pairing. satoru gojo x reader (fanart by 28cg_ on x!)
synopsis. it’s christmas. you’re alone again after pulling away from the only people who’ve made you feel seen. you’ve never belonged. why would it be different with them? gojo surprises you by showing up at your door anyway. (wc 7k)
warnings/tags. hurt/comfort, angst, allusion to depression, social anxiety, loneliness, self isolation, & abandonment issues (pls don’t read if any of these might trigger you!), eventual fluff, pet names, comfort kisses, use of y/n in just one scene, gojo is the best boy and shoko and suguru are the best friends :(
꒰ ✉︎ ꒱ i’m sorry for dropping this angst for christmas (my first angst fic too?!) BUT we’re all good bc there’s comfort! right?? please enjoy! bc i may have or may not have sobbed multiple times writing this + this is a backstory for gojo x shy!reader ehhe. i’ll be getting more into their history before i continue writing smut with them so it all hits a little sweeter <3
another christmas alone.
only this time, it was entirely your fault.
you had met the most wonderful people this year: shoko, suguru, and satoru. as friends, they all fit together in a way that felt effortless, as if they’d been carved from the same place and just found each other.
when they took you in, their conversations flowed on as they always had. their inside jokes slipped past you, memories you weren’t part of surfacing without warning.
of course, they never shut you out—no, not once. never on purpose. they were all too kind for that. but sometimes knowing that fact made you feel even worse. it was as if they were constantly making space you hadn’t earned.
you laughed when you were supposed to, showed up when invited and told yourself that was enough. but every time they looked at you with that warmth and curiosity, something in your chest twisted.
kindness that unguarded had to be intentional. and if it was? then it had to be pity.
their texts started early that morning.
shoko greeting you with “merry chistmas!!” then asking what time you’d be over for the christmas party.
an hour passed. when you didn’t answer, suguru’s concern slipped through—gentle at first, then heavier when you still hadn’t shown up like you’d promised the day before.
satoru followed, loud and insistent, demanding you get over there already because he was “dying to see you.”
you sincerely doubted that last bit.
your phone buzzed again and again until your hands started to shake and sweat—and then you just muted their contacts altogether because answering meant stepping back into space you were already afraid of taking up.
you imagined them sitting together, warm, laughing, wondering why you weren’t there… but not wondering for too long.
they must’ve been relieved when you didn’t reply. one less obligation. less pity. more fun. less faking now that they didn’t have to go out of their way to include you.
so you stayed quiet like you always did.
it wasn’t like you contributed much anyway. they wouldn’t miss you—you were sure of that.
you knew you were boring. you knew you were painfully awkward. every word felt wrong the second you considered saying it. you’d been this way for all you’ve known.
all your friends came into your life the same way. they noticed you because you were alone and because they felt bad for you at first. they stayed just long enough to make you hope, then left when the silence became uncomfortable—when you were somehow too much and too little at the same time.
“no wonder she doesn’t have any friends. she’s so boring!”
“right? she doesn’t even try!”
that’s what they’d all say.
you got used to it.
conversations always seemed to stall when you spoke. every bumbling word felt like something you had to apologize for. you felt like you were taking up air meant for someone louder, easier, and more interesting.
with the three of them, you were always hyperaware of yourself. well, scratch that—you were hyperaware with everyone.
you laughed a second too late, every time. one-on-one conversations stretched thin, filled with pauses you didn’t know how to fix. silence settled in your chest and stayed there, heavy and accusing.
shoko and suguru could sit together without speaking and they still felt comfortable. when the same happened to you, it was like a dead weight and as if something had gone wrong and it was all your fault.
satoru tried the hardest to pull you in—too bright, too loud, always reaching. it felt even more wrong, as if he was overcompensating, smoothing over the rough edges you couldn’t hide.
the thing was, nobody had ever tried this hard before. no friends, no supposed friend group. the most they’d let you do was tag along like a lost puppy. smile politely. blend in just enough to not be a nuisance until you were.
but that never happened with them. not yet.
shoko asked you about the little things—your favorite books, what music you liked, the way you liked to spend a lazy afternoon.
suguru remembered every answer and brought it up later, as if your words mattered, as if they had weight.
satoru teased you relentlessly, yes, but he also asked, really asked, what you thought, what you wanted, noticed what made you laugh—really laugh. not just for show, but because he wanted to know.
they were curious about you. maybe out of genuine care.
so that was why you knew it would hurt so much more when they’d eventually leave you like everyone else always did.
and that was why you stayed in bed all christmas day, cocooned in blankets.
the world outside your apartment and even outside your room felt too loud and too full of happy people who didn’t understand how much effort it took just to breathe.
you only got up once, drawn by the rumble of your empty stomach. the kitchen was cold, at your feet, even in fuzzy socks—an early christmas present satoru got you, their blue color that reminded you of his eyes. they mocked you now.
even the act of making tea felt like climbing a mountain.
you moved on autopilot, filling a mug, heating water, staring blankly at the counter as if it might answer all the questions swirling in your head.
the quiet felt accusing. it always did when you were alone. every shadow seemed to whisper that maybe this was exactly where you belonged.
alone. forgotten. left behind.
the tea steamed in your hands, warm and meaningless, while your phone lay ignored on the table.
you wanted to tell yourself it was okay. that hiding like you always did was easier and that retreating under blankets, pretending the world had forgotten you was safer.
if you expected nothing there was nothing to loose.
you set the mug down untouched. it’s steam curled up and vanished into the cold air, like all the warmth in the world that couldn’t reach you. your hands trembled slightly, and for a moment you just stared at the mug, wishing it could carry your burdens.
finally, you give up.
you trudge back to your room and crawl beneath the blankets, pulling them over your head like they might muffle everything you’re feeling. you curl into yourself, arms tight around your middle, jaw clenched so hard it aches. you tell yourself not to cry. just breathe. just don’t.
your eyes burn. your throat closes up.
one tear slips, traitorous, soaking into your pillow before you can wipe it away. you swallow hard, trying to force it down, but your chest aches and a quiet sound escapes you.
then another tear follows. and another.
after that, there’s no stopping it.
the tears come silent, pressed into fabric, shaking out of you like something you’ve been holding hostage all day. they spill freely, hot and relentless, streaking your cheeks, blurring everything. your breathing turns uneven, chest heaving as if it can’t quite remember how to work, shoulders trembling with the effort of keeping it quiet.
you cry until it hurts—until your ribs ache, until your throat feels raw and scraped bare, until the hiccups rip through you in soft, humiliating bursts.
there’s nobody to comfort you. not now. not ever.
the blankets twist around your body, heavy and useless, offering nothing but warmth without comfort. your room stays still—dark and indifferent, watching you fall apart.
when the tears slow eventually, thinning into shaky breaths, your body sags in on itself. emptied out and exhausted.
your eyes throb, swollen and sore, lashes clumped together with dried tears. the last broken cry slips from your chest, barely more than a breath.
sleep takes you then—not gentle, not kind—but restless and thin, pulling you under while the ache still lingers in your bones.
⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙*̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆
you hadn’t even remembered falling asleep but banging on your door jolts you awake.
panic hits you immediately. the knocks are impatient. almost angry…? for a split second, your half asleep mind spirals.
were you about to be robbed?
your heart slams against your ribs as you scramble upright, sheets tangling around your legs. you reach for your phone, fingers shaking, only to remember you had left it on the kitchen table.
the banging comes again, louder this time, rattling the door in its frame. you swallow hard.
clutching your blanket around your shoulders like armor, you slip out of your room on shaky feet, every step careful, silent.
you grab your phone just as the knocking turns more frantic.
then a voice cuts through it—urgent, rough around the edges, painfully familiar.
“y/n? i’m really fucking worried now. open the door please! i swear to—”
your breathing stills just as he cuts himself off.
it’s satoru.
softer now stripped of all his loud confidence, “please y/n… open the door.”
the way he says your name, like he’s been pacing and trying not to panic, makes your heart twist. the teasing lilt you know so well is gone. the bravado is gone. it’s just worry. real, naked worry.
you stand there frozen, blanket clutched tight, blinking against the sting building behind your eyes, throat closing up.
he came.
he actually came.
nevertheless, panic swarms you all over again. what were you supposed to do? would he be angry? were the others with him? god—you were a mess. your hair tangled with sleep, eyes swollen, face still tight from crying. you couldn’t let anyone see you like this. you couldn’t let him see you like this.
every instinct screams at you to disappear back under the covers and pretend none of this is happening.
but you can’t. he’s right outside your door.
you’re stuck there, suspended between panic and disbelief, feet rooted to the floor.
but then his voice breaks through again—sharper now, threaded with something dangerously close to desperation.
“c’mon— y/n? please. open the door. i need to know if you’re okay… i- i’ll break it down if i have to!”
you flinch.
before fear can talk you out of it you’re moving.
your hands shake so badly as you fumble with the lock, breath coming in shallow, uneven pulls. the door swings open just a crack, and for one terrifying second, you don’t know if you’re ready to meet his eyes.
but there he is.
satoru’s hand is mid knock and he almost stumbles forward when the door opens.
his usual grin is nowhere to be found. instead, there’s worry carved into every line of his face, raw and unguarded—and it hits you harder than anything else tonight.
he exhales your name the second he sees you, relief flooding his voice like it’s been trapped there.
“are you okay?”
the simple question catches you so off guard. it’s not a where where you? or why have you been ignoring us?
he’s asking if you’re okay.
your throat tightens painfully. you can’t answer. you can’t make yourself look at him.
he says your name again, softer this time, almost a plea, but the sound barely reaches you over the storm building in your chest.
everything caves in at once—every wall you put up. every breath you forced to stay steady.
before you can stop it, the dam breaks.
and when it does? his arms are around you.
they’re warm and solid, making your body collapse into him like instinct.
he holds you like he’s afraid to let go, like he’s anchoring you in place when you’re falling apart. his palm cups the back of your head, careful, reverent, like you’re something fragile and worth protecting.
the real sobs that have been clawing at your chest finally spill free.
satoru doesn’t even even pull away or flinch. if anything he settles closer like this is what he was made for.
he murmurs your name again and again, letting you cry it out against him. you cling to him, face buried in his chest, shoulders trembling so hard they ache.
your hair is damp where tears have soaked through, breath hitching in uneven pulls. the scent of him—clean soap, warmth, him—fills your lungs, grounding in a way nothing else has been all day.
for the first time, the crushing weight on your chest eases. just a little. maybe more.
his hand moves through your hair in slow, soothing circles, patient and unhurried. then his fingers catch the edge of the blanket you’re still clutching uselessly between you, and without another word, he tugs it higher around your shoulders. snug and protective.
the gesture is so gentle—so considerate—that your breath stutters all over again.
the words repeat like a mantra, quiet but insistent, making your chest ache. “it’s okay, baby,” he murmurs. “it’s okay… i’ve got you. you’re not alone. you’re not alone, okay?”
the word baby lands like a shock straight to your chest.
nobody had ever called you that. nobody had called you that in a way that felt like this—care and tenderness instead of something you had to earn. your fingers curl tighter in his shirt, knuckles whitening as if your body is afraid that if you let go, even a little, he’ll vanish.
a broken sound tears out of your throat, sharper than the sobs before it, like something inside you has finally split open. your face presses harder into his chest, tears soaking through as your body trembles.
you want to stop—you really do, it’s embarrassing to be like this in front of him, but each sob is pulled from somewhere deep and bruised, all your fear spilling out at once.
you’d been so sure—so sure—that being held like this was never meant for you.
but now… satoru is giving it to you.
his arms tighten, firm and grounding when your knees threaten to buckle, keeping you upright because he won’t let you collapse completely. one hand stays cradled at the back of your head while the other rubs slow, reassuring circles into your back.
“hey,” he murmurs, voice thick now, like he feels it too. “it’s okay. you don’t have to hold back anymore. cry if you need to. i’m right here.”
you gasp, trying to speak, but all that comes out is a choked, broken sound—your words dissolving into sobs as soon as they reach your throat. you shake your head against his chest like you’re arguing and trying to deny everything spilling out of you.
when you sob against him again, you don’t feel so alone doing it.
he still doesn’t let go, only holding you closer, resting his cheek against the top of your head, breathing slow and deliberately until your body starts to follow his lead.
“i’m not going anywhere,” he whispers, a promise meant only for you. “not tonight. okay?”
your chest still hurts. the tears still come. but somewhere between the steady thump of his heart and the quiet certainty in his voice, the pain shifts—no longer sharp, just heavy. something you can carry.
you nod against him.
the next thing you know, satoru is lifting you effortlessly into his arms. he carries you across the room like you’re the most fragile thing in the world.
your apartment feels too big and too empty as he walks, but the space between the two of you feels impossibly small. impossibly safe.
he sits down on the couch without letting you go, keeping you tucked against his chest, your arms still looped around his waist. his hand never leaves the back of your head, fingers threading gently through your hair like they belong there.
you can feel his warmth seeping into you.
he hums softly under his breath, repeating those reassurances that wrap around you like a warm hug.
“i’ve got you,” he murmurs again, “you don’t have to be brave right now. not for anyone. just be here with me.”
and you try to do just that.
you let the tears fall, let yourself shudder against him, let yourself finally rest against someone who refuses to let you crumble alone.
you’ve never felt so seen—so heard without even saying a word.
slowly but surely, the cries eventually fade, replacing themselves with slow, heavy breathing.
he shifts slightly, cradling you closer, and you feel the gentle press of his chin atop your heat. he waits, patient, giving you a long moment to breathe.
when you’ve calmed down more he speaks, breaking the quiet.
“hi, pretty girl… can i see you?”
your chest tightens at his words. your brain scrambles. pretty? me?
it hits you all at once how big this is for you and your face heats like fire. you feel your cheeks burn, your lips parting, unsure what to say. flustered, vulnerable, and entirely unguarded, you nod slightly, still buried against his chest.
his fingers tilts your chin up gently, the other hand brushing your damp hair from your face.
your eyes meet his blue ones that you adore so much and he smiles. it makes your chest ache in a new way. not with pain, but with the strange, overwhelming relief of being noticed.
“there you are,” he whispers, almost to himself.
you blink, still caught somewhere between disbelief and a growing warmth. he leans in just slightly, close enough that you can feel his warm breath without pressure, close enough that you know he’s not going anywhere.
his thumb brushes along your cheek, tracing the damp tracks of your tears, and a shiver runs through you. not from fear or from the cold, from the way he’s holding you making you feel safe.
“it’s okay,” he says again, softer this time, “you don’t have to hide. not from me. not ever.”
you swallow the lump in your throat.
when you finally talk, your voice is hoarse.
“thank you,” you whisper, the words barely making it past your lips.
it feels small compared to everything he’s done—showing up, holding you, staying—but it’s all you can offer. your fingers curl into his shirt again, not quite ready to let go, your heart fluttering in a way that feels dangerous.
he exhales softly, something warm and fond in the sound, and dips his forehead to rest against yours. “hey,” he murmurs, gentle, “you don’t have to thank me for anything. i actually should’ve come much earlier…”
“huh?” you murmur.
your chest tightens with something tender and aching. you’ve always felt it for him, even before today. his presence made everything feel a little lighter, a little safer. you’d told yourself it was nothing. but right now, wrapped up in his arms, it feels impossible to deny.
he pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes soft, unguarded in a way you don’t see often. one of his hands stays firm at your waist, grounding, now like he’s afraid you might slip away if he lets go.
“yeah,” he says quietly. “i was so worried when you didn’t answer us. i kept hoping you’d show up…”
“i should’ve noticed sooner… you’ve been trying so hard to be okay, and i let you do it alone.” his thumb brushes absentmindedly over your side, slow and soothing. “that’s on me. i’m sorry…”
your chest tightens further with the overwhelming weight of being seen. you know now that he doesn't pity you. he cares enough for you to regret missing the signs.
you shake your head quickly, instinctively. “i didn’t want to bother anyone,” you admit, voice small. “especially you.”
his brows knit together, and for the first time there’s something fierce under the softness. “you could never bother me,” he says immediately, like it’s obvious. like it’s always been obvious. “i just… i thought you knew that.”
your heart stutters. you swallow, eyes dropping to his chest, suddenly shy. “i didn’t,” you confess.
there’s a beat of silence. not awkward—heavy. meaningful.
then he tilts his head, smiling faintly, something vulnerable flickering across his face. “guess i should be clearer, then.”
you think—oh. maybe he’s going to say something else. maybe he’s just close because he always is.
but then his lips brush your cheek.
it’s so light you almost miss it.
but how could you?
you freeze instantly, breath catching sharp in your chest, eyes widening in pure surprise. before your mind can catch up, he presses another kiss just beneath your eye—right where your tears had fallen. then another, careful and unhurried, like he’s testing something fragile.
your heart stumbles violently. he’s not teasing. not rushing. he’s kissing your face—like it means something. like you mean something.
“satoru—” you breathe, startled, his name slipping out on instinct alone.
he pauses instantly, forehead resting against yours again, thumb still warm against your cheek.
he searches your face. “is this okay?”
you nod before you can think, cheeks burning, pulse racing, still stunned.
“mhm,” you whisper.
something soft breaks across his face at that—relief, affection, something dangerously sincere. he presses one last kiss to your cheek, lingering just a second longer this time, like he’s memorizing the feeling of you here, alive and real in his arms.
“i’ve always wanted to do that,” he admits quietly.
your chest tightens, breath shallow. you don’t know what to say. you’d never imagined this—not really. never let yourself believe he’d want to kiss you like this. but now, held gently, kissed so carefully, you realize how long you’ve been aching for it too.
he doesn’t push. doesn’t take more.
“merry christmas,” he says with a small, almost shy smile.
you let out a breathless, disbelieving huff of a laugh.
“merry christmas,” you echo, just as softly.
his smile widens at that, eyes crinkling in a way that makes your stomach flutter. he squeezes you just a little tighter, like he’s grounding himself too, like this means as much to him as it does to you.
and then he’s pulling something out of this pocket.
“i have this for you.”
your heart stutters. “wait- you didn’t have to—”
“I know,” he says gently. “but i wanted to.”
he opens his palm, revealing a small box. your hands shake as you take it.
when you lift the lid, your breath catches in a gasp.
inside is a necklace. it’s so delicate and it’s in the jewelry color you always wear. the small charm makes your chest ache instantly. it’s a tiny origami crane.
he remembered. he really remembered.
weeks ago, you’d mentioned in passing, how much you loved origami—how a single crane could hold a wish, a hope, or a secret meaning. it hadn’t even been a full conversation. you’d never imagined he was really listening—let alone care enough to turn it into something like this.
“you remembered?” you whisper.
he shrugs, almost shy, a small grin tugging at his lips. “of course i did.” then, softer, “it reminded me of you.”
your eyes sting. again. you laugh softly, pressing the tiny crane to your chest like like it might hold every little ache and joy you’ve been carrying. no one had ever paid attention like this—not enough to remember, not enough to choose something that spoke to you.
“can i?” he asks, already reaching.
you nod. he inches closer, fingers brushing your hair aside as he fastens it around your neck. his touch lingers at the nape for half a second too long.
when he pulls back, his gaze softens. “it looks perfect on you,” he says quietly.
your heart feels like it might burst.
“wait,” you blurt suddenly, panic and courage colliding. “i- i have something for you too.”
his brows lift in surprise. “yeah?”
you pull away reluctantly and hurry to your room, heart racing. the gift had been tucked away in your closet for weeks—a stupid, impulsive thing you bought because it made you think of him immediately. you never thought you’d actually get the chance to give it to him.
you come back clutching it behind your back, suddenly painfully shy. “it’s not… i mean, it’s kind of silly,” you mumble, holding it out.
he blinks when he sees it—then a smile envelops his entire face.
it’s a plushie of a white cat with blue eyes. soft and ridiculous.
he takes it from you carefully, eyes flicking from the plushie to you, a slow smile spreading across his face.
you stumble over your words to fill the gap, “it’s… it’s stupid, i mean—i just saw it and it reminded me of you and i didn’t think i’d ever actually get the chance to give it to you—”
instead of replying, he’s tugging you onto his lap.
instead, he’s tugging you gently onto his lap.
the soft plushie gets tucked between you, pressed to his chest as his arms come around you, laughter bubbling out of him like he can’t help it.
“oh my god,” he laughs softly, voice fond and warm, “you’re so cute.”
then he leans in—and suddenly his lips are on your face again.
“it’s perfect, baby,” he murmurs into your hair, squeezing the plushie again like he needs to make the point stick.
the kisses start soft. then teasing. then faster, lighter—pressed everywhere without warning. your cheeks, your temples, the tip of your nose. he laughs between them, breath warm against your skin, eyes bright and sparkling like he’s having the time of his life.
your hands clutch at his shirt, breath going shallow as you whine in embarrassment, but he doesn’t let you go. he cradles you easily, the plushie snug between you while his arms hold you close.
“i’m so happy,” he says, smiling in a dopey way that makes your chest ache—and makes you want to kiss him back properly, except you can barely think straight. his forehead rests against yours, close enough that you can feel his breath. “i’m so happy you’re here… and that you got me this little thing…”
all you can do is laugh, breathless, cheeks burning, head spinning from the way he’s holding you, kissing you, making you feel.
you manage a small, breathless laugh, voice trembling. “you really like it, huh?”
he looks down at the plushie, then back at you, eyes sparkling. “like it? i love it,” he says, squeezing it gently before glancing at you again, smile wide and unrestrained. “thank you for thinking of me.”
your cheeks burn hotter, heart hammering. “i… i should be the one saying that…” you murmur, fingers fidgeting.
he laughs softly, a warm, light sound that makes your stomach flutter, then leans in and presses a quick kiss to your forehead and you can’t help but laugh and squirm a little on his lap, trying to catch your breath.
and the way he looks at you after that—soft, fond, unmistakably pleased—makes your chest feel too full.
you feel like you’re the grinch and your heart has grown three sizes.
he’s still smiling at you like that—soft, pleased, a little stunned—when something beyond you catches his eye.
the laughter in his chest slows. his gaze drifts past your shoulder, toward the window.
“…wait,” he says, squinting slightly.
you follow his line of sight just as his eyes widen, excitement lighting up his face all at once.
“wait—look!”
thick snowflakes are falling outside.
his whole demeanor changes instantly—like a switch has flipped. he practically bounces in place, and you knew he actually would’ve if your weren’t sitting on his lap. he grips you just a little tighter in his excitement.
“it’s christmas snow! actual christmas snow! do you see this?!”
you laugh, covering your mouth with your hands, gaze stuck between the window and him. “it’s beautiful.”
you don’t know which is better.
he looks back at you, eyes sparkling. there’s something boyish and unfiltered about him this way that makes you feel the same.
“hey,” he says suddenly, leaning closer like he’s about to share a secret. “have you ever made a snow angel?”
you shake your head slowly. “no… my parents never let me. they were always worried i’d get sick.”
his expression shifts instantly—mock offense, dramatic disbelief.
“no way!” he groans. “that’s unacceptable. today, we make snow angels. non-negotiable.”
before you can even respond, he’s already moving—hands on your waist, lifting you easily off his lap and tugging you toward the door. you stumble after him, laughing, heart racing.
“wait—wait!” you protest, breathless. “i need to get dressed first!”
he freezes mid-step, blinks, then laughs at himself. “oh my god—yeah. okay. wow. what am i doing?” he steps back, holding his hands up dramatically. “bundle up. i’ll wait. promise.”
the way he says it—easy, unhurried, like he truly had nowhere else to be even when he had been so excited—makes something in you soften even more.
you retreat into your room, heart still pounding, movements a little clumsy from leftover adrenaline and excitement. you pull on your jacket quickly, then a knit hat, gloves, and a scarf. just as you’re about to head back out, you pause. you hadn’t seen satoru bring anything with him except a jacket.
without really thinking, you grab an extra scarf and another pair of gloves, folding them over your arm before leaving the room.
when you step back out, he looks up from where he’s waiting by the door. his eyes flick over you—and then down.
“…aww,” he grins, pointing. “those are the socks i got you.”
you glance down, suddenly aware of the fuzzy fabric peeking out beneath your pants. your face warms. “oh. yeah,” you admit quietly. “i wore them all day.”
something in his expression shifts, fond and gentle all at once. he grins in his boyish way, “i like that,”
you hold out the extra gloves and scarf, shy. “i… grabbed these for you. just in case. i didn’t have an extra hat though…”
his eyebrows lift, surprised—and then he smiles wider. “you’re really sweet, you know that?”
“says you,” you mumble, ducking your head.
⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙*̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆
outside, the cold hits you immediately. thick flakes drift down like the world has softened just for christmas. there had already been snow on the ground from last week, but now a fresh layer was settling over everything making it all untouched.
satoru drops down first, landing flat on his back with a dramatic oof.
“okay! like this,” he announces, already spreading his arms and legs wide against the snow as if he was demonstrating something very serious.
you hesitate for half a second—just long enough for the cold to feel real—before lowering yourself down beside him. you sit, then lie back, the snow immediately seeping through your coat, cold enough to pull a sharp gasp from your chest before it turns into laughter. you start moving your arms and legs, copying him, the rhythm awkward at first.
“you’re doing it!” he says, turning his head toward you, grin bright and uncontained. “your first snow angel!”
you turn toward him too, cheeks flushed both from the cold and from him. snow clings to your lashes, almost like you’re trying to match his naturally white ones. “i can’t believe i’ve never done this before,” you admit, breath fogging the air.
“well, it only matters you’re doing it now!” he grins, stretching his arms wider, deliberately exaggerating his movements. “and you gotta commit,” he says. “bigger wings. like this.”
“that’s not fair! my arms aren’t as long as yours!”
you try to follow, laughing harder now—and then your glove slips, accidentally flinging snow straight into his hair.
he freezes.
dramatically, he gasps. “hey! was that an attack?!”
you sit up immediately, laughing so hard your sides ache. “i didn’t mean to!”
“oh, it’s on!” he says, already scooping up a handful of snow. he lobs it at you with zero aim, the clump falling apart midair and barely dusting your sleeve.
“that doesn’t even count!” you tease, scrambling to your feet.
your boots crunch loudly against the snow. he chases after you, laughing, long strides intentionally slowing just enough for you to stay ahead. you can tell he’s letting you win—and it makes you giggle even more.
but then your foot slips.
before you can panic, he’s there, catching you around the waist. the two of you tumble down together in a messy heap, snow puffing up around you as you land.
you end up tangled together, his arm braced beside your head, your hands gripping his jacket. for a moment, neither of you move.
your faces are close, too close—breaths fogging the space between you as the laughter fades into something quieter. you feel so warm inside despite the cold snow biting at you.
the world feels still, like it’s waiting for the two of you.
snow keeps drifting down lazily, catching in his bright hair and melting against his pinkened cheeks.
you’re suddenly aware of how close you are—too close to pretend this is still just an accident—but neither of you pull away.
you huff the way your stomach is fluttering with a soft laugh, eyes flicking up to his hair. “you’re matching the snow.”
he pouts immediately, exaggerated and offended, and it makes you want to kiss it right off his face.
“rude.”
you shake your head quickly, flustered, fingers tightening in his jacket. “no- i meant like- in a good way. you’re like a real snow angel.”
he blinks. once. then again. the tips of his ears turn pink almost instantly.
“…hey,” he mutters, suddenly looking anywhere but at you. “that’s not fair.”
“huh?”
“you can’t just say things like that,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck, flustered.
“oh…”
when he finally looks back at you, there’s something nervous and earnest there, something softer than you’ve ever seen.
his gaze slips down to your lips.
it’s almost like he can’t seem to help it. he exhales slowly, steadying himself.
you gulp.
the realization hits you all at once—what’s about to happen. what you want to happen. your hands tighten in his jacket, knuckles brushing the fabric as your heart stumbles, caught somewhere between nerves and longing.
was this how your first kiss is going to happen?
he wets his lips without thinking, then looks at your own. really looks.
“i… can i…?” he murmurs, voice low, almost breaking.
you nod, barely able to breathe. “mhm….”
he leans in slowly, like he’s afraid of breaking the moment. each inch feels deliberate and suspended, the space between you stretching thin with anticipation. you don’t pull away. not even a little. and your lips part on instinct.
he notices. his breath catches, eyes flicking to your mouth before lifting to meet yours again, searching, making sure you’re still with him.
the world narrows.
he closes the distance carefully. the brush of his nose against yours sends a quiet spark through you, your pulse roaring in your ears as the last sliver of space lingers—just long enough to feel unbearable.
then it’s gone.
his lips meet yours… soft as a promise. warmth blooms instantly like fireworks, chasing away the cold that clings to your skin.
his hand stays at your jaw, thumb tracing slow arcs that make your breath hitch against him.
you register distantly that his gloves are gone, that his skin is warm against yours despite the cold somehow, but the thought drifts away before it can settle.
your fingers are already knotted in his jacket, unsure and clumsy, so you cling harder, grounding yourself in the familiar weight of him, the fabric wrinkling beneath your grip.
he notices. the kiss lingers as if he’s reassuring you without words. he doesn’t rush you, only leaning in just a touch more.
you feel the curve of a smile against your lips before it fades into something deeper.
the kiss deepens and you exhale into him without meaning to, and he hums low in his chest, pleased. like he’d been waiting for that.
the sound sends a small shiver through you and your grip tightens again, knuckles brushing the warmth of his chest beneath the layers.
his thumb stills at your jaw when you finally pull back a fraction, just enough to breathe, your foreheads resting together.
you breaths fog between you, uneven, and he lets out a soft laugh under his breath, something shy and disbelieving.
“wow,” he murmurs, like he’s afraid to break the spell.
you look at him in awe, as if you’re seeing him for the first time but somehow have always known him. his white lashes are dusted with snow, cheeks flushed pink, blue eyes soft and a little stunned like he can’t quite believe this is real either.
for a second, you forget everything else. the pain you’d felt for your whole life? he’s taking it away, little by little until there’s just him, this close, breathing the same air as you.
your lips still tingle where they had met his so intimately, warmth blooming low in your chest, spreading slow and sweet.
“…hi,” you whisper. you don’t know what else to say. the word is barely there, more breath than sound.
his mouth curves into a small, crooked smile, shy in a way you’ve never seen before. “hi pretty girl,” he echoes, quieter, like he’s matching you on purpose.
he leans his forehead against yours again and your fingers relax just a little in his jacket. not because you’re ready to let go—only because you don’t feel like you have to hold on so tightly anymore.
snow keeps falling around you, soft and steady, and for once, it feels like the world got something right.
but then a startled gasp breaks the quiet.
“ugh—! you guys are alive!”
the sound makes both of you jump. you and satoru jerk upright at the same time, scrambling out of your tangled sprawl in the snow, hearts leaping into your throats as you turn toward the voice.
shoko stands a few steps away, one hand pressed to her chest like she’s catching her breath, the other already pointing accusingly at satoru. suguru lingers beside her, calmer, but his posture eases the second he sees you both.
“we’ve been worried sick,” shoko says, relief tumbling out on top of her irritation. “satoru, you said you were just checking on her and then you disappear without letting us know she’s fine! no texts, no calls, nothing!”
satoru winces, rubbing the back of his neck. “oh… sorry about that.”
but then she stops.
actually looks at the two of you.
at how close you’re still sitting despite jumping apart. at the way his knee is almost touching yours, his arm hovering awkwardly like he’s not sure where to put it now. at your embarrassed face, snow clinging to your lashes, hands still half curled like they’d only just let go of his jacket.
“…wait,” she says slowly.
her eyes widen. “oh my gosh. you two—?”
your face heats instantly. “we—”
satoru lets out a small, caught laugh. “uhh…”
there’s a beat of silence—then shoko’s expression flips completely. her mouth drops open, then curls into a grin so wide it’s almost blinding.
“are you serious?” she whispers, delighted. “is this happening right now?”
suguru exhales, something like a chuckle slipping free. “uh huh. it was about time,” he says, easy and knowing.
shoko lets out a sound that’s simply delighted, and before either of you can react, she drops straight down into the snow, arms flinging wide around both of you.
“oh my god,” she laughs, pressing her cold cheek against yours. “i’m actually going to cry. this is so overdue.”
you freeze for a moment, flustered by how close she’s pressed against you. an unrestrained giggle escapes your lips and satoru groans, trying to push her the two of you.
“okay! okay, shoko! get off!”
“what? i’m celebrating!” she protests, holding on tighter. “i’ve been waiting forever for this moment!”
satoru huffs, mock exasperated, gently trying to pry her off. “hey! hands off my girl, jeez! she’s mine!”
my girl.
you laugh through your blush, squirming a little as shoko giggles, clearly unbothered by satoru’s mock jealousy.
from the side, suguru stands with his arms crossed, snow crunching under his boots as he watches, outwardly begrudging, but the faintest crease of a smile betrays him.
“unbelievable,” he mutters, voice dry, and then, with a resigned huff, he kneels down and lets himself join the tangle of limbs on the snow.
he rests his weight next to you and whispers, “glad you’re okay.”
your bashful ‘thank you’ is swallowed by shoko squealing as she wiggles happily between you and satoru.“this is a christmas miracle!” she laughs, pressing her cheek closer to yours and tightening her grip. “i’ve been waiting forever for this!”
satoru groans, exasperated but laughing at the same time. “shoko! seriously! you’re going to crush us!”
you can’t stop the laugh that escapes you, breathless and shaky, cheeks warm, heart hammering. over shoko’s shoulder, your eyes meet satoru’s—bright, steady, and impossibly blue. for a moment, the rest of the world disappears and even shoko’s excited giggles fade into the background.
his hands reach out to intertwine with yours behind shoko’s back and your fingers tighten instinctively around him when they meet.
suguru sits nearby, looking like he’s enduring the chaos, but that small invisible smile is always there to show he’s truly happy too.
snow drifts down around you, soft and quiet, and everything feels right—tangled in the snow, pressed together, hearts still racing from laughter and relief, you realize why this moment will linger in your memory.
and somehow, in the midst of it all, your world had changed to a different kind of blue than the one you’d known before.
now, it was only the blue of his eyes that mattered.
Do y'all ever think about how Sasuke is now older than Itachi. Sasuke is older than his older brother.
Do you guys ever think about how differently things could have been if Sasuke had just known, If he knew the truth from the beginning.
They both should've been up living life. Itachi should've been able to watch his brother grow up. Sasuke should've had he's elder brother to comfort him and teach him about life, but no they just had to be doomed siblings 🥀
Summary: Jack Abbot's relaxing day off takes a turn for the worse when he hears his phone ring. After all, his phone is on do not disturb and there's only one person that he's allowed to interrupt his peace — you. Even worse, your voice isn't the first thing he hears when he picks up.
Pairing: Jack Abbot x nurse!reader
Warnings: f!reader, violence against healthcare workers, language, mentions of bodily harm, mentions of blood, mentions of injuries sustained at the workplace, use of the word 'assault', Jack Abbot's dead wife mentioned, description of a drunk driving accident, Frank Langdon catches some strays, use of the nickname 'sweetheart', use of the nickname 'slugger', no use of y/n, mutual pining, fluff, hurt/comfort
Word Count: 5.5k
Author's Note: Yo — so I'm still alive. I have been stuck in The Pitt for awhile now. This one has been sitting unfinished in my drafts for a hot second. I also have a Robby fic sitting in there that I desperately need to finish. Those two men have truly bewitched me. Anyways, hope y'all are ready to be stuck in The Pitt with me for the time being. Hope you guys enjoy this one!
BEEP
BEEP
BEEP
“Motherfucker!”
You angrily hit the coffee maker that has been causing the entire emergency department trouble for the majority of today’s shift. Langdon had watched you struggle earlier this morning before swooping in to fix the problem with a swift hit to the side of the machine and an off hand comment about having the ‘magic touch’. So, you imitate his actions now — hoping another dose of caffeine will help get you through the last couple hours of your shift. The machine stops its incessant beeping just as it had hours ago, but instead of brewing a fresh cup of mediocre coffee, the interactive screen goes completely black.
Great.
You squeeze your eyes shut and take in a deep breath. If Jack were here, he’d miraculously show up beside you with a latte in hand. You don’t know how he does it, but the man just knows exactly what you need and when you need it — you’ve taken to calling it his ‘sixth sense’. In reality, that’s Jack — observant and steadfast.
You miss the night shift.
It’s not that you dislike the day shift. In fact, you happily accepted Dana’s request for your help covering for Donnie during his paternity leave. In Robby’s words: they needed another nurse practitioner on the day shift and there’s only one that he trusts. A part of you thinks that it was just flattery to get you to come to the light side, but deep down you know that Robby only knows how to speak honestly. Lena wasn’t necessarily happy to let her best help switch shifts for an extended period of time, but she also knows that the ED is a team — sure the staff is split between day shift and night shift, but things only run smoothly when the shifts help each other out.
Jack wasn’t too keen on the idea.
He couldn’t stop you of course — Lena is your supervisor, not him. But that didn’t stop him from voicing his concerns. Jack Abbot has always been protective of his nightcrawlers, but there was something verging on possessive in the way he told Robby that this is simply a temporary arrangement after he realized he couldn’t change your mind.
“Should I call Ahmad to escort the caffeine criminal off the premises or do you have a handle on the situation?”
Robby’s voice breaks through your thoughts. You let out a sigh before turning to face the day shift’s senior attending. His expression, usually threaded with deep exhaustion and stoicism, is teetering on the edge of playfulness while a small smile tugs at his lips.
“Y’know what, Robinavitch? We never had this problem when we had the old machine. Mr. Coffee only had three buttons and never betrayed me.”
Robby lets out a breath through his nose — not quite a laugh, but the closest he’ll get to one this late into his shift. Gloria had decided to get the department a fancy new coffee maker that makes individual cups instead of a full pot a few weeks ago to celebrate improved patient satisfaction scores. What was meant to be a gesture of goodwill from upstairs has become the staff’s worst nightmare.
“You sound like Jack.”
You roll your eyes, but you also know no one has been more upset about this change than the night shift’s senior attending. Robby has always brought his own coffee from home, but Jack has been relying on the emergency department’s supply of shitty coffee for the entirety of his career at PTMC. You’d asked him about it once when you first started working together and he’d revealed under fluorescent lights that there was something comforting about the way it reminded him of the coffee rations he’d receive during his deployments.
“Have you talked to Jack recently?”
Robby attempts to sound nonchalant; however, you know him better than that. You’ve come to terms with the fact that he’s worse than the night shift nurses. Always needing to be in the know about everything and everyone. He swears that it’s because he’s the senior attending, so it’s his responsibility to keep an eye and ear on all of his staff. But Jack isn’t like that. He’s always been reserved and professional during shifts, always keeping his staff at a distance so he doesn’t get too attached — everyone except for you. In between cups of coffee and rooftop conversations, you managed to slip through the cracks of that cool, steely exterior.
“We talk during handover, but that’s not exactly the same as working a twelve hour shift with someone. Why? Anything I should be concerned about?”
Robby’s lips pull into a tight smile at your response, but anxiety finds its place in your chest. During handoff about a week ago, Mateo had pulled you aside to ask if you had any idea what was going on with Jack. Your brow furrowed as Mateo filled you in about Jack’s sudden change in demeanor with his staff — the once calm and collected attending has been increasingly impatient and scattered. You’d reassured Mateo that it was probably just stress related since Jack hadn’t had a day off in months — and even then he spent his rare off-call moments volunteering as a SWAT medic. You figured that Jack had finally hit a wall and was running on fumes, but Robby’s words were now making you second your assumptions.
“Nothing of concern, just looking out for you and Jack.”
Robby has this tone that makes it seem like he knows more about your relationship with Jack Abbot than you do. You know about his history with the night shift’s senior attending physician, but Robby hasn’t been there for the close calls at three o’clock in the morning when Jack puts his complete trust in your hands without a second thought. He hasn’t been there for the nights that seem to drag on for days when it seems like the sun will never rise again. He hasn’t been there for the hushed conversations in stairwells when the night feels darkest and the only comfort to be found in PTMC is in each other’s presence.
It’s not a bond built on flirtation — God knows, Jack Abbot flirts with everyone. And does that make you a little jealous? Maybe. And were you hoping that the distance created due to being on day shift for a few weeks would help you create some boundaries with the man? Possibly. But here you are, still infuriatingly infatuated with a man you have absolutely no chance with.
“I can assure you there’s no Jack and I.”
“Mhm.”
That damn tone again. You want to smack that smug look right off of his stupid face, but before you get the chance to fire back a commotion outside abruptly ends your conversation. The two of you move in tandem, Robby holding the door to the break room open as you duck under his arm before surveying the scene. Your eyes immediately widen as you spot Langdon attempting to keep two infuriated men on their separate gurneys as they yell over each other. He meets your eyes before moving his gaze to Robby, relief flooding his features.
“A little help here?”
You and Robby share a brief, knowing look before dividing and conquering the situation. Robby steps in, wheeling one of the men away while you follow after Landgon who is moving with the other.
“What’s the story here?”
You have to shout over the man’s incessant yelling, but Langdon ducks his head down slightly as he navigates the gurney through the ED to hear you better in the chaos. From not too far away, you hear Robby yell for Whitaker to take over his unruly patient so he can go find Ahmad for back up. Langdon’s shoulder bumping into yours pulls your attention back to your own situation.
“Bar argument gone ugly.”
The man laying on the gurney is bleeding profusely from lacerations on his forehead, but is cognescent enough to keep loudly threatening the other patient that came in with him. You manage to get a closer look at his wounds once Langdon locks the gurney in place and through the deep crimson you see little, semi-translucent pieces of debris. Your brow furrows as the light catches one of the pieces.
“Is that glass?”
Langdon nods before meeting your eyes with a crooked smile plastered on his face.
“Beer bottle to the head. Told you it got ugly.”
You let out a breath before gloving up with Langdon. As the two of you attempt to assess his injuries the man begins to fight you both off, pushing your hands away before either of you can start getting control of the bleeding. You pull back hoping to get the man’s attention so that Langdon can start giving him the care he needs.
“Sir, I’m gonna need you to calm down so that we can take a look at your injuries. Can you tell me your name?”
Finally, the man’s eyes land on you but they are filled with nothing but unbridled fury. You fight off the urge to take a step back from the situation and, instead, stand your ground.
“What I need is to get my hands on that son of a bitch who tried to fucking kill me. Can you help me with that?”
You raise both of your hands as the man fights off Langdon once again. He gives you an exasperated look as his shoulders slump in annoyance.
“I can not, this is a hospital not a fighting ring. What I can help you with is getting your bleeding under control and taking that glass out of your head before you get a nasty infection. How’s that sound?”
Your tone is stern but gentle as you attempt to talk the patient down. For a moment, his face softens in understanding and you almost let out a sigh of relief after having gotten through to him, but then Whitaker’s voice tears through the moment.
“I’ve got a runner, incoming!”
“Oh, shit.”
Langdon’s tone makes your heart rate spike, but before you get a chance to turn towards the commotion Whitaker’s very angry patient shoves you into the wall.
“We need some help in here! You good?”
Langdon’s worried eyes are locked on you as he tries to keep the two patients from tearing each other apart. Your shoulder took the brunt of the impact, but you had managed to stay on your feet which saved you from any additional trauma. After catching your breath, you leap in to help restrain the patient who just assaulted you.
“Sir, please. We need you to calm down!”
Your words fall on deaf ears as he continues to lunge at your patient who is now being held back by Langdon. What a fucking mess. You haven’t had a situation like this since last year’s Fourth of July night shift when two drunken men came into the E.D. after one of them practically eviscerated his buddy’s legs after shooting off a firework directly at him. Your eyes desperately meet Langdon’s, hoping he’s in the same boat as you, and he gives you a similar look of bewilderment.
“Whitaker! Ahmad! Anyone!”
Langdon’s voice is strained as the man in his arms struggles against his hold. You’re using all of your strength to pull Whitaker’s patient away from your own, but he’s got at least a foot and a hundred pounds on you. Keeping him restrained is taking all of your strength. Finally, Whitaker’s shoes squeak as he slides into the room.
“Woah, what can I do?”
Langdon gives him a ludicrous look before his eyes land on you.
“Give them a hand, will ya?”
Whitaker immediately jumps in to help you. You were hoping the additional body could help even the odds with these men; however, they seem to be getting more violent by the minute. The man in your grasp reels back and shoves Whitaker, who stumbles back. Now with only you holding him back, he takes this as a chance to take a swing on Langdon.
“Absolutely not!”
You grab his arm and pull back before he can land a punch. The man lets out a desperate, angry cry and swings his arm back hard. His elbow connects with your nose with a loud crack. The room explodes further than you thought was possible as you spit out the blood draining into your mouth due to the blow. The searing hot pain blooming across your face blinds your vision.
Fuck, that hurt.
You blink once, then twice — your eyes finally adjusting to the damage. Your patient has seemingly settled down enough to be left alone, while Langdon has your assailant in a chokehold as Whitaker tries to pin his arms behind his back.
“What the hell is going on in h—?”
Robby’s words die in his throat once his eyes land on you. His face twists into concern for a brief, fleeting moment before a dangerous rage washes over his hardened features.
“Knock it off before I knock you out.”
Robby’s voice is ice cold and it suddenly pauses the entire room. The only noise filling your ears is everyone’s heavy breathing. Robby lets everyone cool down for a moment before barking out orders.
“Ahmad, get this man out of here. Whitaker, take over the patient who didn’t attack one of our nurses. Langdon, with me.”
Everyone complies instantly and you let out a relieved sigh as the tension in the room finally dissipates. Robby makes his way to you in two large strides with Langdon behind him. He drops his head to meet your eyes which have regained their comforting warmth.
“How you doing, Slugger?”
“I’m fine. It’s nothing, really.”
Robby raises a brow as you spit more blood on to the floor, narrowly missing his sneaker. Langdon gives you a similar incredulous look. Obviously, your attempts to brush off their concern have fallen on deaf ears. Great. Two hours from shift change and now you’re a patient.
This day can’t get any worse.
Robby takes another step forward and carefully places a hand on your chin and gently tilts your head up toward the ceiling. You grimace immediately at the bright, fluorescent lights above you.
“You’ve got two black eyes, a broken nose, and you’re bleeding all over the floor. This isn’t nothing.”
His voice is surprisingly gentle and his features soften into a look you can only describe as brotherly concern. You sigh defeatedly, squeezing your eyes shut as the adrenaline in your body begins to subside giving way to an invasive and persistent shooting pain in your head. Robby’s hands find your shoulders — you aren’t sure if the physical contact is meant to provide you comfort or a precaution in case you pass out. Either way, you appreciate the way his delicate hold grounds you back into this moment.
“I’m going to have Langdon take you to an empty room and do a full exam. Okay?”
You open your eyes again and nod at his question. Robby’s posture relaxes slightly, obviously relieved that you didn’t stubbornly push back against his orders. He rubs your shoulders reassuringly for a moment before speaking again.
“We’re going to have to document all of this. Dana is dealing with a situation in chairs, but I’ll have her come find you when she’s done.”
You nod again, pursing your lips together into a straight line. You don’t love the idea of making a big deal out of this, but you also know that violence against health care professionals is at an all time high. The last thing this department needs is you trying to push this under the rug. Finally, Robby releases his hold on your shoulders and allows Langdon to step in.
Robby runs both his hands through his hair as he watches Langdon lead you towards a room at the back of the ED. He moves towards the hub in the center of the large room, gripping the countertop as he allows himself a moment to gather his thoughts. This is a nightmare. He needs to call Gloria about the situation that just happened. There’s a stack of paperwork that needs to be filled out. Someone has to alert the authorities. And worst of all, he needs to call Abbot.
Hopefully, the asshole that assaulted you will be off the premises before the night shift attending rips through the emergency department. Not because he cares for the wellbeing of your assailant — more so that he doesn’t necessarily want to bail his best friend out of jail tonight. Robby sighs as he digs his phone out of his pocket. He finds Jack’s contact easily in his favorites and presses the speaker to his ear. To his surprise, the call immediately goes to voicemail. Robby knows that Jack has the day off; however, he’s always easy to reach — especially if you’re on shift. So, he dials the number again and presses the phone to his ear. But just like before, he is once again met with Jack’s voice apologizing for missing the call. That’s odd. His brow furrows, but before he can think about his friend’s odd behavior further he’s distracted by a concerned voice behind him.
“I heard about what happened. Dana’s almost done in chairs. How can I help?”
Robby turns to look at Perlah who is currently trying to catch her breath from her obvious sprint over to him.
“Do you know who their emergency contact is?”
If he can’t get ahold of Jack, he might as well let your other loved ones know what happened. Perlah side steps the attending and logs in to one of the computers on the other side of the counter. It only takes a couple seconds to pull up your digital file and a smile spreads across the nurse’s features as she spots the name listed.
“Abbot.”
Of course he is.
“I can’t get a hold of him.”
Perlah’s expression reflects his own confusion for a moment until she remembers a conversation she had with you in the break room earlier this morning.
“He’s gone fishing.”
Robby’s eyes shoot to his hairline as a laugh bubbles in his chest. He attempts to picture his friend in a boat by himself on the river with a fishing rod in his hand, but his mind cannot seem to compute that absolutely ludicrous concept.
“Abbot is fishing?”
“Apparently they convinced Abbot to actually take a day off, put his phone on do not disturb, and find a hobby that doesn’t involve getting shot at.”
Robby’s eyes drift to the room he watched Langdon escort you to as he attempts to wrap his head around the information he was just given. Jack Abbot is fishing on his rare day off because you asked him to find a hobby that doesn’t involve putting himself in harm’s way — and he listened. He wants to be impressed, but instead he’s just annoyed at the two of you — he’s fucking tired of watching the two of you dance around your feelings for one another. He looks down at his phone again, still confused at how his paranoid best friend could actually relax when he’s unreachable while you’re still on the clock.
Oh.
The realization hits him like a slap to the face and he looks up at Perlah who is still anxiously waiting for the attending to start barking out orders.
“Do you think you can manage to get their phone?”
Perlah frowns for a moment, confused by his question. And then her face lights up as she comes to the same realization as the attending standing in front of her. A smile pulls at her lips as she nods at Robby’s request.
“I think I can manage that.”
Jack Abbot enters the emergency department like a hurricane — his presence immediately disrupting the fragile peace they’ve managed to establish since your assault. Robby meets him at the door, stopping him before he can cause any unnecessary damage.
“Where is she?”
Robby frowns. Abbot’s voice is lacking its usual warmth — in its place is a fiery, impatient intensity.
“Let’s just cool down for a second. She’s alright — getting checked out by Langdon as we speak. Okay, Jack?”
Abbot’s brown eyes darken at Robby’s words. His posture stiffens and he’s suddenly aware that he’s no longer looking at his best friend. No, the man standing before him is a devoted soldier with one mission and God help anyone who gets in his way — he certainly isn’t dumb enough to stand between the two of you.
“Exam room 11.”
Abbot brushes past Robby without another word and marches toward the back of the emergency department. He finally feels like he can breathe again as he enters the doorway and watches Langdon press an icepack to your nose. You flinch away from him and Frank lets out an exasperated sigh.
“You are a horrible patient.”
“Well, you’re a horrible nurse. You have to be gentle.”
Abbot leans against the doorframe, his body relaxing now that he’s heard the sound of your voice. A smile pulls at the corners of his lips at your defiance. Eventually, Langdon pulls the icepack away from your face and his blood runs cold as he gets a look at your injuries. It takes every ounce of what’s left of his self control to stay put, instead of forcing Robby to let him know who did this to you.
“I’ve got it from here, Langdon. You can get back to work.”
Both of your heads snap towards the attending standing in the doorway, but Jack’s eyes never leave yours. He watches as your expression shifts from confusion to relief before taking a few steps into the small exam room.
“Hey, Abbot. I’m actually almost done here. The rest of the exam will only take a minute.”
Jack finally regards the other man in the room, but his demeanor shifts to annoyance as Langdon continues to occupy your personal space — as he watches another man’s fingers glide gently over your cheek while he’s standing right there. The sight makes him sick to his stomach as a pervasive, ugly feeling claws at his chest.
“Langdon. Out. Now.”
Langdon’s movements suddenly still and the room immediately feels too small for the three of you. Luckily, the resident does what Jack says and exits the room without sparing you a second glance. Jack’s cold demeanor melts as soon as he hears the door close behind Langdon.
“Hey, sweetheart.”
Jack’s voice fills the room and you finally feel safe. You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding as you hear his boots take careful, calculated footsteps move towards you. This is a dream — it must be. Jack’s fishing today, unreachable until after your shift ends. But then he’s standing in front of you, invading your personal space in a way that’s so undeniably him. You finally look up, meeting his piercing gaze and you swear his jaw ticks slightly as he takes in the full extent of your injuries.
“It looks worse than it is.”
It’s a lie, but all you want is to smooth out the worried creases on his forehead. Jack tilts his head slightly at your words — considering them for a moment. His hands move slowly allowing you time to pull away, but you let him cradle your face with a tenderness that feels misplaced in this environment. His thumb gently brushes under your eye, where deep purple bruising has made its temporary home, and you flinch away from his touch before he even makes it to the worst of your injuries. Jack pulls his hands away from you and you involuntarily frown — a smirk plays at the corner of his lips as he watches the way you chase his touch.
“Do me a favor?”
You nod at his question — not fully trusting your voice at this moment. Jack bows his head slightly, meeting you eye to eye. His gaze is a raging wildfire of emotions. It’s a stark contrast to his calm demeanor and steady hands.
“Don’t lie to me.”
You roll your eyes at this as he stands to his full height again. His hands find their way back to you again, settling on your knees as he begins assessing your injuries further. You lean in closer to him without even thinking about it — it’s like Jack Abbot is the sun and you’re simply a planet trapped in his orbit.
“How are you here?”
Jack’s brows knit together at your question, like it’s the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard. His thumb absentmindedly rubs gentle, grounding circles against your scrubs as his gaze trails over every visible wound on your face.
“What do you mean?”
“You’re supposed to be fishing.”
His face scrunches at your words, but he doesn’t stop his careful assessment of your condition.
“I got a call.”
“Your phone was on do not disturb — you were unreachable.”
“To everyone other than you.”
Your breath catches in your chest at his words. He says it nonchalantly, but the significance of that statement lands harder than the elbow you took to the face. You’re the only person that Jack would let interrupt his day off. Hell, you’re the only reason he took a day off to begin with.
“But how… Perlah.”
Jack’s head tilts as he watches you put the pieces together. Not too long after Langdon got you into the exam room, Perlah found the two of you. She helped Langdon with the exam for a few minutes before cursing that her phone had died before she made an important call. You had offered her your own, thinking nothing of the interaction. But now you understand exactly what transpired when Perlah left with your cell.
“Yeah, scared me half to death when it wasn’t your voice on the other end.”
Your frown deepens at that. You can only imagine the fear that clawed its way back into Jack’s chest — can only imagine the unwanted memories it brought up. Your eyes glance down at his left hand, where a silver wedding band permanently resides. You remember the morning on the roof when Jack finally told you about his late wife after a particularly difficult shift. The two of you had lost a young woman whose vehicle had been struck by a drunk driver. You watched Jack go above and beyond for the woman in a way you’d never seen before. And you noticed the way his entire demeanor shifted once he had to call it after an hour of compressions. Jack slipped out of the ED the moment that the day shift showed up and you followed after once you completed handoff. You found Jack on the edge of the roof — not surprising on any other day, but a concerning visual after what you just witnessed that night. He knew you’d find him — you always do. And as you took your usual place, leaning your elbows against the railing right behind him, he finally opened up about the worst day he’s ever experienced. You listened as he told you about how his wife was in an accident. How she was dead on impact and EMS found her phone on the scene. How Jack was her only emergency contact. How he despises that the last time his wife called him he never even got to hear her voice. How he knows he’s your emergency contact. How his heart can’t go through that again.
“I’m sorry, Jack. The last thing I wanted was for you to worry about me on your day off.”
Jack’s brow furrows at your words.
“Sweetheart, all I do when I’m not with you is worry.”
You both let that sentence linger in the room for a few moments. Jack continues to trace shapes into your shrubs as you attempt to calm your nerves as you realize how intimate this conversation feels. Finally, Jack breaks the silence.
“Can you just come back to the night shift so I can stop freaking out every time my phone rings throughout the day?”
You almost smile at that.
“Donnie comes back in two weeks.”
You mean for that to be comforting; however, this only makes Jack’s body stiffen in response. His head drops as he lets out a long sigh.
“Two weeks is too long.”
“You’re not my boss, Jack.”
Jack pulls his hands away and you watch as he runs them through his short, grey curls. He looks exhausted — and you suddenly feel guilty that his relaxing day off has turned into this.
“You’re right, but sweetheart, I can’t do this without you anymore.”
A part of you wants to throttle him because of that nickname and how easily it falls off his lips — how it’ll only feel right when it’s his voice saying it to you.
“Do what?”
Jack looks at you and his face twists into confusion as he realizes your question is genuine.
“Get through the fucking night.”
A beat passes. You desperately want to just say yes. It’s what you want isn’t it? Returning to the night shift — returning to him. But that’s also the problem. What is this? You thought your switch to day shift would give you some sort of explanation, but your time away has only made you more confused. Would it actually just be easier if the two of you only saw each other during handoff? No domestic moments between cups of coffee, no more mornings spent side-by-side on the rooftop, no more stolen, fleeting touches as he passes you on your way to the hub. You know what you are to Robby — to everyone on day shift. It’s simple. But with Jack — it’s never been simple and maybe that’s the problem.
“What if I want to stay on the day shift?”
Jack recoils like you just threw a punch at him. Guilt claws up your throat as you watch his face fall. It’s a lie — you know that it is. You love everything about the night shift, but you also don’t know how much longer you can keep playing this game with Jack before you simply fall apart.
“Why would you want that?”
“Because at least I know where I stand with everyone here.”
Jack’s brow furrows — you hate that it’s cute. That everything about him draws you in.
“You don’t know where you stand with me?”
You shake your head and he scoffs — the sound is surprisingly cold. He looks at you, brow pinched into a scowl. And then he realizes that you’re serious. Your expression is nothing but unashamed honesty and his head cocks to the side at that. Do you really think he’s been stringing you along this entire time? That this has all been meaningless flirtation? That you mean nothing to him?
He takes a step forward, slotting himself between your knees. Your breath catches as he reaches up and gently cradles your face. His touch is different than before — all professionalism has been cast aside and is now replaced with his overwhelming adoration. Without thinking your fingers grab the hem of his black t-shirt. He smiles as he feels you nervously pick at a loose stitch before he ducks his head and his lips finally meet your own. Your grip on his t-shirt tightens as he moves his hands through your hair. Now this is a dream. The kiss is soft and restrained — you know he’s holding back due to your injuries. The last thing he wants to do is hurt you. Jack pulls away too soon for your liking, but he doesn’t move away. Instead, he places his forehead against yours.
“Sweetheart, I’ve been yours since the minute you walked through the fucking door.”
You bite your lip as you attempt to hold back the giddy grin that begs to spread itself across your face.
“You never said anything.”
Jack pulls away at that, not far — just enough to get a good look at you. The look on his face is incredulous — like it’s absurd you don’t know that his entire life revolves around you at this point.
“I thought I made myself abundantly clear.”
You laugh at that and Jack steals a kiss from your lips just because he can.
“I take it Robby gave you the rest of the day off?”
You nod, smiling as you feel Jack thread his fingers through yours.
“He told me to go home after Langdon finished my exam — who you should apologize to.”
Jack’s jaw clenches slightly as his brow furrows.
“Him being here was unnecessary.”
You watch him for a moment, trying to understand what happened between the two men that never seemed to have any sort of animosity prior to today. And then your hand tightens around Jack’s as you realize what happened.
“You were jealous.”
Jack rolls his eyes.
“I have no reason to be jealous.”
You raise a brow at his statement. He’s not wrong — he has no reason to be jealous of Frank Langdon, but you know the resident somehow got under his skin. He may be able to maintain his facade of nonchalance to the rest of his staff, but you see right through him.
“What makes you so confident?”
“Because Langdon isn’t the one taking you home right now, is he?”
vaporwave
andulkaphoto
areudirty
titsay
2087
tangentwithtanner
stormborns
