it down, you ignore it. You complete your rounds, treat your patients, write up your charts and do everything in your power to avoid the questioning stares from Jack.
Until the time reaches almost 7am and another delivery is made. A cup of coffee from the coffee shop across your apartment and another bouquet of red roses.
The delivery man calls out your name but you’re frozen in place behind the nurses desk. Boone looks at you, a little spooked at your pale complexion as she thanks the delivery driver and takes them from him.
Everyone seems to still around you as Boone places them on the desk in front of you, your change in behaviour causing an uncomfortable shift in the air.
You approach the roses and coffee as if you’re on the brink of death; slow, hesitate, fearful. And when you grow close enough to see the note tucked between the buds, your blood runs ice cold and you snap.
Jack walks toward the central hub just as you pick up the drink and flowers and hurl them into the trashcan, shoving your foot into it to crush the flowers, the drink almost exploding under the force of the kick.
You turn to everyone with wide eyes, your chest heaving and tears welling your eyes. “If I have one more delivery, you put it straight in the fucking trash.”
Jack watches with wide eyes as you storm outside through the ambulance bay, not missing the confused and startled looks everyone gives your retreating form. Fuck this, he can’t wait for you to come to him. Jack doesn’t think twice before following you outside, and what he finds almost cleaves his heart in two.
You’re crouching on the ground, head almost tucked between your knees and you sniffle and sob to yourself. He’s quick to rush to you, bending at the knee despite the ache of his leg protesting.
He pulls you into him and lets out a breath when you don't argue. “You need to tell me what the fuck is going on, sweetheart.” His tone isn’t mean but firm.
You can barely catch a breath and he knows what a panic attack looks like. He pulls your hands off the back of your head, lifts your face with his palms cupping your wet cheeks and angles you upwards, allowing the air to hit your face.
“You’re okay. Just breathe, I’m right here, you’re okay.” He coos at you, suffocating his own anxiety at the slightly frightening sight of you.
You try to focus on the feel of his skin on yours, his warmth, his scent. You make it a focal point, something to try and ground you, to coax you out of your spiralling mind. Jack feels you shake in his hold, and even though your breathing begins to slow just slightly, he can’t let go of the pure look of fear in your eyes.
He doesn’t speak again until you have calmed to a more manageable state, offering quiet coos of comfort, large and steady palms soothing up and down the length of your spine. He calls your name, quietly so as to not startle you but loud enough to hear over the ringing in your ears.
Turning to him, your dry lips part and silent tears continue to slip down your flushed cheeks. You look away, can’t stomach the concern in his eyes. A friend that’s worried about you and your strange behaviour. That’s all.
You rise to shaking feet and take a step away from him in an attempt to regain your bearings. Jack doesn’t push, he waits—impatiently—as you take steadying breath after steading breath, hands shaking out at your sides.
“I think I have a stalker.” Admitting the words aloud causes more silver to line your eyes. You refuse to look at him, can’t subject yourself to his disappointment.
But his silence is deafening and when you cast a cautionary glance toward him through your peripheral, you wish you didn’t. His face drains of color, lips parted in what you could only assume is shock.
“What?” he breathes in pure disbelief, brows knitting. “A stalker? Is that what those deliveries are?”
You nod shakily, blowing unsteady air through rounded lips as Jack takes a careful step closer to you. “How long has this been going on for?”
You shrug, hands reaching for your hair and loosening the stands at your roots. “I think like six weeks.”
Jack can’t control his eyes, how they widen and blink rapidly, has no control of his head bobbing and rearing back as though you’ve just physically assaulted him. “Are you fucking kidding me?!” His voice raises.
You cringe, squeezing your eyes shut as you close the distance between you, your palms now cupping your own face in an attempt to shield yourself from everything. You shake your head rapidly, tears streaming down your face. “No, it's not—it’s not like that. It just—look I didn't know until today!”
Jack appears even more bewildered. “What does that even mean?”
You huff; angry and scared. “About six weeks ago, I started seeing a bouquet of red roses outside my apartment building. Every week. I didn't think anything of it, why would I? And then last night, those red roses were left here—for me. The same florist, the same bouquet… its– its never happened at work, I never even considered the flowers outside the building were—”
“Okay, okay, breathe.” His voice softens, palms stretching for you to rest on your shoulders. Warmth radiates through your scrubs and into your skin, you try to focus on his touch, his proximity without being swept away in it.
“And then there was the sushi delivery, from my favorite place, the coffee from the coffee shop across the road from my apartment that I go to every morning… then just now with another fucking bunch of roses—”
“And the note. I’ll see you soon, my love.”
Your eyes are screwed shut tightly. “Jack, I’m freaking the fuck out.”
He hates this. His blood is roaring beneath his skin, veins threatening to burst at just how tightly wound he is. You have a fucking stalker. “Alright, okay. We're going to the police. Right now.”
You shake your head. “I—we can’t, we both have another shift ahead of us before—”
“Fuck the next shift. You have a stalker, sweetheart, that's not something that can be pushed aside to deal with later.” He argues gently but his tone is firm, booking no room for argument.
You scratch feverishly at your scalp, tugging on the roots of your hair to inflict anything but fear. Something else to focus on, something to take it away. Jack grabs your wrists, warm palms soothing against your skin as he guides them away from your head.
“What’s your locker code?”
You rattle off the string of numbers, barely registering the question. But when you realize he was going to retrieve your things for you, you wipe your face and make your way back inside. You can’t just leave, you at least need to get someone to watch your patients while you are gone.
The fluorescence of the Pitt sting your swelling eyes, concerned glances following as you approach the nurses desk and lean down to Ellis. She watches you carefully, brows knitted and lips parted in worry. You shake your head before she can ask. You don’t want to get into this with anyone else.
It’s bad enough that Jack knows.
“Do you mind including my patients on rounds with day shift? I need to step out for an hour or so.” You ask her quietly and she nods quickly, eager to help.
Your eyes flitter up as day shift begins to trickle in. Many of them liked to show up twenty minutes early to get a head start, find the rhythm of things. You avoid their gazes, looking to the right instead where Jack stands with your bags, lips a thin line on his worried face.
Robby whistles as he strolls in, Jack moving closer toward you the same time Robby does. He eyes you both with raised brows. “You both look like shit.”
Before either you or Jack can even make a sound, your name is being called softly from across the Pitt, followed by a birthday wish. You smile weakly as Paige approaches, a nurse who typically favours a position in triage. She’s only been here a few months, but in the off shifts that you’ve worked with her, you very much enjoy her company.
“Hey, have I had any deliveries today?” she asks Boone as she grows closer, arms folded over the top of the nurses station, resting her cheek on her palms.
“No, don't think so hon, what were you expecting?” Boone asks softly.
She blushes a bit. “Oh, my uh my girlfriend said she’d dropped off a few things but I haven't gotten anything. Unless they’ve been delivered under her name instead of mine. It was uh, roses, sushi, coffee, her name’s Y/N.”
You blink.
Once. Twice.
All eyes turn to you but yours meet Jack’s. It’s in synchronicity that your lips part, eyes widen, shoulders sagging. You turn to Paige, your face pale and red-rimmed eyes staring at her with so much guilt she looks a bit scared.
“I am so sorry.”
“Oh, thank god.” Jack rubs his hands down his face.
“Um. You have had some deliveries, and we all assumed that when delivery guys have been bringing things in for Y/N, that they meant me. And I have been…throwing everything in the trash because I thought I had a stalker.” You explain the last words slowly, carefully.
Embarrassment flares bright on your cheeks, blood rushing down to your toes and you almost feel frozen in place. You can live with the embarrassment, right now the most overwhelming feeling is pure, unbridled relief.
Robby looks at you in complete bewilderment. His eyes dart around the E.R in a state of pure confusion before he blinks it away and shakes a hand by his head. “Not even going to ask.”
“Paige, I will pay for everything. I—” She laughs softly as she approaches you, arms out with a tender expression before embracing your frozen form in her arms.
“No, it’s okay. Are you alright? That must’ve really freaked you out, I’m so sorry.” You finally manage to will your body to move, arms wrapping around her lightly as you return the hug. You laugh against her shoulder, pulling back to rub at your eyes with a groan.
“I need about a gallon of coffee if I'm going to get through this next shift.”
“Oh, you didn’t get the email?” Robby speaks over the rim of his beverage.
“What email? You frown.
“You’re not down for the day shift, you’re not in ‘til Saturday,” he looks behind you to Jack, pointing a finger that’s wrapped around the paper cup, “Neither are you. Scheduling error.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Jack huffs at the same time you do, the pair of you rubbing hands down your faces in something akin to telepathic synchronicity. It causes Robby to raise an amused brow.
“You two need to go home. I don't know what the hell happened on this shift, but I’m sure Shen and Ellis can handle change over.”
Neither of you argue with Robby’s offer. You silently take your bag from Jack and haul it over your shoulder. “Come on,” Jack nods his head toward the break room. “We’ll get your birthday gifts and I’ll take you home.”
You don’t argue on that offer either. Don’t acknowledge the butterflies in your stomach at the thought of being in such close proximity to him for a ten minute ride home. You’re too tired, head far too fuzzy.
You need a pint of wine and a fucking nap.
Retrieving your things from the break room is done on autopilot. You take the balloons and two bouquets of flowers while Jack takes your gift bags. It’s a no brainer to offer the flowers as a peace offering to Paige on your way out, a plethora of apologies once again tumbling from your lips.
You don’t stay long enough to let her refuse them, feet rushing you out through the ambulance bay and toward Jack’s car. Right. His car. The vehicle he drives. A vehicle that you’ve never been in, only ever seen in passing. Black and sleek, simple yet clearly expensive.
You feel him approach from behind and swallow as he opens the trunk and gently places your gifts inside, reaching an arm toward you for the balloons. He nods his head to the passenger side silently, your heart rate picking up at the simple command.
It's wordless when you open the door and settle inside. It smells like him. Something rich and manly and a hint of coffee that somehow kisses every unexposed nerve ending. The seats are leather, durable and good quality. It’s modern, with a CarPlay screen and heated seats. You don’t know enough about cars to understand the logo in the center of his steering wheel.
You watch him get in effortlessly, clipping his belt and starting the engine. You watch as he gets comfortable, readjusting the rearview mirror before pausing to look at you. He catches your staring but doesn't say anything.
And when neither of you make any attempt to look away, a tired yet fond smile kicks up at the corner of his mouth. He leans toward you and your breathing stops, the hairs on your skin standing tall. Jack’s arm reaches to your side and only when you hear the faint zipping of the seatbelt being pulled do you realize that he was waiting for you to put it on.
Embarrassment crawls up your neck as he clips the belt for you instead. “Sorry,” you whisper breathlessly, quickly clearing your throat. “My head’s a little all over the place right now.” You excuse your foolishness the best way you can as Jack cracks open a window.
He offers a huff of a laugh as he pulls out of the staff parking space slowly. “I’m not surprised after the night you’ve had.” He reassures, his hand reaching out for the screen. You watch with deft attention as his long fingers tap on the GPS, waving that finger at you and then back at the screen again.
You get the hint, lean forward just enough to be able to type your address in, only a ten minute journey that's mapped out for him.
Jack raises a brow as he pulls out of the hospital. “Swanky area,” he comments.
You can’t help but scoff at that. “Not really. It’s my Uncle’s apartment, he just rents it out to me.”
He hums, non committal. The drive is silent, not suffocating or uncomfortable but…needed. Jack doesn’t push for conversation, doesn’t ask if you’re okay, doesn’t comment on your stupid mistake of thinking you had a fucking stalker.
He lets you bask in the quietness, lets you have these ten minutes for your body to begin to relax. It isn't until he pulls up outside the apartment building that one tiny flaw in the stalker situation arises. Because there, on the front door steps, is another bouquet of red roses.
It hits you the same time it hits Jack, both of your bodies stiffening at the sight of them. But the stiffness is quickly replaced with another overwhelming sense of relief and exhaustion when you notice Paige again, walking up to those doors and retrieving the flowers with a gentle smile before going inside.
Your hands rub at your face. “I forgot she lives in this building.” you admit, words muffled by your palms but your body tingles at the sound of Jack’s breathy chuckle.
“You definitely need some sleep.” He unbuckles his seatbelt, then reaches to unclip yours before opening his door. “Come on, I’ll walk you up.”
He doesn't let you carry the balloons or the gift bags as he walks beside you up two flights of stairs. Guilt gnaws at you for it, you know his leg must be hurting, but Jack always hides it well.
When you reach your apartment door, you slow, bashful almost. You've been friends for eight years, yet you’d never been in his car before tonight, he’s never been in your apartment building. The whole thing feels…different…intimate.
“Thank you,” you say softly. “For the shift, driving me home…walking me up.”
Jack shrugs a shoulder, handing you your things before stuffing his hands in his pockets. He doesn’t say anything, just looks. Like he’s assessing. It’s not scrutinising, but it’s not the fond look you’ve grown accustomed to, either.
It’s new. It sends your pulse racing.
You wait, anticipating something else, something more. But it doesn't come. Jack takes a step back as you unlock your front door, he turns toward the stairs as you push the door open. But when you take your first step inside, he turns back to you again.
“Hey, are you doing anything tonight?”
Your heart stops. Beats. Skips a beat. Then it stops again.
“Other than crying that I didn't get a slice of my own birthday cake? No, nothing.”
That earns a breathy laugh. Jack looks at you, soft and a little sleepy. “I’m sorry you had such a shitty birthday.”
You shrug. “Believe it or not, I've had worse. Besides, it wasn't that bad, Shen could’ve forgotten his iced coffee again. And it turns out I don't have a stalker, so a win is a win.”
He laughs a bit louder at that. “I'll tell you what, I’ll come over later. I’ll bring dinner, we’ll try and do a redo for your birthday.”
You smile, swallow down the eager yes! that wants to desperately crawl out of your throat. “You don't have to do that.” Is what you manage to settle for.
Jack makes a sound of disagreement. “Actually, I do. As your attending, you should consider this a work-place incident check-up.”
You might be exhausted but you’re not deaf. You pick up on the change in his tone, the underlying yet silent suggestion that’s hidden within his words.
Still, you don’t let yourself get your hopes up. He’s a friend. You’ve had a bad day. He’s being nice.
You roll your eyes with affection. “Can’t exactly say no to that.”
Jack grins, untamed and wide. “I’ll come back a little later.” It’s the last thing he says before descending the stairs.
And when you step inside your apartment and close the door behind you, you realise this little crush on Jack is becoming something much deeper. And the idea of having dinner with him tonight has you sick, horny and completely out of your element.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆
PART TWO
Feedback is always super super appreciated!! I would love to know what you thought!! Thank you for reading <3
Summary: A routine ER shift takes a sharp turn when a Jane Doe arrives wearing Jack’s dog tags.
A/N: Requests are welcome! This work is entirely mine and has been proofread with Grammarly.
Masterlist
This day wasn't out of the ordinary for you.
Jack had been called into the hospital, so you decided to run some errands instead. Just another walk through the city, another stretch of pavement leading you towards your favourite café. The street was bustling with lunchtime rush, people brushing past without even looking up, all of it so normal you stopped noticing anything outside your immediate line of sight.
You don’t see the window workers until it’s already too late.
There’s a shout, somewhere overhead, sharp, distant, dismissed instantly by your brain as background chaos.
Then something shifts overhead.
A shadow.
A sudden loss of control.
Like something heavy slipping when it shouldn’t.
You look up.
The bucket tips over the edge, half full, unbalanced, too far gone to recover.
You have no time to react.
It drops straight down.
The impact is immediate and brutal, striking the top of your head with enough force to erase thoughts.
Air leaves you all once.
Your body goes back with force, the concrete of the sidewalks rushing up before you can even register that you’re falling.
You don’t feel the landing.
You’re already gone before your body makes contact.
The ambulance door swings open hard.
Two paramedics rush in with a stretcher.
“Female, roughly mid-thirties–struck by falling debris,” one of the paramedics calls.
Whitaker is already moving.
“Trauma Two is open,” someone shouts from the nurses’ station.
The stretcher rolls in fast.
“Unconscious on scene,” the paramedic continues. “Hasn’t come around yet. GSC eight.”
Monitors are attached within seconds. An IV is started. Hands move quickly, practiced, efficient.
Whitaker is at the bedside now, eyes already scanning your injuries.
“Witness said that the window cleaner’s bucket fell from a height,” A paramedic informs. “She went down immediately.”
“ID?” Whitaker asks without looking up.
“None,” the paramedic says, already reaching into his pocket. “But we found this on her.”
He places a chain into Whitaker’s hand.
Dog tags.
Whitaker’s focus sharpens instantly.
That changes everything.
He takes them without hesitation, already thinking they’ve just been handed the easiest part of the case. A name means history, allergies, blood type, everything they need.
“Good,” he says under his breath, almost relieved. “We got lucky.”
He flips the broken tags over.
And stops.
Abbot. Jack.
O Negative.
Fuck.
For a second, the noise of the room is completely drowned out, as if it had been pulled underwater.
He reads it again, more slowly this time, in case the name changes.
It doesn’t.
“...Jesus,” He mutters, barely audible.
A nurse glances over. “You know her?”
Whitaker doesn't answer right away. His grip tightens slightly on the chain, metal pressing into his palm like letting go of it would make this situation even worse.
Because this wasn’t luck.
This was a problem.
A large one.
But more importantly, a very specific one
“Page, Dr. Robby,” he says, voice sharper now. “And Dr. Abbot. Now.”
The nurse moves immediately at the order.
Whitaker set the tags down carefully on the tray beside you, as if they were the most important thing in this room.
Robby arrives first.
He doesn't rush in. He lets his residents lead, but the moment he steps into Trauam Two, the atmosphere shifts anyway.
“What’ve we got?” he asks, pulling on a pair of gloves.
Whitaker doesn't answer right away.
Not because he doesn't know what's going on, but because he can’t quite find the words that fit.
Instead, he shifts slightly so Robby can see you.
Not the monitors. Not the chart.
You.
Robby’s expression changes instantly. Subtle, but complete. The kind of shift that happens when a doctor stops seeing a case and starts seeing a person.
He steps closer without even thinking.
His hand finds your wrist automatically, checking your pulse. His other hand moves to your eyes, checking pupils, clinical instinct kicking in.
“Found down,” a nurse says quickly. “Struck by falling debris—window cleaner’s bucket. Unconscious on scene, brief loss of consciousness, GCS eight.”
Robby nods, but there’s a little delay in it, like the information is landing half a beat too slow.
His hand stays on your wrist a fraction longer than necessary.
“I paged Abbot.”
“How—” he starts, confused, the word barely out.
He doesn’t finish.
Because Whitaker lifts his hand, the broken chain rests between his fingers.
Just enough for Robby to see it clearly.
Dog tags.
Everything in Robby’s expression shifts. Not shock. Recognition. Then something worse. Like the entire situation snaps into place all at once.
“...Oh no,” he says quietly.
His eyes flick back to you immediately.
Because this isn’t just some random patient.
This is Jack’s wife.
Robby straightened slightly, like his body was trying to catch up with what his brain already knew.
“No,” he says under his breath, already shaking his head once. “No-no, no…”
Whitaker starts to say something. “Robby—”
But Robby isn’t listening anymore.
His attention shifts toward the door like he can feel it before it happens.
“He’s coming,” Robby says, more to himself than anyone else.
A pause.
“Fuck.” Robby exhales through his nose, one hand dragging over his face as he looks back at you again.
You’re still unconscious. Still pale. Still completely unaware of who's about to walk in.
Whitaker tries again. “Robby—”
And that's when it finally clicks in his head.
“He can’t see her like this,” Robby says, firmer now, like he’s locking onto the only thing that matters.
Not like this.
And he’s already halfway to the door, trying to get there before Jack does.
Robby barely makes it halfway across the room before the door pushes open again.
Jack.
He’s already moving fast, eyes ready to assess the situation before anyone even speaks.
“What do we have?” he asks, breath just slightly off from the rush. “You paged me.”
Robby steps in front of him, blocking the doorway without hesitation.
“Hey”
Jack frowns, thrown off more by that than anything else. “What are you doing?”
“Jack-”
“Move,” Jack says, sharper now, trying to step around him to assist the patient.
Robby doesn’t. “You can’t go in there.”
That stops him.
“What?” Jack let out a short, disbelieving breath. “Robby, what are you talking about?”
Behind him, the room keeps moving. Voices, monitors, motion, but Jack can’t see any of it past the barrier in front of him.
“Just—wait,” Robby says, quieter now.
“No,” Jack shakes his head, already trying to step around him. “No, don’t page me and then tell me to wait. Move.”
Robby shifts just an inch, and for a split second, it is enough.
An angle opens up.
Just enough for Jack to see.
There are doctors and nurses,
The bed.
You.
Unconscious.
Blood matted into your hair, dark against your skin. Clothes still damp, clinging in the wrong places.
Everything in him stops.
The sound of the room drops out completely.
“…No,” he breathes.
Robby moves immediately to block his view again.
“Jack,” he says firmly. “You can’t—”
“That’s my wife,” Jack cuts in, voice breaking under it despite his effort to hold it together. “What happened?”
He tries to move forward again. His brain tries to process what he is seeing. His weight shifts subconsciously to his real leg to ground him. But it all hits at once, too fast, too much.
“…No,” he breathes, barely there.
“Jack,” he says, low and steady. “You can’t—”
Robby stops him, hands on his chest this time.
“You cannot go in there,” Robby says, stronger now. “You know that.”
“I don’t care.”
“I know,” Robby answers. “But you will if you make a mistake.”
That lands.
Not because it calms Jack’s nerves, but because it forces clarity through the panic.
If he treats you like this… he could make it worse.
Jack’s breathing is uneven. His eyes keep trying to find you past Robby’s shoulder.
But he can’t.
“Let us do our job,” Robby says, quieter now. “We’ve got her.”
Jack doesn’t move.
Doesn’t agree but doesn't try to push past him again either.
A long, stretched-out second passes.
Then Jack steps back.
Just one step.
Like it costs him more than anything else today.
Robby watches him carefully, like he expects him to surge back towards him.
But Jack just… goes still.
The fight drains out of him all at once, as something snapped.
He turns away without another word.
The roof is silent when Robby and Whitaker find him.
Jack is at the edge, hands gripping the metal railing, shoulder tight. Not leaning over, just holding on. Like it’s the only thing keeping him in place.
The city stretches out in front og him.
He doesn’t turn.
They both know he heard them.
Robby glances once at Whitaker, then back to Jack.
“She’s stable,” he says.
No response.
Whitaker steps a little closer. “Vitals are holding. We’re sending her for CT—possible concussion, maybe a small bleed, but nothing immediately life-threatening.”
Still nothing.
Robby moves a little closer, not too fast.
“She’s going to be okay,”
That gets a reaction.
Barely.
Jack exhales slowly, the sound rough, like he’s been holding it in too long.
He doesn’t turn around.
“…Did she wake up?” he asks.
“No,” Whitaker answers. “Not yet.”
Jack nods once.
Silence returns, wind cutting across the roof.
Whitaker hesitates for a second, then—
“She had your tags on.”
That lands differently.
Something in Jack breaks, just a little.
A quiet, breathless laugh slips out of him, completely out of place against everything else.
“Yeah,” he says, voice rough.
He shakes his head once, like he can’t believe it even now. “She hates rings.”
A tear slips down before he can stop it.
He doesn’t wipe it away.
He just stands there, staring out at the city, holding onto the railing like it’s the only solid thing left.
Back in your room, everything is calmer now.
Monitors still beep steadily, machines still running, but the urgency is gone, replaced with something calmer. Controlled
Jack hesitates in the doorway before stepping in.
He takes you in slowly this time, like he’s afraid moving too fast will break the moment.
A sudden movement pulls his focus.
“Hey,” he says softly. “I’m here.”
Your brows pull together slightly, a small reaction to the sounds of his voice.
Then your eyes flutter.
They open slowly.
Heavy.
Disoriented.
A small sound escapes you when the lights make contact with your eyes.
“Easy, babe,” he murmurs. “Don’t try to move too fast.”
You blink a few times, trying to focus.
Everything hurts. It’s too bright, too loud. Your head is throbbing.
“...Jack?” Your voice is rough, barely there.
“Yeah,” Jack says quietly, catching it. “Head’s gonna hurt. You took a bucket to the head.”
Your eyes finally land on him, and you just stare as if your brain is trying to catch up.
“I’m here,” he says again.
Relief flashes across your face. Small. Real. Your shoulder loosens, and seeing him suddenly makes everything feel less chaotic.
“You look mad,” you murmur weakly. That gets a faint breath out of him, almost a laugh.
“Yeah,” he says softly. “I was.”
His hand finds yours carefully, grounding you.
“But you’re okay,” he adds. “That’s what matters.”
Your eyes drift shut for half a moment, exhaustion pulling at you.
“Mm,” you hum faintly. “Feels like I lost a battle.”
Jack huffs under his breath. “You did,” he says. “Badly.”
A faint smile tugs at your mouth, even through the ache.
“Rude,” you whisper.
Then your fingers shift against the sheet.
“Hey,” you say softly.
“Yeah?”
Your eyes flick to his chest.
“…Not on me,” you murmur.
Jack looks down at you. “What?”
“The tags,” you say, voice still rough but more alert now. “They’re not on my neck,”
You expect them to be there; they have been for years.
Jack exhales through his nose, almost amused.
He reaches into his pocket.
Carefully, he pulls out the chain.
His dog tags.
Worn. Familiar. Still his.
He places them gently into your hand.
“That’s how they identified you, Mrs. Abbot,” he says quietly.
That makes your expression shift, softening, something warm and tried underneath it.
Then your eyes drop the break.
The link halfway down snapped from the impact.
“Oh,” you murmur. “It’s broken,”
“Yeah,” he answers. “We’ll fix it.”
You study him for a second, still holding onto the chain lightly as if it grounds you.
“Thankfully,” you murmur, “the government likes labelling properly.”
That gets a quiet breath out of him.
“Yeah?” he asks.
You nod faintly.
“Very official,” you add. “Important documentation.”
Jack shakes his head slightly, a faint smile tugging at his mouth.
“And what,” he says, voice lower now, teasing, “are you properly of?”
You don’t even hesitate.
“You.”
The teasing fades out of his expression for a second, something quieter replacing it.
“…Yeah?” he asks softly.
Your grip on the tags tightens just slightly.
“Yeah,” you murmur. “Been that way for a while.”
He holds your hand a little tighter.
“Good,” he says quietly.
Then, softer:
“Keep it that way.”
Your eyes start to drift again, exhaustion pulling at you.
ever since reader joined the ship, she has admired sanji and noticed every little thing he did. she observed his every move and saw everything, including his love for Nami.
a/n: all my one piece works are going to be exclusively opla FOR NOW cause i have yet to watch the anime and i aint gonna write about something i barely know about 😔 HOWEVER, i started watching it today and i like it so far so maybe soon!!
____________
You were a fairly recent addition to the crew and wouldn't have even been a part of it if not for Nami's recommendation to Luffy.
You grew up alongside Nami in the Conomi Islands, you'd been a friend of her and Nojiko since the two of you were children. The lady that had taken them in, and raised the two as their own, had been close to your mother which lead to the three of you practically being raised together.
Your bond had grown closer due to your shared poverty and love of tangerines, not like you had a choice to dislike it considering it surrounded you every step you took.
When Arlong arrived and established control over the entirety of Coco Village, your mothers sacrificed themselves to protect you. You expected the three of you to work together to survive after their passing, only to be left shattered when you discovered Nami decided to be one of Arlong's pathetic followers not long after.
That left you and Nojiko to grow together, bonding over your shared hatred for the traitor that worked for your mothers' killer, and survived with the help of the villagers that appeared to care more than she ever did.
Decades later, the crew arrived at your doorstep, offering an exchange of food for information on Nami. Although her name had grown to be a forbidden topic amongst you two, the promise of food was too good to ignore. You ate silently in the corner while Nojiko spoke to them, still too hurt by the entire situation as if it had taken place only yesterday, too crushed to willingly recall the memories of the childhood you'd once shared.
A day or two later, not long after the sun had set, Nojiko arrived back home in a hurry and told you to rush out of bed. Still dazed from your evening nap, you could barely make sense of her words but were brought to your senses when she mentioned Nami. How her betrayal had been a sacrifice all along, how she'd suffered far more than you had for the protection of Coco Village, how all of this had been a meticulous plan curated by her to save the rest of you.
You and Nojiko ran to tell the other villagers, stopping only when you saw fishmen arriving with torches once the night had become dark. Your whispered truth of Nami being innocent turned into loud cries for everyone to leave their homes before they burned down with it.
The next morning, you had all planned to take down Arlong Park together. The villagers gathered outside the village that had now been burnt down to ash and soot and broken planks that could barely stand.
The Straw Hat Crew refused to let anyone accompany them, proudly proclaiming that this was theirs to handle, but you were stubborn. You discreetly followed them after they'd left, refusing to stand aside and have other people risk their own lives to save your community. You wanted to help them, you felt obligated to, especially when it was against the people that had held you and your dearests oppressed for so many decades.
Not to mention, you were insanely good with blades. Knives, swords, any sort of your blade worked in your hand as if it was meant to be there in the first place. You stayed near the boundary, slashing the fishmen near the outer walls of the park away from their view.
That was until a far larger fisherman caught you off-guard, suddenly appearing behind you while you were busy attacking another one more your size. Using its sheer brute force, it grabbed you by the scruff of your shirt and threw you straight against a wall inside the park.
The wall cracked slightly behind you, your back aching as a sharp soreness ran up your spine, but you got up regardless with two knives still clutched in each of your fists. Fighting back wasn't your biggest concern anymore, but getting caught by the crew was, considering you didn't want t end up as an obstacle in their way while trying to help.
Tightening your fingers around the knives, you charged at the fishman. However, before you could reach him, a sharp kick directed straight at its head knocked it down to the ground in an instant. Following the kick, you pierced your blade straight into its neck and finished off the creature.
You looked up, noticing the same blonde you had seen earlier standing beside Nami when they returned to the village, now staring down at you. He sighed before extending a hand out, still keeping an eye out for any other fishmen and leaving the rest to Zoro for the time being,
"Didn't Luffy tell you all that we'd handle it? A pretty girl like you shouldn't be gettin' hurt out here when we're there to protect you."
You couldn't tell if his words were an insult or a compliment. He seemed slightly frustrated at your injured presence while also giving you weirdly intense eyes, as if he was attracted to you but also pissed about having to protect another reckless person.
"He may have, but this is still my village. It is my duty to protect it and I don't care what you say, I'm not going anywhere."
The man glanced at you before finally looking away, another sigh leaving him as if he was exhausted by the entire situation. Eventually, he nodded and walked away again, seemingly having decided he'd wasted enough time questioning you instead of beating up these fishmen.
However, as you fought the fishmen on the opposite side of the park, your mind was entirely occupied with thoughts of the blonde whose name you had yet to discover.
Maybe ten minutes or so later, after the fishmen had all been taken care of and Arlong was the only one left, Nami emerged from the large tower in the center that Luffy was still inside. You stood sheepishly to the side, ignoring the gaze of the three guys with very different hair still staring at you.
When Nami arrived, the blonde called out for her with his arms extended, but was completely ignored as she went straight for the green-haired swordsman and the guy with a slingshot who had appeared at the scene only a few minutes ago.
The next second, Nami's eyes laid down on you.
"____? Did you come here to fight?"
She asked cautiously, approaching you as if she still wasn't sure whether you had forgiven her yet or not. You gave her a small smile before wrapping your arms around her, bringing her into a tight embrace as you responded quietly into her shoulder.
"I couldn't just rest back at the village while my sister fended for herself, could I?"
You pulled back slightly from the hug, noticing the water forming in her eyes and letting out a small laugh as you wiped them off before they fell down. The sweet reunion, however, was quickly broken when a loud crack from the tower snapped your attention back to the fact that Luffy was still inside.
After five minutes of hearing the tower slowly falling apart, it all came down into a pile of dust and smoke that the wind forcefully blew at your face. Luffy emerged from the pile of dust and debris, relieving everyone and declaring Nami as his friend before everyone, setting off the final blow that made her tears finally fall.
That lead to your current situation.
A month had passed, a very long one at that, and you were now accompanying them on their trip to the Grand Line. You'd accompanied them on the rest of their insane adventures and memories everyone's names in the process.
You'd also come to notice a certain man very closely, the same man you'd first interacted with, whom you learnt was named Sanji.
He loved cooking, he lived a portion of his life in each dish. Regardless of how many meals he prepared, the different varieties of meat he'd use, how much effort each plate took, he'd keep cooking. From dusk till dawn, he'd keep himself busy in the kitchen curating the most flavorful food you had tasted in your entire existence, ensuring maximum taste with minimum ingredients.
You observed the way Usopp had once purchased Oregano at a shop in Loguetown, alongside other seasonings, and handed it over to Sanji. He'd likely meant it as a sweet gesture, believing it would benefit Sanji due to his love for using various kinds of additions that made his dishes taste so fantastic, but he seemed to have completely missed Sanji's deep hatred towards Oregano in particular.
The cook faked a smile at Usopp but the moment he was out of his sight, Sanji threw the container straight into the trash. He muttered the word 'savage' under his breath as if it was a curse. Sanji believed in never wasting any ingredient, however, he didn't even consider Oregano as an ingredient. To him, it was a pathetic waste of salt and dried basil leaves. If he had a say in it, Oregano would be wiped out of existence.
You'd also noticed the quarrels between Zoro and him, the way they'd constantly compete over who was stronger. It'd be stupid competitions over who could catch the bigger fish, who could hunt a larger animal, who had the smarter idea in stressful situations, who would win if the pair were to fight; they'd battle over every little thing under the sun.
However, they both discreetly cared for each other beneath the argumentative exterior. You saw how Sanji always kept aside a bottle of Sake for Zoro, or bought extra bottles of any alcohol he could find if they'd run out. You saw the way Zoro would somehow coincidentally show up whenever his rival had gotten himself into more trouble, the way the 'mosshead' would always have a small smile on his face after each intense debate when he thought no one was watching.
You noticed how much Sanji adored Luffy, how him and Zoro ensured his protection and how the young captain did the same thing back. He was the crew's hope, the one who gave them light when they'd been trapped in the dark, the one who relit the fire of their dreams and gave their life a purpose again.
The ones who were previously going about their life with the sole purpose of surviving, now lived each day with an actual goal in mind. It was all thanks to Luffy.
Similar to Luffy, no one had believed in Sanji's mission to discover the All Blue aside from Zeff. The only other person who supported his dream, believed it was real as well, was none other than the chaotic captain himself. In a way, Sanji found himself relating to Luffy through their shared dreams of achieving what others thought was impossible.
Sanji absolutely adored the kid and would show it through small gestures. He'd grill extra meat with the sole purpose of feeding Luffy, he'd constantly refill his plate whenever he was about to finish, always tag along with him wherever he went, and nag him as if he was his own son.
A few times, Luffy would even fall asleep in Sanji's arms after an excruciating battle, and Sanji strongly refused to move despite how sore he would get. He'd glare daggers at anyone who passed by, a silent warning for them to mind their own business, a threat that they would be thrown overboard if they accidentally woke up the exhausted captain. Whenever Luffy wasn't in his arms and sleeping on the hammock or the crow's nest or any other odd part of the ship, Sanji would somehow find him every single time and cautiously place a thin blanket over him, ignoring the others sleeping nearby.
Finally, there was one more thing you noticed.
Sanji never looked away from Nami. He was head over heels for her.
Ranging from how touchy he was with her to the way his entire face would light up whenever she'd walk into the kitchen, the way he'd feel upset when she was, the way he felt everything she did.
Meanwhile you? You were simply an admirer.
Quiet, rarely ever speaking up unless absolutely necessary, and only having the occasional conversation with Nami and Luffy. It was strange how you'd spoken more to Zoro than you had to Sanji.
You did initially question the first interaction you had with him, the way he'd looked at you that implied something far different that the disinterest he portrayed now. He still occasionally glanced at you with a similar intensity, and a deadly grin that you would never move on from, but then Nami confirmed that he did the same to every breathing creature of the opposite sex.
So you continued watching. Each day, you'd observe how he woke up an hour or two before everyone to cook breakfast and decorated Nami's plate far more delicately than the rest. You'd observe how he'd pay close attention to every move she made, the same way you did with him, and somehow incorporated whatever he remembered from their conversations into his meals.
When he found out Nami had grown on a tangerine grove, alongside you, he immediately began creating new delicacies that involved tangerines. Especially since they'd brought back three of the plants from Coco Village, he had all he needed to continue experimenting with them for Nami. Of course, he was still kind enough to always make another plate for you as well because he didn't want to leave you out, especially when both you and Nami shared your love for tangerines.
A month passed, then two, then three. Eventually, half a year had passed and the two of you had barely spoken aside from his meaningless one-liner pickup lines that would drive you up the wall, or when he'd ask you about things Nami liked since you were apparently the closest to her.
Finally, you gathered up enough courage to initiate a conversation with him instead of crushing on him silently. You'd always been the muted one that would hide in the shadows and never speak unless spoken to, with the sole exception of a few people. It was time you changed this habit.
"Sanji."
"Mm? Did you need something, love?"
The moment he responded, eyes still glued to whatever the hell he was making this time, you nearly fell to the wooden floor of the ship. The way he called you love as if it was second nature to him, as if it did nothing to you. Your thumping heart threatened to burst out of your chest and present itself on the counter before him, a loud and embarrassing proclamation that would display how a mere nickname threatened to put you in cardiac arrest.
"What...are you making?"
You nearly stumbled over your words, catching yourself instead by pausing because a small pause was far less embarrassing than a flustered stutter.
"Tryin' a new dish called a Tangerine Soufflé. Pretty easy but I have to freeze it for four hours after, takes up a lot of time."
You gave a slow nod, pretending as if you had any idea what that dish was and it wasn't your first time hearing of it. The thump in your heart reduced a bit upon the realization that he was probably making this for Nami again, his precious tangerine girl that he adored everything about.
"What's your favorite kind of soufflé?"
You inquired in a softer voice, holding onto the edge of the counter and leaning in slightly towards what he was making to get a better a look at his expertise. It was also an excuse to avoid staring at him, knowing it'd cause you to screw up the first time you get to have an actual conversation with him.
"Chocolate. Easier to work with, delicious results. Not really much of a soufflé fan though, I'm more of a seafood guy."
He clarified as if you weren't already aware of it. Spicy seafood pasta, the one thing he'd bring up in every conversation concerning food, and the one meal he believed could never be ruined even with the addition of the despicable Oregano.
"Why do you ask?"
"Just curious."
You leaned back from the soufflé he was so focused on, still keeping a healthy distance between you two because you were convinced he would otherwise be able to hear the way your breathing was now manual and the blood pulsing inside your veins.
"Hate to say this but your curiosity's gonna have to wait a bit, love. This soufflé requires all my attention if I want to perfect it."
There he goes again with the nickname as if he wasn't currently sending you off, as if he hadn't added it to soften the dismissal. All his attention was now on perfecting a soufflé for Nami, the girl he actually liked. He never even noticed you, and you'd never tried to be noticed until it was already too late. Nami already had him before you'd even known him.
Your lips pursed into a thin line as you nodded, taking in a deep breath before turning around to leave. Your presence wasn't welcome or needed and he'd made it clear enough, maybe this was what you needed to move on.
"Right. Maybe later."
You awkwardly cleared your throat, suddenly regretting the fact that you approached him in the first place. He clearly didn't want to talk to you, you were just bothering him with your small talk while he was actually making good use of his time. You walked away without another word, your footsteps barely making a sound on the wood as you tried to leave as quietly as you could.
But for a moment, you could've sworn you felt his gaze on your back as you left. You almost looked back when he let out a sigh almost as if he didn't want you to leave, but you convinced yourself you were overthinking and being stupid due to your infatuation with him.
You went up to the deck where you found Nami, leaning against the railing as if she had been waiting for you. Her lips curled up slightly as she broke the comforting silence with a question,
"How did it go?"
"How did what go?"
"Your conversation with Sanji."
You were confused, to say the least. Why would Nami inquire about your conversation with Sanji? It wasn't like it was that big of a deal for you to talk to someone else, maybe to you but it shouldn't be to her. It shouldn't matter to her whether you spoke to him or not.
Unless she was jealous. Unless she liked him back and wanted to make sure you hadn't tried anything on him.
Once again, you brushed aside these thoughts. It was none of your business anymore.
"It went fine. He's busy making you something."
You'd never seen Nami look more confused than she did in that second, her eyes staring at you as if you were speaking in a language she couldn't comprehend. A pause later, she questioned again,
"Making something for me?"
She asked as if it was the strangest thing in the world, as if it wasn't something he always did. You'd seen the two talk for hours, the way he'd curate every dish to fit her liking.
"Yeah. A tangerine soufflé or something."
She continued staring at you, you couldn't exactly decipher what she was thinking behind her gaze but she still seemed confused as if this was out of the ordinary.
"For me?"
"Like usual."
You responded to her repeated question, hating the way you'd let a hint of bitterness slip into your words. You couldn't believe how oblivious she was acting. She was living your dream yet pretending that she wasn't even aware of it. She was getting everything you wanted and didn't even seem to appreciate it.
"I told him to make it."
She clarified, only now realizing that she should maybe try explaining why she was so confused instead of blankly staring and asking so many questions.
"I told him to make it for you."
You froze in place. Now it was your turn to be confused and stare blankly at her as if she'd said the most outrageous thing you'd ever heard. You paused before letting out the only word you could come up with in that moment, a small scoff leaving your mouth alongside it due to the ridiculousness of the statement.
"What?"
"Yeah, I told him you like tangerines and gave him the recipe for the soufflé! He's making it for you, not me!"
Your heart raced again at the thought of Sanji making something, that would take so long to bake, explicitly for you. You continued staring at Nami, swallowing the bile forming in your throat as you thought over the conversation you just had with Sanji. The adrenaline that had rushed through your veins at her statement immediately vanished once you recalled what had happened less than ten minutes ago.
"No, he- I tried talking to him and he sent me out. I doubt he's making it for me. He's always been yours, Nami."
Before Nami could respond, a voice behind you did it for her instead,
"Said who? The only reason I even sent you out was because I wanted to make sure that bloody soufflé would be the best thing you ever tasted."
You couldn't bring yourself to turn around, watching as the tangerine girl now gave you a grin before leaving. She turned around once more to give you a knowing look while you cursed her out in your head, watching her leave you alone in this peculiar situation.
You turned around slowly, meeting his gaze and hoping the burn you felt across your body wasn't visible to him. That he couldn't see the way your face flushed pink and how forced your uncomfortable smile looked.
"How the hell did you even think that was for Nami? I've been cookin' for you this whole time!"
He declared as if the sentence he had overheard from your conversation had been the most preposterous thing he'd ever heard. He looked exasperated, staring at you as if you'd grown another head right before his eyes. You finally took in a deep breath and decided to respond as well, despite how awkward you felt about this whole situation, despite the way you could feel your the rush of serotonin in your veins.
"You really can't be blaming me right now. You spend each second on this ship with Nami, talking to her, putting your arm around her shoulders. It's only fair that I would assume you were making all this stuff for her too."
"All this time, you thought I put tangerines in everything for Nami? I spend all this time talking to her to ask about you. And I put my arm around Usopp and Luffy as well, hell, I've probably even put it around that mosshead on the rare occasion but that doesn't mean I'm dying to be with him, does it?"
The entire back-and-forth had started making you feel lighthearted. This was the longest conversation the two of you had ever had, and it consisted of him implying that he felt the same way you had for half a year.
"You always ask me about Nami."
"Because you two share everything! You guys are practically the same person when it comes to likes and dislikes. I ask you what she likes and dislikes to know what you like and dislike."
You let out a sigh and tore your eyes away from him. Your head was starting to hurt from the suddenness of this whole revelation, from the fact that the man you had been pining over since the day he defended you at Arlong Park had been doing the same this entire time. You didn't even know if you were breathing anymore, it didn't feel like you were.
"Why do you want to know me?"
You enquired as if you were interrogating him, eyes finally looking back into his ocean ones. The two of you had barely ever spoken, rarely ever interacted. It didn't make sense to you that he would want to know you.
"Because I like you? Isn't that obvious by now?"
The words came out of his mouth as if he was asking about the weather, as if it was something you should've figured out after all the explanations he had just given. You were already puzzled enough by him trying to know you, but this confession of his feelings nearly stopped your heart as a whole. You stood there, silent, unable to form a response to his words.
"____, please tell me you didn't think I was after Nami this whole time. The whole reason I avoided you until now was because I-"
He paused abruptly for a second, wondering whether he should finish the statement or stop before it got too far. He took in a deep breath and decided to continue speaking to your bewildered face.
"It was because I've never felt this way about anyone else before. I've been attracted to women before, I've flirted with many, but they all pale in comparison to you. Ever since I saw you, I haven't been able to find anyone else attractive. I haven't wanted to know any other woman the way I want to know you. I haven't wanted to love any other woman the way I want to love you."
In that moment, you were convinced you lived in a simulation and none of this was real. A long pause, only interrupted by the sound of the waves and the breeze slowly drifting past you two, followed after his words. You still had no idea what to say. You hadn't expected him to reciprocate your feelings, let alone be so passionate about it.
You'd noticed everything about this man but not the fact that all along, he had been noticing you back.
"I prefer chocolate soufflé over tangerine too."
The absurd statement left your mouth, out of place in the current situation but reducing the tension regardless. A small smile formed on your lips, your face burning as you kept your eyes locked onto his the entire time. You noticed the way his eyes softened at your words, those ocean eyes that had you drowning in them now stared back into yours with so much affection in them. With a quiet laugh, he replied into the cold night air,
"I know."
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