[hearts4hughes]

╰─▸ nora’s bookcase ﹠ glines ﹠ anon list ﹠ bridgerton au

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༚ ˗ˏˋ she/her · leo sun · twenty · writer · hockey fanatic · bambi-eyed + blush-blind · hopeless romantic · rafe cameron’s problem · bruce wayne’s baby · clark kent’s journalist gf ˎˊ˗

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personal blog: @angelmagn3t

© hearts4hughes - copying, modifying, or translating my work is not permitted.

[hearts4hughes]

i would love to change my username but i absolutely hate that my masterlist and tags won’t work 😭😭

[hearts4hughes]

my all time favorite au storyline / trope is enemies to lovers with rafe cameron during the zombie apocalypse 🤤

[kaiawrites]

boy next door

juraj slafkovský x f!reader

word count: 10.3k

summary: to you, he’s the boy next door; your hot neighbour who you can't believe actually wants to get to know you better. to the rest of the world, he’s juraj slafkovský, montreal canadiens superstar. but you don’t know that, and maybe that’s what makes him so intrigued by you.

warnings: looking at people through their windows (not too creepily though), shirtless slaf, light swearing, liberal use of semi-colons and em dashes, weird timeline, a bit of angst near the end (happy ending tho)

reader is described as shorter than slaf (sorry for the 6’3 and up ppl reading this) but otherwise no physical descriptors

a/n: this was inspired by one of my best friends having a crush on her window neighbour so thank you to her for the inspo🙏

The first time you’d seen him had been only two days after you’d moved. You’d been undoing boxes in your kitchen, humming along to some music when you’d caught a glimpse of him through your window. His apartment was across the street from yours, on the same floor; perfectly positioned for you to watch as he’d stepped into the room, carrying a bowl of something you couldn’t recognize from this far out and dropping it onto a dining table which just so happened to be facing right out of his window and into yours.

And maybe it was a dramatic reinterpretation, but you could’ve sworn you’d stopped in your tracks, your music continuing on without you as your mouth had fallen open. With his wavy golden brown hair, strong jawline, and his “however many feet tall he was” figure, he could’ve rivaled a super model in terms of beauty. He certainly took the gold for the most handsome man you had ever seen with your own two eyes. And you hadn’t been able to help but stare as he’d sat down, scrolling his phone as he’d eaten his breakfast. The scene had been so mundane, it should have bored you instantly, and yet, you hadn't been able to look away. That was, until he had taken notice of that fact.

Without warning, he’d looked up, as though sensing your unwavering gaze, and for a brief, glorious moment, his eyes had locked with yours. After a second, which had felt much longer to your racing mind, he’d seemingly settled on giving you a small smile. And what had you done? You had run straight for the nearest room with a window through which he couldn’t see you.

And that was where you were now, frantically texting your friends as you replayed the interaction (if you could call it one) through your mind as many times as humanly possible, berating yourself for having possibly the worst reaction possible. Your cell phone suddenly buzzed in your hands, as your best friend’s picture lit up your screen. You accepted the call, immediately greeted by the sound of your best friend’s laughter.

“Oh my god, I can’t believe you just ran for it!” She said through laughter, not even bothering to properly greet you.

“Don’t make fun of me! My brain just short-circuited okay, you would understand if you saw how hot this guy was,” you replied, almost groaning in embarrassment as you replayed the moment in your head for the twentieth time.

“I wanna see!” She said excitedly.

“Girl, are you crazy?!” You exclaimed. “There’s no way I’m going back in there after that! Much less pointing a camera at his face!”

“Don’t be dramatic! Just put the phone up against your ear and keep talking to me. And hey, maybe he’ll just assume you ran to the other room to answer a phone call, rather than because he smiled at you,” your best friend suggested. And, damn it, maybe she was actually making sense for once.

“Damn it, okay fine,” you conceded, getting up and flipping your phone camera so that your friend could hopefully see your dreamboat of a neighbour. You slowly made your way back out into your kitchen, hoping you were coming across as casually as you were attempting to. “Can you see him?” You asked, mostly to keep up the illusion that you were on a phone call.

“I can barely see the top of his head dude, you gotta lower the phone,” your best friend replied. “And stop moving so damn much!”

“Oh because I’m gonna look so normal standing as still as a statue taking a phone call in the middle of my kitchen,” you replied sarcastically as you tried to subtly reposition your phone.

“Okay that’s perfect, don’t move!” Your friend said, evidently ignoring your previous comment. You heard her gasp dramatically. “Oh he is, fiiiine!” She said, dragging out the last word for dramatic effect.

“Alright, I’m going back into the other room now,” you replied sarcastically, though you were certainly planning on actually doing so.

“No, wait, stay here he is one hundred percent looking at you right now!” Your best friend all but screeched into your ear. Your first instinct was to turn and check if she was telling the truth, but you caught yourself, not wanting to embarrass yourself further.

“What should I do?” You whisper-shouted, as though he could've somehow heard you if you spoke too loudly.

“I don’t know girl, if you look at him are you going to run away again? Or are you gonna smile at him like a normal person?” She asked you, half sarcasm, half genuine concern. You pondered the question for much longer than you should have. “God, you are hopeless!” Your best friend said good-naturedly at your lack of a timely answer. 

“Just turn around like you’re still on the phone with me and just looking out your window, and if you catch his eye, smile, and then turn back toward something else, alright?” Your friend added, practically coaching you through this as if you were fifteen years old trying to get your crush’s attention. It was almost embarrassing. With a deep breath to hype yourself up, you turned slowly, just as your friend had instructed. Your eyes immediately gravitated towards him. He was still sitting in the same exact spot, though he had put his phone down now, and just as your friend had said, you had his full, undivided attention.

When he noticed your eyes were on him, he gave you a light smile, in an almost play-for-play rendition of your previous encounter, although you noticed his smile veered slightly towards a smirk this time around. Your lips curled into a tentative smile, your eyes locking with his, which you could now tell were probably brown, although you were a bit too far to tell for certain. You couldn’t tell for certain just how long had passed before your friend’s voice shocked you out of your dream-like state.

“If you’re still looking at him now would be the time to look away before it gets weird!” She exclaimed, and you were embarrassed to admit you had almost completely forgotten she was there. You mournfully tore your gaze away from his, walking off into another room in what you hoped was a casual way. After you had made your way back to the safety of your office room, which was the only room to not share a window with your neighbour, you lowered your phone back down so that you could see your friend again.

“Okay, how was that?” You asked, still somehow nervous although the interaction was over.

“Well, I couldn’t see anything babe, but it seems like you did a lot better than the first time!” She said humorously.

“God, you are never going to let that go, are you?” You said, groaning at the thought of your best friend bringing this incident up until you were both six feet deep.

For the following week or so, you continued catching occasional glimpses of the boy next door, as you had dubbed him, although you noticed, much to your chagrin, that he was often gone a few days at a time, seemingly abroad as you had noticed him leaving with a large suitcase on more than one occasion.

You had also managed to become more subtle in your admiration, because you hadn’t had another moment with him since that first day. Well, you hoped that was the case, because the alternative was that you’d freaked him out so bad on that first day that he was now actively ignoring you. You chose to believe it was the former, for your own self-esteem.

Today, you had decided to try your hand at baking meringues, considering one of your friends’ birthday was coming up. And it was much harder than you had expected. You had already all but ruined your first batch by adding in the sugar too quickly, and your second batch was currently settled in the oven. As you waited for your meringues to finish baking, you were half-mindedly reading a book, occasionally looking up and checking the time to make sure you didn’t overcook the meringues. 

On one such occasion of you looking up from your book, you had to do a double take. Because your neighbour was there, in his living room which you could see through the window. 

And he was not wearing a shirt. You almost dropped your book.

You at least had the decency to feel ashamed as your eyes ran across the smooth, muscled plan of his stomach, the perfectly defined muscles crowned with a light mattering of hair. You knew you were being weird; that you should look away because obviously he was perfectly allowed to be shirtless in his own home without having to worry about someone watching him through his window. And yet you couldn't look away, your cheeks burning up at the embarrassment of what you were doing. 

You should definitely look away before he noticed you staring, because that would be even more embarrassing that what you’d done the first time, and—

And he’d seen you.

This time you did drop the book, losing any and all excuses you could have hidden behind. You were so mortified, you had never felt your face go so hot before. You would have to move all over again, because there was no way you could ever show your face anywhere he might see it ever again. You slowly picked up the book, hoping, praying that he would be gone by the time you were back to eye level.

He wasn’t gone, of course. No, it was much, much worse.

He was laughing. The worst part was, it didn’t look like a mocking laugh either, it seemed soft, genuine, like this was the funniest thing in the world and he couldn’t even stop himself for the sake of decency. And despite your utter and complete mortification, you couldn’t help but smile at the display.

When his laughter finally died down, however, and his gaze met yours, he gave you a smug smile, and simply raised one eyebrow suggestively before making his way out of the room.

As soon as you knew he couldn’t see you anymore, you slid to the ground, your face buried in your hands. You were certain you had never blushed this hard in your life, and your face was burning hot to the touch. So hot in fact, that you could almost smell the burning. Wait what? How could you sme—

Your meringues. You had forgotten them. You rushed to the oven, turning it off, but it was too late, your second batch of meringues ruined as well.

With a sigh, you got out more of the necessary ingredients, ready for another attempt. Third time’s the charm, right? 

Walking into your kitchen in the morning, you performed your habitual “window check” whilst your coffee machine was running. He wasn’t there, although that wasn’t much of a surprise, as he seemed to often go for a run, or a gym session in the mornings. You internally cringed at your borderline stalker level knowledge of his routine.

As you were enjoying your breakfast, slowly sipping your coffee as you read a book, your phone pinged with a notification, letting you know the last of your boxes, which had gotten misplaced during your initial move-in, had finally made their way to your apartment. You begrudgingly made your way down to the lobby of your apartment building, not bothering to change out of your pajamas. However, no boxes awaited you in the lobby. Perplexed, you looked around, only to realize the boxes had been inexplicably left outside, and you mentally thanked yourself for deciding to come retrieve the boxes immediately, especially considering the darkened grey clouds rolling your way.

You stepped out to pick up the boxes, but ran into a slight problem. They were heavy. So heavy you could hardly lift them for more than a few seconds at a time, much less carry them all to the elevator and into your apartment. 

“Jeesus, did I pack a box of bricks or what?” You muttered to yourself as you considered the situation, staring down at your boxes. You were mortified to hear laughter sound from behind you, as your comment had clearly not been as quiet as you’d thought. Your mortification amplified tenfold as the source of the laughter was revealed. Of course, it had to be him.

“Need some help with that?” Your boy next door asked as he stopped in front of you. Your first thought was that his voice was deeper than you’d expected, and that he had an accent you didn’t recognize. Your brain short-circuited at the unexpected interaction with someone you genuinely believed you would never actually speak to. Much less someone who would willingly come up to you after the ogling incident, as you and your best friend had dubbed it after you'd filled her in on the events..

“Uh, I mean, I’m sure I can manage it,” you said, taking him in. He had clearly just returned from a run, because he was dressed in athleisure from head to toe, and drenched in sweat. And somehow he still looked so good? It wasn’t fair. “Wouldn’t want to inconvenience you,” you added for good measure.

“You’re no inconvenience,” he replied decisively, picking up the box in front of him as if it weighed nothing. You bent down to retrieve the second box, but the man stopped you with a hand on your arm, as he proceeded to somehow pick up both boxes at once whilst you could barely hold one.

“Well, I feel useless now,” you joked as you held the door open for him. “But thank you…” you trailed off, hoping he would provide his name to fill in the blank. He looked down at you curiously as you walked towards the elevators.

“Juraj,” he replied after a moment. The name sounded vaguely familiar, although you couldn't hazard a guess as to why; you were certain you had never met anyone with that name before.

“Where is that from?” You asked curiously, looking up at him as you signaled the elevator down. Your question seemed to amuse him, though you had no idea why that was.

“Slovakia,” he answered as the elevator pinged, signaling its arrival.

“Oh wow! What made you decide to come live in Montreal?” You asked as you both settled inside the elevator, and as you pressed the fifteenth floor button.

“Work,” he replied simply, as you were starting to gather that your boy next door, Juraj, was a man of few words. That, or he was getting annoyed with you. You didn’t press on, feeling self-conscious that he seemed to be growing tired of your questions. Once you reached your floor, you led him to your door, then, after getting your door open, held out your arms expectantly.

“I can take it from here,” you said in a tone that wasn't quite rude, but not necessarily as enthusiastic as it had been earlier. You were starting to worry you had completely ruined your shot with your boy next door, although you didn’t quite understand what had gone wrong. Maybe he had just remembered the ogling incident and realized he didn’t want to talk to you. You wouldn’t blame him. Juraj looked you up and down slowly, a small smirk tugging at his lips.

“Are you sure you can handle it?” He asked in amusement. You should have been offended, and yet you weren't. Because, for one, he was clearly right, and he knew that you both knew that. But also because he was making your brain short-circuit. How could his tone be so uninterested one moment that you’d almost been convinced he somehow hated you, yet sound so playful the next moment. “I came all this way, I should at least put them down where you need them,” he added, as if one look up and down hadn’t been more than enough to convince you.

“Okay, I guess that would be helpful,” you replied, moving backwards so that he could come inside your apartment. “You can leave them here,” you said, gesturing toward your kitchen counter. “It’s all stuff for my living room or kitchen, I think.” 

As if he needed to be showing off any more than he already had, Juraj came in, shifting both boxes into one hand, using the other to shut the door behind him, before setting the boxes down where you had indicated. You almost scoffed at how easy he was making it look, whilst you’d barely been able to lift one of the boxes. You opened one of the boxes, finding some of the frames and kick-knacks you’d wanted to use to decorate your living room.

“Perfect, I can finally finish decorating today,” you said to no one in particular as you sifted through the contents of the box.

“What, do you need an excuse to be in here so you can stare at me through the window again?” Juraj asked, and your heart lurched to a stop.

“Oh my god,” you groaned, hiding your burning face in your hands. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t trying to make you uncomfortable or anything, I just—” 

“Hey, it’s fine,” he said, cutting off your rambling. “People stare at me all the time. I’m used to it,” he added somewhat smugly.

“What, are all your other neighbours hoping you’ll walk by the window shirtless?” You asked sarcastically, though your face was still flushed, heart hammering. 

“Something like that,” he answered.

“Well, thank you really, I honestly don’t know how the hell I would’ve gotten those up on my own,” you said with a laugh, hoping to change the topic.

“My pleasure,” Juraj replied with a warm smile.

“Did you wanna stay and have something to drink?” You suggested, almost without thinking. “You must be parched,” you added.

“What, you think I can’t handle carrying two boxes up an elevator?” He replied cockily.

“No, I think you’ve more than proved that you can do that very easily,” you replied with a smile. “But it looked like you were already coming home from a run or something.”

The mood seemed to shift all of a sudden, Juraj’s smile faltering as if you had just reminded him of something important he’d forgotten about.

“Right. Sorry, I should really get home,” he said, almost urgently. “I should shower, you know,” he added hastily.

“Right, okay,” you answered dejectedly. “Well, thank you again, Juraj,” you added, reaching the front door. For a moment, Juraj stood there, as if he were going to say something more. Yet all that came out of his mouth was a muffled ‘bye’ as he hurried toward the elevators.

You weren’t ignoring him. That was what you told yourself anyway. You just weren't lingering on his presence anymore. Or, you were trying not to, at least. Because as much as it pained you to avoid staring at such a beautiful face, you weren't about to keep pining over somebody who had so explicitly rejected you when you’d offered him to stay.

So when you noticed him walk into his living room from the corner of your eye, you made sure to keep all your attention on the movie in front of you.

Which lasted all of twenty seconds. 

Because he was still there, in the very corner of your field of vision, and your curiosity was very good at getting the better of you. You shifted on the couch, positioning yourself still facing your television, but with a much better view of Juraj’s window. 

He was just standing there, looking right at you it seemed. And unfortunately, you hadn’t been as subtle as you’d thought, because he seemed to notice you looking at him immediately. Your gaze snapped back towards your television, your cheeks burning up at the embarrassment of having been caught looking. Why were you embarrassed when he was the one staring at you? Would he still be looking at you if you risked another glance now?

You found out the hard way that the answer to that question was yes. Even worse was that this time, Juraj was waving his arms, attempting to get your attention. There was no way you could pretend you hadn’t noticed him now. You gave him a small wave and an awkward smile, hoping he would go back to whatever it was he had been doing. That hope was immediately proven futile, because he stood there for a moment as you looked at him, looking as though whatever he’d been trying to do, he hadn’t planned anything further than step one: getting your attention. 

After a short moment, he held up a finger to you, mouthing something you couldn’t really make out, but could assume was something along the lines of be right back or stay right here, before he rushed out of the room. He came back just a few seconds later, holding up a piece of paper to the window.

What the…

You squinted your eyes, trying to make out the messily scrawled script in bright red marker.

‘Are you ignoring me? :(’

The drawn on frowny face almost made you crack a smile. Juraj’s face wearing the same exaggerated expression definitely made you crack one. You pondered the sign for a second. Would a guy who had firmly rejected you practically recreate a scene from the ‘You Belong With Me’ music video? Probably not.

You shook your head vehemently, mouthing an over-exaggerated ‘no’. You watched as Juraj’s frown turned into a smile. You watched as he quickly jotted something down on the other side of the piece of paper he was holding up, before flipping it around for you to read his next message.

‘But you don’t look at me anymore.’ the message read.

You paused your movie—not that you’d been paying much attention—and walked down to the room you’d converted into an office, grabbing some printer paper and some markers before making your way back to the living room. With a dark purple marker, you carefully wrote out your answer.

‘Didn’t think you’d want me to.’

His reply was immediate.

‘Why? :(’ 

Always with that damn frowny face.

‘Cause it was weird lol. And you left my apartment pretty quickly.’

‘Sorry :( I really did need to shower.’ 

You pondered his reply. To you, it had seemed far more hurried than a ‘fuck I have to shower’ moment when it had happened. But then again, would you have wanted to be sweaty in his apartment, meeting him properly for the first time? Not likely.

‘Alright, you’re forgiven’

‘So I was right, you were mad at me?’

As he held up that last message, the expression on his face gave away his amusement at the situation, and his smugness at having been proven right.

‘I’m sure you’d love to be right after all, huh?’ 

As he read that last message, Juraj nodded enthusiastically, which made you laugh.

‘I mean, I wasn’t mad, I just kinda thought you hated me lol.’

As he read this message however, Juraj shook his head vehemently, his eyebrows furrowed. He rapidly jotted down his next message.

‘I thought think you’re cute. And I was sweaty and gross.’

You smiled as you read that one, endeared by him taking the time to strike out the ‘thought’ to make sure you realized he still did find you cute. Knowing he found you cute also contributed to making you smile.

‘I think you’re cute too :) Even when you’re sweaty and not gross.’

‘I know ;)’

You rolled your eyes good-naturedly as he mimicked the winky smiley face cockily. You pondered for a moment on what to write next, before jotting down your phone number.

‘Maybe you could use that to ask me to meet up on a day where you’re not sweaty and gross?’

You added below it.

‘What, you don’t think the papers are romantic?’ 

His next message read, although you watched him grab his phone and supposedly punch in your phone number.

‘Maybe. But I’m gonna run out of paper soon.’

The next reply came through your phone.

Unknown Number: how does dinner on sunday sound? 

you: sounds perfect :)

you changed Unknown Number to “boy next door <3”

It felt odd to leave your home for a date, only to cross the street and walk into the opposing building. Juraj was waiting for you in the lobby of his building when you walked in, dressed in a black jacket, a white polo shirt and some black pants. His hair was combed back, showing off his beautiful face. As he noticed you walk in, his gaze flicked down, then back up, taking in your attire. His gaze met yours, and he smiled; a gesture you couldn’t help but return.

“Hi,” he said simply as you walked up to him. “You look beautiful.” 

“Thanks, you don’t look too bad yourself,” you replied as he led you towards the elevators.

“Yeah?” He replied, looking down at his attire. “I almost thought you would like it better if I didn’t wear a shirt,” he added, comically wiggling his eyebrows. 

“Oh my god, you’re never going to let this go, are you,” you replied shamefully, though you chuckled out a laugh. As you both got into the elevator, he looked at you for a moment, as though he were seriously considering your statement.

“Nah,” he ended up replying. Once you’d reached his apartment, he held the door open for you, gesturing for you to go in first. It almost felt like déja vu, being inside of an apartment you had caught so many glimpses of through your window before. The apartment was clean; cleaner than you were used to seeing it, which was for your sake, you supposed. The dining table was set up neatly, with a vase filled with a few fresh flowers in the middle. You smiled giddily as Juraj led you to the table, even pulling your chair out for you.

“You didn’t have to do all of this,” you said with a small laugh. Juraj shrugged with an almost shy smile.

“Maybe, but I wanted to,” he replied simply. You watched as he returned with two plates of delicious looking pasta, which he set in front of each of you, before sitting down himself.

“Wow, did you make this?” You asked.

“Yeah,” he replied bashfully. “I usually just cook for myself, so, I hope it’s good.” You took that as your cue to dig in. You let out a hum of satisfaction as you savoured the taste. “Good?” He asked, looking at you with an intensity that wasn’t there before.

“So good, wow,” you replied, closing your eyes at the richness of the taste.

“I’m glad you like it,” he replied. “Forgot the water, sorry,” he added after a moment, getting up and returning with a jug. But as he leaned down to pour you a glass of water, he severely misjudged the distance between him and the glass. And he instead found himself pouring the water right onto your lap. Thankfully, he had the immediate reflex of pulling back, but the damage was done.

“I’m so sorry!” He exclaimed. “God I’m such an idiot,” he added.

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it! It’s just water, it’ll dry,” you replied, hoping to alleviate his obvious embarrassment. The expression on his face told you he still felt guilty, however.

“I’ll lend you some pants and put yours in the dryer, I’m so sorry. Again,” he said, getting up. You knew logically that at that point, you could’ve gone home and changed pants, and been back here within five minutes at most. But you didn’t say that. Instead, you got up and followed him into his room.

You watched as Juraj walked up to a dresser, pulling out a pair of sweatpants and handing them to you.

“I hope this is okay,” he said, gesturing to the sweatpants. “They’re not very fancy, but they’re comfortable.”

“Seriously, thank you Juraj. And stop worrying about it,” you replied with a smile as Juraj stepped out of the room, closing the door behind him..

The room was decorated rather sparsely, which was in line with how the rest of his apartment was decorated. His bed, which was hastily made, and which took up the majority of the room bore a dark blue comforter and some grey pillows. Apart from the dresser from which Juraj had gotten the pants, the room also contained a small desk and a plush dark blue arm chair, which indicated the desk likely wasn’t used for work. The cream walls were unadorned, although in a corner stood a tall bookshelf which contained more picture frames than it did actual books.

After quickly shimmying on the sweatpants, you couldn’t help yourself but to approach the shelf, inspecting each photo. You quickly realized that many of the featured scenes revolved around hockey; a young boy, which you assumed was Juraj, in the middle of a hockey game, face focused and determined; or after a game with a medal around his neck, bright smile and flushed cheeks. Between the picture frames and the books, which looked so new you doubted they had ever been opened, laid a few small trophies, mostly in the shapes of pucks or hockey sticks.

A soft knock on the door pulled you out of your thoughts?

“Are you okay?” Juraj’s muffled voice sounded through the door, and you realized you had been in his room far too long for someone who was just changing into sweatpants.

“Yeah, I’m good, sorry you can come in,” you replied, as you began making your way toward the door yourself. The door swung open, revealing a concerned looking Juraj. He seemed surprised to find you so close to the door, so close to him, and he looked down at you in surprise.

“Everything alright in here?” He asked again.

“Yeah, sorry, got distracted looking at your pictures,” you replied bashfully, generally gesturing towards the bookshelf. “Didn’t know you were so into hockey.”

“Oh,” he replied, dumbfounded. You waited for him to continue, but he didn’t seem to intend to do so.

“Sorry if that was personal,” you answered, now feeling self-conscious.

“No, it’s fine,” he answered after a moment. “I played a lot when I was younger. I really loved it,” he added carefully, as if weighing each word. “Still do.”

“Must be one of the nice parts of living in Montreal for you then, huh? I mean, I know you’re not from here, but the love for the Habs must be infectious,” you replied. Juraj looked down at you solemnly for a moment.

“Yeah, I mean, it’s the best city in the world for hockey. Everyone knows,” he replied, his gaze flickering across your face, seemingly searching for something, although you couldn’t guess what. “Do you like hockey?” He added after a moment.

“I mean, I wouldn’t really be a Montrealer if I said no, no would I?” You answered with a laugh. “But I honestly can’t say I’ve watched a game since we got eliminated in the finals a few years back,” you added with a laugh as you watched Juraj smile almost absent-mindedly. “We any good this year?” You added.

“Yeah,” Juraj answered simply. “Probably making the playoffs,” he added then quickly continued, “We should probably go back to eat if we don’t want the pasta to get cold.”

“Yes, right, lead the way!” You replied, following him out of the room. The rest of the date went off without a hitch, the conversation flowing so naturally anyone would have thought you’d known each other for years. It was surprising how comfortable you’d become with him so quickly, and after discussing both your lives and interests at length, you found yourself curled up on the couch with Juraj, watching an episode of ‘Love is Blind’ with a blanket covering the TV so that you could play along with the contestants. It felt ridiculously stupid, but then again, that had been the point, and you were both having a great time of it. However, you eventually noticed your eyelids getting heavier, and your head leaning upon Juraj’s shoulder.

“I think I need to get you home soon, huh, sleeping beauty,” Juraj said as he noticed your shift in demeanor. You looked up at him with an exaggerated pout, which made him laugh.

“Yeah, I think you’re right,” you conceded, yawning as you got up and collected your purse, even having to lean on Juraj for support as you slipped your shoes back on. The walk home was far too quick for your liking, even as Juraj accompanied you all the way to your door, despite your assurances that it wasn’t necessary. When you finally reached your apartment door, you turned around toward Juraj, looking up at him.

“I had a really great time, thank you,” you said, smiling widely. It seemed you couldn’t stop doing that tonight.

“Me too,” Juraj replied. “Thank you.”

“What are you thanking me for?” You laughed. “You’re the one who planned everything!”

“Well, I could thank you for giving me another chance after I was so rude. Or for pretending my pasta was that amazing,” he replied with a playful smirk you’d come to associate with him.

“It was amazing,” you replied laughing. Juraj looked at you with a raised brow as if he didn’t completely believe you. “I’m serious! Why would I lie to you!”

“Hmm, maybe you’re just trying to get on my good side so I let you see me shirtless again,” he replied teasingly.

“Oh my god, you’re incorrigible!” You answered, still laughing, though more softly now. Your eyes widened as Juraj stepped closer and you locked gazes. The previously playful mood shifted to something more serious as he brought his hand up to cup your face, his touch so gentle it was barely there.

“Can I kiss you?” He asked earnestly, his eyes searching yours.

“Yes,” you all but sighed, leaning your head towards him. His lips were soft, and you immediately found yourself melting into the gentleness of the kiss, hand coming up to rest upon his chest. And as soon as it had started, it was over. Juraj pulled away from you, smiling, and you could’ve sworn his cheeks were dusted a light pink colour.

“Gooddnight,” he said simply.

“Goodnight,” you replied with a giddy smile, watching him disappear down the hall before getting inside your own apartment, the smile completely glued to your lips. You completed your nightly routine as if in a daze, replaying the events of the night in your mind. What broke you out of your trance was the sound of your phone buzzing. You opened it to find two unread messages; one from your best friend asking you how the date went, and another from Juraj.

boy next door <3: you forgot your pants at my place😬

You laughed at the choice of emoji, before typing in a quick reply.

you: and I still have your sweatpants… oops

you: i guess that means we’re gonna have to see each other again

His reply came almost immediately.

boy next door <3: oh no what a shame

boy next door <3: sooo when’s the next time you’re free? ;)

A few months later, you were still holding on to those sweatpants. Not because you hadn’t seen Juraj again, but the contrary, in fact. The first time you’d seen each other again after that, you had genuinely forgotten to bring back his pants, although he’d returned yours.

The second time, you had folded up the sweatpants neatly and put them in your tote bag, yet that fact completely slipped your mind the moment you had walked in and seen Juraj with that usual cocky smile on his face. You were already back home by the time you’d remembered that they’d been in your bag the whole time.

The third time, the date had been at your own apartment, and although you’d handed them back to him the moment he’d walked in, so as to not forget to give them to him again, he had set them down, and forgotten to pick them back up on his way out.

When Juraj unexpectedly stopped by your apartment the next time, wanting to see you before he left on a worktrip, you were caught unaware, and you had been wearing his sweatpants. 

“Are those my sweatpants?” He had asked as you’d opened the door.

“Maybe…” You’d replied bashfully. 

“You’re wearing my sweatpants?” He’d repeated in an amused tone.

“What, they’re comfortable!” You had replied. At that point, he had just told you you should keep them.

You were now a few weeks, and a few dates later than that, Juraj having just left your apartment after a similar ‘pre-worktrip date’. Although he was often gone, you always made sure to text or call everyday, despite not having a clear label to your relationship yet.

boy next door <3: i miss you :(

You smiled as the message popped up on your screen.

you: you left like two hours ago

boy next door <3: still miss you 

you: miss you too <3

my girl ♥️: miss you too <3

Juraj smiled down at your message, looking at his phone like a teenager with their first crush. He really did miss you already, which had him thinking this away game would be torturous.

“What’s got you smiling at your phone like that, man?” Arber asked from beside him on the plane, peering at his phone. Juraj pressed the button to close his phone instinctively, but he wasn’t fast enough. “Wow, ‘my girl’, huh? You weren’t even gonna tell me you had a girlfriend?” Arber asked teasingly.

“Who has a girlfriend?” Cole said immediately, his head whipping up from his phone immediately at the sound of information he could be nosy about. Juraj groaned, throwing his head back as Kaiden and Nick, who had been having a discussion beside Cole also turned around at the commotion Cole was making.

“I don’t have a girlfriend,” Juraj said stoically.

“Nah, you just have a contact on your phone called ‘my girl’ who texts you saying she misses you,” Arber said with a shit-eating grin, digging Juraj’s grave further.

“How long have you been seeing her?” Kaiden asked, ignoring Juraj’s obvious unwillingness to discuss the topic. He looked around and found all four of his friends staring at him intently, clearly eager to learn more. He sighed deeply.

“Like, three or four months?” Juraj answered.

“Damn, that long? Why haven’t we met her dude?” Cole asked in exaggerated bitterness.

“You should invite her to a game,” Nick suggested in a far more reasonable tone.

“She uh… doesn’t know I play hockey?” Juraj answered, his tone questioning, as though it sounded impossible to him too. “I mean, she knows I play hockey, she just doesn’t know I’m in the NHL…” He added, as though that made the concept sound any less ridiculous than it was. You had been seeing each other for four months, and he hadn’t built up the nerve to tell you what he did for a living. Meanwhile, he knew everything about your worklife. He knew he was being selfish by not telling you. And yet, here he was. His teammates stared at him in stupefaction.

“How the fuck does she not know that?” Arber inquired.

“Well she says she hasn’t watched since the Habs got eliminated in the cup finals…” Juraj said, letting his teammates put two and two together: you had stopped watching just before Juraj had been drafted. And that fact had given him the bright idea to just… not tell you that he wasn’t just a guy who liked hockey, but a guy who played hockey professionally. Who played for your city’s beloved team.

“And you didn’t tell her…?” Kaiden said, trailing off questioningly.

“I don’t know, I’m dumb okay?” Juraj replied, running his hands down his face. His friends laughed. “It was our first date and I wanted to see how it went before telling her. And then it kind of didn’t come up again, and it was nice just being like a regular guy with her, you know?” He added. Saying it out loud made him realize it was true. He liked how things were with you: you were comfortable with each other, you could be silly together, and you could also be serious when the moment asked for it. And there was no pressure of not living up to the image you might have of him in your head.

“Dude, if she doesn’t watch hockey I doubt she would act much different with you after finding out who you are. She probably won’t care,” Nick answered, the only one being actually helpful in this conversation.

“I guess,” Juraj replied, pondering the idea. “But now she’ll be mad I didn’t tell her before,” he realized out loud, putting his head in his hands.

“Well, nothing you can do about that now, buddy,” Arber replied, tapping Juraj on the back in mock sympathy.

“Sooo, you got any pictures of her or what?” Cole asked after a loaded moment of silence.

Yes, it was definitely going to be a torturous few days.

You didn’t know exactly how you had found yourself here, sat on a couch squeezed in between two of your friends. 

It had started with Juraj leaving for a worktrip that morning. As usual, you had spent the previous night together, and although it was always bittersweet when Juraj had to leave, he had seemed particularly antsy that night.

“Everything okay, baby?” You had asked him whilst cuddling on his bed, you reading a book, and him playing videogames. He had mentioned that he enjoyed playing video games to relax, which you had found hilarious, considering half the games he played seemed like some of the most stressful, adrenaline pumping games you could imagine. And that night, even the games couldn’t loosen his tense posture.

“Yeah, why?” he’d asked briskly, completely unaware of how stressed out he’d looked with his furrowed brows and tensed up shoulders. You had waited for a break in his game before setting down your book, bringing your hands up to his shoulders and rubbing gently. The tension immediately seemed to dissipate from them as his shoulders loosened under your touch.

“What’s got you so tense?” You’d asked, continuing the impromptu massage as Juraj turned off his game. 

“I don’t know,” he’d replied, though you’d been able to tell there was more to it. “Work. I hate leaving you all the time,” he’d finally added, taking one of your hands off of his shoulder, and bringing it up to his lips, leaving a chaste kiss on your knuckles, keeping your finger interlaced You had still been able to tell he hadn’t been telling you everything, but you hadn’t wanted to push him when he was clearly so upset. So you’d left it at that, and when you’d woken up this morning, he’d already been gone.

You had texted him all day, of course, ranging from funny posts you’d thought he’d like, to sweet messages telling him you missed him. Even through text, you could feel he’d still been feeling antsy: not replying to you as quickly as usual, and not giving you as long of answers as usual. All you could do was hope you hadn’t done anything to upset him, and that it really was just this work trip stressing him out.

That was how you had found yourself alone on a Sunday night, in need of something to distract you from the pit in your stomach anytime you thought about Juraj. And that was how you had found yourself texting a few friends to find yourself something to do, and had been invited to watch a hockey game at a friend’s apartment.

So here you now sat, surrounded with friends, and friends of friends, who all seemed to be adorned with some level of Montreal Canadiens paraphernalia.

“Damn, I need to up my game apparently, how are you all super into hockey except for me?” You said as one of your friends handed you a drink.

“Girl, the real question is how have you gone so long without paying attention to hockey?!” Your friend, who sat to your right, asked. You shrugged. “Well, your world is about to be rocked, babe,” she added, everyone settling onto the various couches and seats which faced the TV as the puck dropped.

It felt odd at first, hearing all of your friends react and discuss the game in such technical terms, whilst you had no idea where the puck was half of the time. You thankfully remembered some of the basic rules, but often didn’t understand why penalties were or weren’t called. Thankfully, your friends were about as passionate about the game as it gets, and enthusiastically answered all of your questions. 

And as much as you appreciated and enjoyed the process, you couldn’t help but let your mind wander away from the game more times than you would dare to admit. Despite being here to keep your mind off Juraj, watching the sport you knew he loved only made your mind drift back to him. You waited until the intermission to excuse yourself, not wanting to be rude, and took your phone out. Your thumb hovered over Juraj’s contact for a moment, before pressing on the phone icon beside it. You held the phone up to your ear as it rang once, twice, then abruptly stopped. You pulled the phone away from your ear in confusion as you watched a few text notifications roll in.

boy next door <3: sorry i cant call now

boy next door <3: meeting

You knew Juraj usually worked pretty late even when he was on his work trips, although you were surprised he was still in a meeting this late.

boy next door <3: is everything okay?

you: yeah sorry, didn’t mean to bother you i didn't think you’d be in a meeting

you: just wanted to see ur face and to tell you im thinking of you :) can’t wait til ur back

The message was left on ‘seen’ for a moment longer than usual, and you began thinking Juraj had had to put his phone away when the typing bubble popped up.

boy next door <3: thank you for that. i miss you so much 

boy next door <3: gotta go, talk later ♥️

The conversation, though short, had assuaged your worry, and left you feeling much lighter as you regained your seat on the couch before the second period began. About halfway into the period though, the pizza your friends had ordered arrived, and you offered to go pick it up considering you were the least invested in the game of the group. By the time you had returned and served everyone, the period was almost over, the game now led by the opposing team, 2-1. When the opposing team was penalized with only about a minute left to the period, you could feel the atmosphere shift in the room, your friends watching on with bated breath as the players passed the puck back and forth, a few of your friends letting out the occasion ‘just shoot!’.

And then, with only twenty seconds remaining—

“And Juraj Slafkovský, scoooores!” The announcer’s voice boomed as the goal horn blared. Around you, your friends erupted in cheers, although it seemed to all happen in slow motion to you as your eyes remained glued on the TV screen; as the shot panned to a close up of the player who had just scored the game-tying goal. On Juraj, your Juraj, being engulfed by his teammates who cheered for him. You could feel your heart drop to the very bottom of your stomach, your mouth agape as you continued looking at his own disbelieving face.

Juraj, your boy next door, the man you had been seeing for four months now. Was an NHL player. And he hadn't told you.

It all made sense now, his frequent ‘work trips’, why his name had seemed slightly familiar upon meeting him, his insistence on staying at either of your apartments rather than going out for dates, all of those childhood pictures of him playing hockey. But why hadn’t he wanted you to know? What should have been a happy moment was soured by the question stubbornly echoing through your mind. Did he not trust you? Did he not see a future with you? Suddenly, your mutual decision to keep your relationship unlabelled came to bite you. Because now, you didn’t feel certain of anything at all.

As soon as the second intermission began, you got up, muttering something about needing some fresh air before hurrying onto the balcony, hastily closing the door behind you muffling the noise of your friends’ excited chatter. The chill wind nipped at your cheeks, numbing them as you absentmindedly scrolled through your text messages with Juraj, looking for something you knew you wouldn’t find. A reason why he wouldn't have told you.

You closed your phone, looking up at the buildings in front of you. Through every other window, you could see the familiar light of TV screens, all flashing in unison as the game broadcast replayed Juraj’s goal, almost mocking you. The entire city of Montreal had gotten to watch him on their screens every other night for months. Everyone knew him. Except you, apparently.

You didn’t know exactly how long you stayed out there, watching the game through somebody else’s window, watching Juraj score again, watching strangers cheer him on. When the third period ended in a tie, sending the game into overtime, you decided to head home.

The bus was empty, its quiet hum both soothing you and allowing your thoughts to spiral again. The ride was short, and you had decided you wanted to finish watching the game after all. The moment you walked into your apartment, you threw yourself down on your couch, turning the TV on just as the game was starting again. Just in time to watch Juraj score a third and final time tonight. You watched his face disappear as his teammates swarmed him, turning your head towards his apartment, as though he would be there. But of course, the apartment was dark and empty.

The text came about an hour later.

boy next door <3: hey are you still up?

You pondered your options. You could always leave it on ‘delivered’, pretend you were asleep; leave the problem for future you. But you would have to face him eventually. Even if you knew you didn’t want to have this conversation over the phone, you couldn’t very well ignore him for the next two days. Could you lie to him and pretend everything was fine for those two days as well though? Why not? He had lied to you for months, came the nagging voice at the back of your mind, anger and hurt gripping your heart.

You knew you should just pretend you were asleep.

You knew it was a bad idea to talk to him now whilst the wound was still so fresh.

You called him anyways. 

The phone barely rang for a few short seconds before Juraj picked up, his widely smiling face filling up your screen. The sight should have filled you with relief after how worried you had been about him. Instead, you felt almost sick. How could he smile at you like that whilst keeping something so important from you?

“Hey,” his deep voice resounded through your phone’s speaker. “Were you about to go to bed?”

“No, I just got home actually,” you said, unable to stop yourself as the bitter words began tumbling out. “I was watching hockey at a friend’s place,” you added, venom dripping from your tone. You watched his smile fade as he took in your words, and you immediately felt horrible for telling him like this. The static of your phone’s speaker filled the dark room as Juraj stared at you through the screen, speechless.

“I was gonna tell you, I swear,” he finally said.

“Were you? ‘Cause it feels like you’ve had plenty of opportunities. Like that time I asked you about those pictures of you playing hockey, or whenever I talked to you about my job. Or how about any of the times you’ve had to leave for a ‘work trip’?” You spat. You watched as the expression on his face turned into one of guilt. “God, I feel like such an idiot! Do you know how it feels to find out the rest of the world apparently knew more about your–” you cut yourself off, the word ‘boyfriend’ staying stuck in your throat. Because he wasn’t your boyfriend, that much was clear now. “That so many people knew everything about you, whilst I knew nothing?” You choked up, a tear rolling down your cheek.

“That’s not true. Please, baby, I’m sorry. We should talk about this in person,” Juraj said, his expression pained.

“Yeah, we should,” you replied, voice monotone. “Just didn’t think I could lie to your face for two days,” you added, knowing you were going too far. “Unlike you apparently.”

“Come on, that’s not fair,” Juraj said, his tone desperate. You laughed humourlessly.

“Yeah, maybe not. Don’t think you’re the authority on that though,” you replied dryly.

“Just give me a chance to explain,” he pleaded, his brows furrowed and eyes wide, as though he was just now realizing how badly he had messed up.

“Yeah, okay,” you replied. “Just… maybe let’s keep our distance before then.” Juraj looked at you pleadingly through the screen, visibly swallowing deeply.

“Okay, if that’s what you want. I…” he trailed off, looking away for a moment. “I’ll see you Wednesday.” 

You ended the call without another word, staring across the room in silence. You didn’t know exactly how long you sat there, numbly staring at nothing, but you eventually made your way to your bedroom, changing into an old shirt and Juraj’s sweatpants before falling into your bed, falling asleep as tears silently rolled down your face.

boy next door <3: just landed

boy next door <3: when can i see you

Just as you had requested, Juraj hadn’t tried contacting you in the two days since that last conversation.

And it had been miserable. On that first day, you had barely been able to get anything done. You’d know it would be bad for you, but you hadn’t been able to stop yourself from looking him up: first reading through his wikipedia page, then scrolling his Instagram account, then the Montreal Canadiens’ Instagram account, then watched interview after interview on YouTube until you had to all but throw your phone out of the window to stop yourself from continuing to spiral.

On the second day, you had called your best friend, begging her to come stay with you for the day to stop yourself from wallowing in your own self-pity again. She had arrived half an hour later with two spoons and a tub of ice cream, which you’d proceeded to eat through as you’d recounted the situation to her.

“Oh honey,” she had said after you’d finished the story.

“I just don’t understand what I did wrong,” you’d replied, bursting into tears at your friend’s compassionate tone. She’d pulled you into a hug, rubbing your back as you had let yourself actually sob for the first time since everything had gone down.

“You did nothing wrong honey,” your best friend had replied soothingly. “This guy is clearly an idiot.”

“He is,” you’d laughed through sobs. “But fuck, I think I’m in love with him,” you had added, the realization hitting you like a ton of bricks. Fuck, you did love him.

Your best friend had stayed with you after that, both even watching the game together, which had unfortunately not gone as well as the previous one, the team losing, and Juraj scoring no goals this time. As you had watched him through the occasional close up glimpses of his face on the screen, you’d noticed he’d seemed distracted, your heart squeezing at the notion.

Now, the next morning, it seemed the first thing he had done upon landing was to text you.

you: i’m home all day

You left your reply at that

boy next door <3: i’ll be here in one hour

Fifty-four minutes later, you heard a knock at your door. You opened the door, revealing an exhausted looking Juraj, dark bags under his eyes, still dressed in the sweatpants and Canadiens hoodie you assumed he’d been wearing on the plane. You doubted you looked any better yourself, wearing his sweatpants and a plain tank top, not having bothered to do your hair. You wordlessly let him in, closing the door behind him. 

“Okay, before you say anything, just let me explain,” he started, turning around to face you.

“Go ahead,” you said quietly.

“Okay,” he said shakily, rubbing his hands down his legs. “You’re upset. And you’re right to be upset because I screwed up really bad. I was being selfish by not telling you, I know that,” he sighed, running a hand over his early beginnings of a beard. “But the reason I didn’t tell you wasn’t that I didn't trust you, or something like that. It’s because when I meet people, they always think they already know me just because they watch me play hockey on TV. And they always have expectations about me. But you didn’t, because you didn’t know me at all,” he continued. “So when you saw the pictures in my room and asked me about hockey, I panicked, because I really liked you, and I really liked how simple it was between us. I didn’t want you to go home and look me up online, because it would've made the next date weird.”

You inwardly cringed, because wasn’t that exactly what you had done? You couldn’t really blame him for that.

“I understand that,” you started carefully. “But we’ve been dating, or whatever the fuck it is we are to each other, for four months! And the fact that you didn’t tell me in those four months makes me think I was taking this way more seriously than you were, and that you don’t actually want a real relationship with me,” you added, voice shaking at how much vulnerability you were showing him so soon after he had betrayed your trust. But you knew that if there was any chance of salvaging whatever you had with Juraj, you would have to be far more vulnerable than you had been before. He was wrong for lying to you, but the fact that you had never dared discuss the status of your relationship was definitely part of what went horribly wrong.

“No, no, that’s not true,” Juraj immediately replied, muttering something in Slovak. “It’s just, it was so easy with you. And I didn’t want to ruin that, and then the longer it went, the more it felt like I missed the time that I should've told you. And I knew you would be upset when I told you, and I was so scared of losing you… I didn’t know what to do anymore,” he said hurriedly, his arms waving about as he made his points. You looked up at him as he finished talking, his arms dropping beside him as he stared back at you intensely. “But I do want a real relationship with you, if that’s what you want too. God, my teammates have been making fun of me for not having the balls to properly ask you out for weeks now.”

“Your teammates know about me?” You asked with a slight smile.

“Yeah,” he said with a chuckle. “They can’t mind their own business. They make fun of me for being so in love that I can’t put my phone down.” Your breath caught in your throat at the word.

“Are you?” You asked

“Am I what?” He answered

“In love,” you said softly. He looked down at you, a tenderness you had never seen in his eyes before.

“I guess I am, yeah,” he replied, more nervous than you had ever seen him. “I’m in love with you,” he added for good measure, his eyes searching yours. For a long moment, you just stared up at him, taking in the admission. He was in love with you. A tempest of emotions surged through you: exhilaration making your heart race, disbelief at the fact that he felt the same way you did, but also fear. Fear that he wasn’t being truthful, that he was keeping something from you again. But in the end, the feeling that won out was the love you held for him in return. You had known coming into this conversation that if you wanted this relationship to work, you would have to do something very hard: trust him again despite how hurt you had been. And you were ready to do that, for him.

“Well, I’m still mad at you,” was your first reply, watching Juraj’s face drop for a moment. “But it’s a good thing I’m in love with you too then,” you added, a smile curling your lips. 

You watched as the words hit him, his face splitting into an even wider smile than yours. In a moment, he was right in front of you, hands cupping your cheeks.

“Can I kiss you?” He asked, smile still wide.

“Of course,” you replied, smiling into his lips as he kissed you like he never wanted to let you go.

[hearts4hughes]

rafechella 26????

oh helloooo. i would love to do another rafechella!! i had so much fun with it last year and im still getting so much fomo from coachella 😭😭 if i do it again, i’ll do it with a few different characters!

should i do another Coachella writing event?

yes

no

Voting ended onApr 11

[hearts4hughes]

ok i’m terrible. i literally hard launched rafechella and didnt do it at all😭

[hearts4hughes]

babe casual messed me up so bad I had to hit follow omg omg omg you write angst so well🩷 good thing im a self masochist

omg hiii i just saw this

thank you so much! i was tearing up while writing it😭 writing angst comes easy to me (aka im self masochist as well)

[hearts4hughes]

how to not get limerance with every single crush i have? please and thanks.

[hearts4hughes]

i’ve been cured 🙏🏻🥹

[hearts4hughes]

how to not get limerance with every single crush i have? please and thanks.

[hearts4hughes]

rafechella 26????

oh helloooo. i would love to do another rafechella!! i had so much fun with it last year and im still getting so much fomo from coachella 😭😭 if i do it again, i’ll do it with a few different characters!

should i do another Coachella writing event?

yes

no

Voting ended onApr 11

[azysmate]

Mood lately:

[hearts4hughes]

thinking about jack abbot comforting overwhelmed fem!resident!reader…

warnings: mentions of patient deaths, overwhelmed/burnt-out reader, implied age gap (not specified), not proofread!!

the house is quiet like usual during the late afternoon. most people are at work or school, leaving the streets surrounding you quiet. sunlight bleeds through the partially closed blinds in soft stripes across the kitchen floor. you’re clad in jack’s sweatpants and some old tee that hangs loosely around your neck. you meant to shower. you meant to sleep more than four miserable hours.

instead you’re leaning against the counter, blinking to stay awake, staring into the fridge like the answer to everything might be hiding between leftover thai takeout and a carton of eggs.

jack isn’t home. he was gone when you woke up. his side of the bed empty, sheets already cool. probably went for a run. or coffee. or something equally insane for someone who also worked twelve hours overnight.

you close the fridge with your hip and rub your face. your brain still feels foggy. your body aches in every spot possible. that kind of sore only comes from standing on your feet all night watching people bleed, and crash, and sometimes—the front door clicks open before you can finish that thought. heavy footsteps cross the entryway.

“hey,” jack calls.

you push off the counter and wander toward the living room, rubbing sleep out of your eyes. “thought you were-” the words die in your mouth.

jack’s standing there in a faded t-shirt and jeans, hair a little messy from the wind outside. one hand is shoved in his pocket. the other is holding flowers. they’re a colorful bundle of tulips, wrapped in brown paper and tied with white twine.

you stare at them like they’re some alien life form. jack shifts awkwardly under the attention, scratching the back of his neck. “so…i might’ve stopped at a stand on the way home,” he says, trying for casual and failing a little. “they looked like something you’d like.”

your chest squeezes. “you got me flowers?” you frown. you could almost cry at the gesture.

he shrugs like it’s nothing, but the corner of his mouth twitches. “yeah, well. my girlfriend works the night shift saving lives and she’s pretty awesome. figured i should step up my boyfriend game.”

you laugh softly. “abbot.”

“what?” he shifts on his feet with a smug grin. if you weren’t so tired, you would’ve pounced on him right there and then.

“you’re ridiculous.” you bite back a smile and walk toward him anyway. you plant a soft kiss on the corner of his mouth as he hands them over. suddenly your arms are full of soft petals and the faint smell of something sweet.

it hits you harder than you expect. you can’t remember the last time you smelled fresh flowers. before ptmc—before night shifts and relentless trauma cases—you used to buy them all the time. little bunches from the corner market. something bright to keep in the kitchen.

“these are beautiful,” you say quietly. your eyes sweep back and forth over the flowers, admiring every detail you can see.

jack watches your face carefully. he’s trying to gauge whether he did the right thing. “yeah?”

“yeah.” your voice cracks a little. you clear your throat and turn toward the kitchen before he can notice. “i’m gonna put them in water.”

he follows behind you and leans against the counter, crossing his arms while you start rummaging through cabinets. “we even own a vase?” he chuckles with a raised brow.

“somewhere.” after rummaging, you find one shoved in the back of the cupboard behind a stack of bowls. you rinse it in the sink while jack watches you like you’re performing delicate surgery.

“need scissors?” he asks, already heading to grab them. you hum in response and he grabs them from the drawer. you pull the flowers out of the paper and start trimming the stems.

it should be simple. you cut the first one and set it in the vase. then another, and another. the more you add flowers in, the arrangement leans weirdly to one side. frowning, you pull them back out. you trim another stem and try again.

still crooked.

“hang on,” you mutter. jack says nothing, just watches. you rearrange them again. cut one shorter…too short. “dammit.” petals start falling onto the counter. you try again, pushing stems around in the vase, adjusting them over…and over, but everything keeps leaning forward.

“hey,” jack says lightly, noticing how the concentration on your face shifts toward something deeper.

“hold on.” you cut another stem. now one flower sits lower than the rest. you pull them all out again, frustration creeping up your spine.

jack pushes off the counter a little. “baby-”

“i’m fixing it.” you snap, shoving the stems back into the vase. the arrangement turns blurry in your vision. your chest tightens. your hands start shaking. you grab another stem, cutting it too quickly, and the flower head droops.

you try to blink away the wetness in your eyes, but a single teardrop hits the counter. you wipe it away quickly with your wrist and keep adjusting the stems like if you just keep going you can fix it.

jack notices immediately. his voice softens. “hey.”

you sniff, blinking hard. “nothing.” another tear slips down your cheek.

jack steps closer. “hey, hey. what’s wrong?”

you shake your head, staring down at the flowers. “i ruined them.” your breathing turns frantic.

he squints his eyes, staring down at the bouquet like he missed something. “what?”

you gesture helplessly at the vase, still trying to rearrange them. “the flowers,” you choke. “i ruined the flowers.”

jack looks at them again. from his eyes, they look the exact same as before. sure, some are shorter than the rest, but they’re still bright and still flowers. he looks back at you. “they look perfect.”

“they don’t,” you whisper, voice breaking completely. “i messed them up.” another tear falls. you try to adjust them again but your hands are shaking too badly now.

jack gently takes the scissors from you. “baby.”

you inhale sharply. “i can’t even do something this simple right.” and suddenly the pressure in your chest cracks open. you slide down the cabinet until you’re sitting on the kitchen floor, crying before you can stop it. the flowers sit crooked in the vase above you.

jack swears quietly under his breath. “wait-” he lowers himself down beside you, slower than most people would. one hand bracing against the counter as he eases himself down, the prosthetic making the angle awkward. eventually he settles next to you. “sweetheart,” he murmurs. you’re covering your face. jack gently pulls your hands away. “look at me.”

your eyes are red and glassy. “it’s not about the flowers,” you admit in a breathless whisper.

he studies your face and nods. “yeah. i figured.”

you swallow hard. “i can’t stop seeing them.” you look straight ahead, eyes tracing the grain of the cabinets.

his brow furrows. “seeing who?”

your voice trembles. “the patients.” the words come out in pieces. “the kid last night. a-and that guy this morning who coded twice. and the woman in trauma two-” your breathing stutters. “they just keep dying.” jack pulls you closer without hesitation, your forehead pressing into his shoulder. you clutch his shirt as tears form a dark spot on the fabric. “i try so hard,” you shake your head. “and sometimes it just…just doesn’t matter.”

jack’s hand moves slowly up and down your back. “i know, baby.” he murmurs into your hair.

you heave against him. “i hate it.”

“i know.” he coos, planting kisses on the crown of your head.

you pull back slightly, wiping your face. for a moment, you just stare at him through your wet lashes and red eyes. “i don’t know if i’m good enough for this job.” you breathe.

jack’s heart drops. he puts his finger under your chin, lifting it so you can’t look away. “don’t say that.”

“but-”

“no.” his voice is firm now. “you’re one of the best doctors i’ve ever worked with,” his finger under your chin swipes back and forth. “and i’ve been doing this a long time.”

your gaze flickers between his hazel eyes. “does it ever get easier?”

jack is quiet as he thinks about it. he purses his lip to one side and then exhales slowly. “not really.” your shoulders sink. “but,” he immediately continues, “you get better at carrying it.” his thumb brushes your cheek. “and you don’t carry it alone.”

your voice is small. “no?”

jack shakes his head. “not if i have anything to say about it.”

you sit there quietly, focusing on slowing your breathing. eventually, your eyes drift toward the counter. “the flowers still look bad.”

jack snorts. “they do not.”

“jack.”

“i’m serious.”

you squint at him. “they’re literally leaning.” you point at them.

he shrugs. “gives them character.”

despite everything, a quiet laugh slips out of you. “i guess so.” you look at the flowers, tilting your head. they don’t look so bad when you think about it like that.

jack smiles when he hears it. “told you,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “perfect.”

[hearts4hughes]

— JACK ABBOT

one-shots

three times jack flirted with you without you realizing, and the one time you realized

casual

chain of command

blurbs

jack comforting overwhelmed fem!resident!reader

[hearts4hughes]

— chain of command !!

jack abbot x fem!resident!reader word count: 5.7k warnings: medical inaccuracies (there are so many in this 😭), age gap, power imbalance, angst w happy ending, jack abbot not knowing how to express emotions note: i read ‘adjustment period’ by @whatif-ialreadydid and i fell in love with this trope/plotline. this is entirely inspired by that amazing writing!

a few weeks into your residency, dr. jack abbot realizes something deeply inconvenient: you are impossible to ignore. it’s not in the loud, overconfident, and arrogant way residents usually are. you don’t try too hard or hover around attendings waiting for praise like a damn dog. you’re just unapologetically you. you believe everything you say, take initiative in the kindest way possible, and put your all, both emotionally and physically, into each patient.

dana and lena adore you. loudly and shamelessly. if they’re not praising you themselves, they’re pointing at you across the desk and telling someone else they should be. the paramedics who stumble in at hellish hours of the night actually perk up when they see you. even santos gave up on teasing you after the first week. turns out it’s surprisingly difficult to bully someone who just smiles at you and means it. you remember names. you say thank you. you listen when people talk instead of waiting for your turn to speak. there’s really no singular word that can encapsulate you, but jack settles for magical.

jack abbot is many things—controlled, observant, brutally good at his job—and ignoring details has never been one of them. so he notices the way you tuck your hair behind your ear when you’re concentrating on a chart. the way you bounce slightly on the balls of your feet when a trauma comes in, adrenaline focusing you instead of rattling you. the way you talk to patients like they’re people instead of problems. you’re a type of good that’s rare in this world.

and although the pitt has a way of grinding people down eventually—jack’s seen it one too many times—you walk through the department blissfully unaware of that memo. you’re resistant to the sleepless nights and the constant parade of human misery, and it irritates him more than it should.

jack doesn’t do optimism. not anymore at least. he sticks to cold hearted truth and facts even if it isn’t puppies and rainbows. so when you greet him one night with a soft, automatic “good evening, dr. abbot,” and that same warm smile you give everyone else, he just nods once. after that, you try not to notice that he’s the only person in the entire emergency department who never smiles back.

tonight’s patient is a college girl. she’s nineteen, maybe twenty, curled halfway on her side in the exam bed, one arm wrapped around her stomach. her pastel yellow backpack sits on the chair beside the bed. she probably came straight from campus. she straightens a little when the curtain rustles.

“hi,” you say gently. “i’m your doctor today—well, technically still a resident—but call me whatever makes you less nervous.” that earns a small, surprised breath of a laugh. usually you stand while seeing a patient, but something makes you sit with her. “what’s your name?”

“maria,” she says quietly.

“okay, maria.” your voice softens automatically. “tell me what’s going on.”

she shifts slightly, wincing. “my stomach’s been hurting all day. like…really bad cramps. and i got dizzy in class and my roommate freaked out and made me come here.” she rambles, biting on her thumbnail.

you nod, already building the puzzle in your head. “how long have the cramps been happening?” you rise to your feet, scan your badge, and start typing notes.

“a few days. but today it got worse.” her voice is small. she tucks a piece of her mousy brown hair behind her ear. with her hair and pouty lips, she reminds you of a frightened deer.

“any nausea? vomiting?” your fingers clack against the keyboard. she shakes her head. “fever?” another shake. when you finish typing, you begin a quick exam. as you gently press along her lower abdomen, she flinches. appendix flashes through your mind, but something about the pattern doesn’t quite line up. you lean back slightly, thinking.

maria watches your face carefully. “is it…bad?” she asks, leg bouncing up and down. her gaze flickers between the floor tiles and your screen.

that shifts your attention immediately. you rest your forearms on the edge of the bed, lowering yourself a little so you’re eye level with her. “hey,” you coo. “we’re gonna figure it out, okay?”

she nods, but her fingers twist nervously in the blanket. “i just…i have midterms tomorrow,” she blurts. “i can’t really afford to be dying right now.”

a quiet laugh escapes you. “good news,” you tell her with an amused grin. “dying creates an unbelievable amount of paperwork for me, so i try to avoid it whenever possible.” that gets a real laugh this time. glancing down at your chart again, you think through the rest of your questions. “when was your last period?” you ask gently.

maria hesitates. her leg bounces up and down faster now. “um…i don’t know. like…a month ago?” her fingers twirl around a loose piece of hair.

you nod slowly, tone staying easy. the last thing you want is to scare her. “are your cycles usually regular?”

she shrugs a little. “mostly.”

you tilt your head slightly, studying her face. “is there any chance you could be pregnant?”

her eyes widen. “what?”

your voice stays calm. “i’m not saying you are,” you reassure her quickly. “it’s just something we check anytime someone comes in with abdominal pain like this. totally routine.”

maria looks down at her hands. “i…don’t know,” she admits quietly. you can practically see the gears turning in her head.

you nod once, completely unfazed. “that’s okay. we’ll run a quick urine test and some labs just to rule it out, alright?” she nods slowly. when you stand, you give her shoulder a light, reassuring squeeze. “we’ll also get you some fluids,” you add. “dizziness and midterms are a terrible combination.”

“thank you,” she says sheepishly as you move toward the curtain. “you’re the first person tonight who didn’t make me feel like i was wasting their time.”

your eyes soften. that’s enough to make your heart ache. “you’re not,” you reassure with a smile before closing the curtain.

taking a breath, you navigate through the sea of patients and medical staff. you step up to the central desk with a printed chart in hand, and eyes full of worry. around you monitors beep, phones ring, the faint smell of antiseptic hangs heavy in the air. you catch jack leaning against the counter, arms crossed, tablet in hand, eyes scanning the room. he doesn’t glance at you at first—you know the routine—but you step into his line of sight anyway.

“dr. abbot,” you start, voice calm, “i’ve got a patient in nine. nineteen-year-old college student, abdominal pain, dizziness, no fever, no vomiting. midterms tomorrow, anxious, but otherwise stable.” you flip the chart slightly toward him, highlighting the notes you just scribbled. “i ordered cbc, electrolytes, urinalysis and a pregnancy test just to rule that out.”

his eyes lift from the tablet, sharp and assessing. “pregnancy test?” he asks, tone neutral but precise.

“routine,” you reply immediately, keeping your voice steady. “patient unsure of last period. cramping localized to lower abdomen. nothing else alarming yet, just waiting on labs before we do anything else.”

he nods once, fast, like he’s already calculated the odds in his head. “labs and pt. good. you’ll update me if anything changes.” it’s not a question.

“of course,” you say sweetly. “thank you.” he gives a small nod in response but doesn’t smile back. that’s fine. you’re already turning away, pulling up the chart, trying to catch up on notes before the next thing inevitably explodes.

the pregnancy test comes back before the rest of the labs. matteo leans over the counter, lowering his voice. “your patient’s urine test in nine came back positive.”

your stomach tightens instantly. of course it is. you thank him quietly, but your mind is already moving too fast—symptoms rearranging themselves in your head. nineteen with lower abdominal pain, dizziness and cramping. it’s nothing catastrophic yet, but something uneasy settles in your body.

you glance toward trauma two where jack steps out of. he’s peeling off his gloves when you step over. “dr. abbot,” you say, polite and bright like always, “the pregnancy test for the nineteen-year-old in nine came back positive.”

he doesn’t respond yet, just tosses his gloves in the trash. his expression doesn’t change when he looks at you. “i see.”

you shift your weight slightly, already pushing ahead before the moment can close. “i think we should order an ultrasound,” you add, quickly. “her pain’s lower abdomen, pretty localized. she’s been having dizziness and cramping.” your fingers grip the chart in your hands. “it could be ectopic,” you continue, trying to keep your tone reasonable instead of urgent. “i’d just feel better ruling it out sooner rather than later.”

jack doesn’t react right away. he doesn’t blink. doesn’t sigh. doesn’t even look annoyed. he just tilts his head a little and crosses his arms over his chest. “the labs aren’t back yet,” he reminds you.

you nod immediately. “right, i know, but-”

“so we wait.” he adds calmly before moving toward his next patient.

you try again anyway, falling into step beside him. “i just don’t want to miss something early,” you push, still professional, although it’s getting harder to stay that way. “if it is ectopic-”

“you’re jumping ahead.” he starts before you can finish. jack’s steps come to a halt as he turns toward you. “we don’t skip steps because a possibility makes you nervous,” he says, “we finish the workup.”

“i’m not skipping anything,” you argue. “i just thought if we ordered it now, radiology could get the ball rolling while we wait for the labs.”

his eyes bore into yours. heat creeps down your spine. “you treat the patient in front of you,” his tone doesn’t raise nor deepen. it’s the same agonizing neutral. “not the one you’re imagining.”

you exhale slowly. “i’m not imagining it,” you scoff under your breath. “this isn’t nothing.”

a small pause stretches between you. for half a second you think maybe he’s considering it. instead he just sighs, running a hand through his cinnamon and sugar curls. “the labs,” he says, slower now, like he’s explaining something obvious, “will tell us whether we have a reason to escalate. we don’t order imaging based on anxiety.” you open your mouth again. he lifts a hand slightly. “and,” he adds, tone sharpening just a little, “you’ve wasted ten minutes arguing with me when you could’ve treated other patients.”

you wince. he’s right about that part. the board behind him is still full, and you’re three cases behind. you shift the chart against your chest, fingers curling around the edge. “i just want to make sure she’s safe,” you murmur.

his adam’s apple bobs as he looks to the side. guilt gnaws at his stomach, but the answer doesn’t change. “finish the labs,” he repeats, “then we’ll reassess.”

your jaw tightens. you swallow the rest of the argument that’s sitting on your tongue. “yes, dr. abbot,” you mutter, tone leaning on mocking. you turn away before he can say anything else, stepping back into the flow of the department.

your mind is still racing. maybe he’s right. maybe the labs will come back completely normal and you’ll feel ridiculous for pushing. after all, he is your attending. he does have thirty+ years of experience on you. still, the uneasy knot in your stomach doesn’t loosen as you head toward room nine. now you have to walk in there, look that young girl in the eyes, and tell her she’s pregnant. all while a tiny voice in the back of your head keeps whispering that something might already be wrong.

you inhale before slipping back into maria’s room, closing the curtain gently behind you. she’s sitting up, hoodie bunched in her hands, shifting from one side to the other to ease the pain. her eyes lift when you walk in.

“hi again,” you smile. you drag the rolling stool a little closer to the bed and sit, careful not to crowd her. she watches you the whole time as she twists the sleeves of her hoodie around her fingers.

“hi,” she murmurs.

for a second you hesitate. technically you’re not supposed to be saying this yet. the labs aren’t back. the plan, according to dr. abbot, is to wait. but the positive test is already sitting in your mind like a flashing red light, and the way she keeps shifting on the mattress like her abdomen hurts more every minute doesn’t help.

you swallow and keep going. “so,” you begin, folding your hands in your lap, “one of the results did come back already.”

her shoulders tense immediately. “okay…”

“your pregnancy test came back positive.”

maria’s eyes widen like the room just tilted sideways. “what?” she breathes. she stares at you for a second like she’s waiting for you to laugh and say you’re kidding. when you don’t, her gaze drops straight to her hands. “i-” her voice cracks. “i didn’t even…” she shakes her head, blinking fast. “oh my god.”

you lean forward slightly, your tone softening. “hey. it’s okay,” you say. “that’s a lot to hear. it’s normal to feel overwhelmed.”

she presses the sleeve of her hoodie against her mouth like she’s trying to keep herself together. “are you sure?” she whispers.

“the test we ran here is very accurate,” you nod. “so yes, it’s very likely that you’re pregnant.”

her chest rises and falls faster now. “i—i don’t know what to do.”

“you don’t have to figure anything out tonight,” you tell her quickly. “okay? right now the only thing we’re focusing on is making sure you’re medically safe.”

her eyebrows raise at that. she looks back up at you, eyes shiny. “safe?” her voice cracks.

you nod. “most early pregnancies are completely normal,” you explain, “but because you came in with lower abdominal pain and dizziness, there’s something I want to check for.” your fingers rest lightly on the edge of the mattress near her hand. “sometimes a pregnancy can develop outside the uterus. it’s called an ectopic pregnancy.”

her face drains. “what does that mean?”

“it means the pregnancy implants somewhere it shouldn’t,” you explain carefully. “it’s not common, but when someone has pain like you’re describing, we like to rule it out early.”

her breathing speeds up. “is that…dangerous?”

“it can be if it goes untreated,” you say honestly, but gently. “which is exactly why we check.” you give her a reassuring smile. “and most of the time, when we look, everything is completely fine.”

she swallows hard, nodding as she processes. her gaze drifts off to a space next to you. after a moment, she looks back. “how do you check?”

you pause. this is the moment where you’re technically stepping outside the line jack drew. his voice echos through your head.

labs first.

reassess later.

but the thought of letting her sit here worrying for hours without knowing where that pregnancy is sitting makes your heart drop. so you make the decision quietly. “i’m going to order an ultrasound,” you tell her. her eyebrows knit together. “an ultrasound lets us see exactly where the pregnancy is and make sure everything is where it’s supposed to be.”

she nods slowly, still processing everything. “okay…” her fingers tremble a little where they rest on the blanket. “i’m scared.”

you shift a little closer, resting your hand lightly near hers. “that makes complete sense,” you frown. “this is a lot to hear in one night.”

she sniffles. “i didn’t even know,” she whispers. “i just thought i had a stomach bug or something.”

“a lot of people don’t know this early,” you reassure her. “you didn’t do anything wrong.”

she nods again, slower this time. “ok.”

you offer a small smile. “ok.” you squeeze her hand gently before standing. “i’m going to get the order in and have someone bring the ultrasound machine,” you tell her. “i’ll be right back.”

she wipes quickly at her eyes. “thank you,” she says quietly.

you give her one last reassuring smile before slipping out through the curtain. the moment you step back into the hallway, a shaky breath escapes. too late to turn back now.

~

“and keep those hand away from mom’s curling irons,” jack raises his brows, pointing a finger at his patient—a five-year-old girl with too big of a grin for someone with a second degree burn. “if you’re planning on taking over my job, you’re gonna need them.”

she giggles, scrunching her nose. “ok,” she nods while swinging her legs up and down.

he chuckles, a grin tugging at his lips as he explains basic burn care to the mother. she nods although her eyes are wide, eyebrows pushed together. he says one last goodbye, high-fiving the young girl and exiting the room.

the smile lingers for a few steps after he leaves the room. he rubs the back of his neck as he walks. second degree burns, but kid’ll be fine. as long as the mom follows the instructions, keeps the wound clean, and comes back if anything looks worse, everything is will be peachy.

as he thinks about the case, his mind drifts—inevitably—right back to you. he can still see the look on your face from earlier. that flash of stubborn worry in your eyes when you argued about the ultrasound. the way you tried to keep your voice gentle even while pushing back. you’d stood there like you genuinely believed you could talk him into rewriting the entire system if you just explained it nicely enough.

jack exhales slowly through his nose. you weren’t wrong. he’d heard it immediately when you said ectopic. the symptoms lined up enough to make the possibility real. any good doctor would clock that and you are a good doctor. but you also care too much. you put your whole heart into patients, and that’s how burnout happens.

so when you stood there a little too hopeful, he did the only thing he could do. he shut it down. it was about protocol. about workflow. about the dozen other patients waiting to be seen. all of which are true. though, the truth is a little uglier than that. when you look at him like that—earnest and completely convinced you’re doing the right thing—something in his chest shifts in a way he doesn’t like. it makes him want to throw out everything he knows and say yes. he hasn’t felt that way about anyone in years.

he clears his throat as he approaches central. lena is already there, hands on her hips as she looks up at the board. “hey,” he says, pumping hand sanitizer into his palm. “what do we have?”

her ponytail flips as she turns her head toward him. “three discharges pending, trauma two’s stable now, ellis is handling the chest pain in four, shen is stitching up a lac in five.” jack nods along, eyes scanning the board while she talks. it’s more of the usual chaos. “oh, and patient in nine is just starting an ultrasound.”

jack freezes. his eyes lift slowly from the board. his hands stop rubbing in the sanitizer. “nine?”

lena nods, signing off something on a student nurse’s chart. “yeah. nineteen-year-old with abdominal pain. your resident ordered it a few minutes ago.”

jack’s jaw tightens. of course you did. for a brief second he just stands there, staring at the board, the realization settling in piece by piece. you disregarded what he said. you went over the commands of an attending. you violated a simple rule. he had noticed your hesitation when he told you no. how your shoulders stiffened, and you swallowed like you wanted to argue again but forced yourself to back down.

a slow breath leaves his nose. it’s not anger, not yet at least. it’s something more complex than that. this isn’t some reckless resident trying to prove a point. this is you. you, who says thank you to the janitors. you, who crouches next to patient beds instead of towering over them. you, who argued with him not because you wanted to be right, but because you were worried about a teenage girl

jack pushes away from the counter. “where is she?” he mutters.

lena raises a brow, staring over the top of her glasses. “ultrasound room.” before she can question anything, he’s already moving down the hall.

the ultrasound room is dim when jack reaches it. the door is half open. the hum of the machine leaks into the hallway. he pauses for half a second before pushing it wider. you’re standing beside the bed, one hand resting lightly on maria’s shoulder while the tech moves the probe slowly across her abdomen. the monitor throws soft blue light across the room. maria’s eyes are fixed on the ceiling like she’s trying very hard not to panic.

“it’s a little cold,” the tech warns gently, adjusting the gel. maria flinches anyway.

you lean closer immediately. “i know, i’m sorry,” you murmur, voice soft enough that jack almost doesn’t catch it from the doorway. “just a few minutes and we’ll have a better idea what’s going on.”

your thumb rubs a small circle against her shoulder without you even thinking about it. the girl’s breathing steadies a little. jack watches the interaction for a second longer than he should. you’re nervous. he can see it in the way your shoulders are tight, the way your fingers keep fidgeting with the edge of the blanket when you think no one’s looking. but your voice never wavers when you talk to her. to maria, you still sound completely calm.

“am i going to be okay?” she asks quietly.

you don’t hesitate. “we’re going to figure out exactly what’s happening,” you say gently. “that’s why we’re doing this. okay?” she nods, swallowing. the tech shifts the probe slightly, eyes flicking between the screen and the patient.

jack finally steps inside. the floor creaks just enough for you to notice. your head snaps toward the door. for a split second your eyes widen. he sees the exact moment you realize he knows. your stomach drops so fast it almost makes you dizzy.

“dr. abbot,” you say quickly, attempting to mask your rapidly beating heart.

maria glances between the two of you nervously. jack doesn’t look at you right away. his attention goes straight to the screen. “what have we got?” he asks the tech.

“still scanning,” she says.

a few quiet seconds pass while she adjusts the probe again. jack’s eyes flick once to maria. his voice softens a fraction when he speaks. “hey,” he says calmly. “i’m dr. abbot. i help run things around here.” maria nods anxiously. “you’re doing exactly what you’re supposed to be doing,” he tells her. “we’re just taking a look to make sure everything’s where it should be.”

she swallows. “okay.”

“you’re in good hands,” he adds. his eyes flick toward you for the briefest second before moving away.

after another moment the tech straightens slightly. “i’m seeing an intrauterine pregnancy,” she says. your shoulders drop half an inch. relief floods through your chest so fast it almost makes you lightheaded. “no signs of ectopic,” she continues. “everything looks early but normal.”

maria exhales shakily. “so…i’m okay?”

“yes,” you say quickly, smiling at her. “you’re okay.”

her eyes fill with tears again. this time from relief. “thank god,” she whispers, hand covering her mouth. the tech begins wiping away the gel while explaining a few follow-up details.

that’s when jack shifts his attention to you. his face is unreadable. “doctor,” your hands ball into fists, nails pressing crescent shaped indents on your palm. “outside.”

you give maria one more reassuring smile. “i’ll be right back, okay?” she nods, blissfully unaware of what is about to happen.

the moment the door closes behind you, the hallway suddenly feels too bright. jack walks a few steps away before stopping. you follow, heart hammering. “what the hell was that?” he asks. his voice isn’t loud yet, but it’s firm.

you swallow. “i-”

he shakes his head. “i told you not to order that ultrasound yet.” he clasps his hands behind his back.

your fingers find the bracelet on your wrist. “i know,” you say quietly, twisting the beads of the bracelet. “but she was scared and the symptoms-”

“that’s not the point.” his voice cuts straight through yours. a few people glance over. your cheeks heat instantly. “you don’t get to ignore direct instructions from an attending,” jack’s tone rises. “this isn’t a classroom debate.”

“i wasn’t debating,” you argue quickly. “i was advocating for my patient.” you match his tone.

“you were jumping the chain of command.” he mutters, eyes sharpening.

“it was the right thing to do,” you say, voice still trying to stay calm. “she had textbook symptoms. i wasn’t going to leave her there for hours while we waited on labs.”

“and if every resident ordered imaging every time they felt nervous about a possibility,” jack snaps, “this department would grind to a halt.” he moves his hands to his side, flexing his fingers.

“it wasn’t just a feeling.” you challenge, nose twitching.

“you didn’t have the labs yet.”

you exhale sharply. “labs don’t diagnose ectopic pregnancies.”

his jaw tightens. he looks to the side, closing his eyes before responding. “that’s not the point.” he emphasizes each word.

“then what is the point?” you ask before you can stop yourself. the words come out smaller than you meant them to.

for a second jack just stares at you. frustration, anger, and something deeper flash across his face. “the point,” he says slowly, “is that you’re a resident.” your mouth runs dry. “you don’t get to freelance medical decisions because you think you know better.”

“i never said i knew better,” you say quickly.

he cocks a brow. “really?” his voice goes colder. “because from where i’m standing it looks like you decided my judgment didn’t matter.”

that one stings. you inhale sharply. “that’s not what happened,” rambling, you shake your head. “i just thought-”

“exactly.” his voice rises. “you thought.”

around you, everything goes quiet. matteo’s eyebrows rise as he looks over his computer. shen clears his throat, scratching the back of his neck as he watches. lena yells a quick “back to work,” and the noise resumes.

“this job isn’t about what you think might be happening,” he continues, frustration spilling over now. “it’s about discipline and process and not letting your emotions run the floor.”

you blink slowly. “i wasn’t being emotional.”

“you absolutely were.” the words land harder than anything else he’s said. “you got attached to the patient,” he states plainly. “and instead of following the procedure, you panicked.”

your throat bobs. you try to ignore the ringing in your ears. “i wasn’t panicking.”

“then what would you call it?” he shoots back. you open your mouth, but nothing comes out. your throat feels tight all of a sudden. “this department doesn’t need doctors who let their feelings make decisions,” jack mutters through his teeth. “it needs doctors who can actually follow instructions.”

that one pierces through your chest. for a second you just stand there. the noise of the ER fades into the background. the bracelet you were fidgeting with snaps back against your wrist. you don’t even feel the pain. you bite your cheek, looking up. stop. stop. stop. the last thing you’re going to do is cry in the middle of the pitt.

“i was just trying to help her,” your voice is weak. it’s stripped of the anger it held before. your gaze falls to the floor, examining the cracks in the tiles.

jack exhales. the sound is long, rougher than he meant it to be. for the first time since he started yelling, he actually looks at you instead of through you. your eyes are glassy. not crying yet, because you’re clearly trying very hard not to, but the shine is there. your jaw is tight, shoulders pulled inward like you’re bracing for another hit.

that’s when he realizes people are watching. he does a scan of the floor. matteo is pretending to type but not typing. shen is hovering with a chart he definitely isn’t reading. even lena is glancing over the top of her glasses.

jack rubs a hand down his face. shit. he takes a breath, slower this time. “come on,” he mutters.

you blink. “what?”

he jerks his head toward the automatic doors. “ambulance bay.” your brows knit slightly. “it’s quieter,” he adds, already turning.

you hesitate half a second, then follow. the doors open and the night air hits immediately. an ambulance idles at the far end of the bay, its lights dark, the driver nowhere in sight. jack walks a few steps before halting. the quiet feels strange after the chaos inside.

he drags a hand through his hair again, staring out into the empty parking lot like the answer might be written somewhere in the pavement. “i shouldn’t have done that out there,” he murmurs. you look up, surprised. he glances at you. “not like that.” your fingers twist together in front of you. “you’re not wrong, you know,” he adds after a moment.

your head tilts slightly. “about what?”

“the ectopic concern.” you stare at him, molars grinding. “your reasoning was solid,” he continues, in a matter-of-fact manner. “she had the exact pattern that should make you think about it.” your shoulders loosen just a little. “you caught it fast,” he says. “that’s good medicine.”

you swallow the scoff daring to come out. “then why-”

“because you ignored a direct instruction,” he cuts in gently, contrasting with his sharp tone before. you look down. “and i can’t let that slide,” he continues. “not in there.” he gestures toward the building behind you. “that place runs on structure, and hierarchy, and people trusting that the person above them knows what they’re doing.” he pauses. “if that breaks down, everything breaks down.” you nod faintly, even though your eyes are still shiny. “that doesn’t mean you were careless,” he reassures quickly. “you weren’t.”

you laugh weakly under your breath. “sure sounded like it.”

jack winces slightly. “yeah,” he nods. “i laid it on thick.” you sniff, wiping quickly under one eye before anything can fall. “hey,” he coos. you try to look away but he steps a little closer. “look at me.” when you do, and he sees the tears actually threatening to spill, something in his chest cracks. he hadn’t meant to do that. “you’re a good doctor,” he says. “actually,” he corrects, “you’re a great doctor. you notice things. you listen to patients. you care enough to argue when something doesn’t sit right.”

a small, shaky laugh escapes you. “that part seemed to annoy you.”

“it does,” he admits bluntly. that actually makes you huff a tiny laugh through the tears. “but it also means you’re the kind of doctor patients remember,” he adds. “and we don’t have enough of those.”

you look down again, shoulders shaking once. jack hesitates. then, very carefully, he reaches out and pulls you into a hug. it’s quick at first—he’s not sure you’ll let him—but the second your forehead presses into his scrubs, you break. the tears come all at once. you clutch the front of his shirt, face buried against his chest as the adrenaline from the whole night finally crashes out of you.

jack freezes before his arms tighten around you. one hand settles between your shoulder blades, steady. “hey,” he murmurs, “hey, easy.” he runs comforting circles on your back.

you sniff against the fabric. “i wasn’t trying to-”

“i know.” he shushes. “i know exactly what you were trying to do.”

your voice is muffled against his scrubs. “i just didn’t want to miss it.” you probably should be embarrassed at this, but you don’t have enough energy to care.

“and you didn’t.” he glances toward the hospital doors. “everything is normal.” you nod weakly against him. after a second he gently pulls back just enough to look at you. “but listen to me,” his voice is still soft, but there’s that ‘i’m your boss’ tone underneath it again. “you can’t carry every patient home with you.” you wipe your eyes quickly with the sleeve of your undershirt. “i’m serious,” he raises a brow. “if you let yourself feel everything they feel, this place will eat you alive.”

you sniff. “so i’m supposed to stop caring?”

“no.” he shakes his head immediately. “god, no.” his expression softens. he can’t imagine you without that big, caring heart. “that part of you?” he points to your chest. “don’t lose it. patients trust you because of it. they feel safe with you. that’s not something you learn in med school.”

his thumb brushes a stray tear from your cheek before he seems to realize what he’s doing. your heart flutters at the touch. “you just need boundaries,” he finishes. “professional ones.” you nod slowly. “care about them, and fight for them when it matters.” a small pause. “just don’t fight me in the middle of the department again…deal?”

you let out a shaky breath. “deal.”

jack studies you for another second. then he gives a small nod toward the doors. “come on,” he motions to the department, “we’ve got about twenty more disasters waiting inside.”

you wipe your eyes one last time before smiling and nodding. he stands there, staring at you, before sending a boyish smile back. as you walk toward the ER side by side, you blush—that’s the first time jack abbot smiled back at you.

[whatif-ialreadydid]

adjustment period - j.a

pairing: jack abbot x nightshift!sunshine!reader

wc: 4.1k

summary: growing pains from your switch to the night shift with your attending come to a head

contains: normal 'the pitt' things, very likely medical inaccuracies, mentions of injuries, drunk driving, child death, big scary emotions, no use of y/n, abbot's kind of a dick to you but it's only bc he thinks you're hot

a/n: did i work at work today? no, no i did not. thank you for asking. i'm so glad you all are liking my portrayal of abbot and this pairing! i hope you want to see more bc i am cooking up some stuff | thank u to my bestie queen @ceriseangels for being the best beta reader evar | beautiful divider from @strangergraphics

Three weeks ago, when you switched over to the night shift, Dr. Abbot quickly began to understand why Dana bestowed upon you the nickname sunshine. He'd worked with you a bit during shift change when you were on days, but not quite enough to get a good read on you. 

And now that he's had a taste, Dr. Abbot thinks sunshine is a perfectly appropriate nickname. 

Robby says you’re “perky”, but a cross-reference with Dana gleans that only means you’re insusceptible to the constant storm cloud he’s graciously bestowed onto everyone around him since PittFest. 

Since Adamson, if Jack has to put a finer point on it. But that's beside the point. 

The point is: sunshine fits you well. It has less to do with your bright, warm disposition, and more with your consistent, disarming earnestness. 

You're a direct communicator in the same way Abbot is, truly meaning everything you say. The only difference is the true, genuine brightness that glows around you. 

Confident in your diagnoses without being cocky about it, effortlessly funny at the appropriate times, serious and focused at others. You're a competent doctor. Your patients love you. The nurses and MAs and RTs love you. Hell, in the past three weeks, you've even gotten a couple smiles out of Ellis. Ellis. 

It rubs him the wrong way, spreading hot over his skin like a rash whenever you're around. 

A sheep doesn’t flock with the wolves. A flower doesn’t bloom in the tundra. And sunshine doesn't belong on the night shift.

You're already leaning against a desk at Central, chatting with Lena and Dana, when Abbot strides into the Pitt. He passes the conversation on his way to the lockers. 

"We miss you on the day shift, kid," Dana nudges your shoulder with hers as she taps away at the tablet in her hand. 

"Well, you can't have her back," Lena protests, shooting you a wink. "Sunshine brightens up The Dark Side." 

Abbot resists the urge to roll his eyes, forcing a polite nod in greeting when Dana catches his eye. 

He manages to shove his backpack into his locket before getting sucked into a conversation with Robby and Santos about a patient. Jack absorbs the information, a gnarly broken leg in North 20 awaiting an OR, but his eyes flick to where you're approaching. 

Your default is always some form of a content, softened expression. The gentle lines of your face open and inviting, paired with steady, insightful eyes, taking in everything around you in a hypervigilance that stems from years of practice in the ED. 

"Dr. Abbot, Robby," you nod with a pleasant informality to your attendings, then tug Santos away about another patient awaiting shift handoff.

Now alone with his brother-in-arms, Robby places his hands on his hips. 

"How's she doing adjusting to nights?" He asks, following Jack's gaze to where it lingers on your open body language in conversation with Santos. 

"No problems yet," Abbot shrugs, breaking his gaze off of you. 

Robby's smile lines crease his face. The bemused, all-knowing huff doesn't go unnoticed.

"Somethin' you wanna say?" Abbot tugs up the long sleeves of his undershirt to his elbows. 

The entertained expression stretches across Robby's face as he gives a noncommittal shake of his head. "No, man, I just notice the way you look at her, is all. You think you can hide it but you forget I have special Abbot glasses." He taps his index finger against his temple. 

"What the hell are you talking about?" Jack snaps his gaze to his friend, crossing his arms over his chest and widening his stance. "I don't have a problem with her." 

"I didn't say you had a problem with her."

"So then what the hell does that mean? You 'notice the way I look at her'?" 

Robby tilts his head inward, the distance closing between them by a fraction of an inch. He lowers his voice. "She sees right through you, brother, and you can't stand it. You think I can't notice when you've taken a liking to someone?" 

Abbot's scoff reeks of forced nonchalance. Most of the time he doesn't mind Robby's holier-than-thou bullshit, especially when it's not directed at him. "I haven't taken a liking to her. Jesus, dude, you need to see more than these four walls every once in a while." 

What's annoying is that Robby isn't wrong. Under the unsettling, gnawing feeling in his stomach he gets each time you present a case, run a code, hell, crack a joke with the nurses, is a peculiar, growing attraction. 

It's a cocktail of dread and annoyance, since he knows he could never have you. Throw in a splash of self-isolation and a garnish of twenty-five years of coping mechanisms, and you've got yourself a par-tay.

If you were someone he'd met outside of the hospital —which isn't likely, to be fair— he'd flirt and be done with it. 

But it's the way your eyes seem to cut through all his guardrails, the soft, yellow t-shirt you sometimes wear under your scrubs and how it brightens the sterile colors of the ER, the irrefutable, selfless empathy that radiates off of you with each patient. 

He could give in, open himself up to you. It would be so simple, but so, so stupid. All of it snowballs into something Jack feels, but can't stand to admit to himself, let alone Robby: he likes you.

Plus, underneath all the nuanced resentment, he thinks you're really pretty. It's fucking annoying. 

Robby just stares at him, expecting…what? Some kind of confession during shift change? 

Jack doesn't confront it like he knows he should, instead deciding for a smooth patient handoff. "Whatever, dude. Tell me about this family in Pedes." 

Patients are transitioned to night shift in the next hour, but you end up spending the first quarter of your shift in triage with a med student. Lots of sutures, EKGs, a couple of persistent coughs. All fairly run-of-the-mill, much to your surprise. 

There's one patient you sent from triage to an open bed that you're particularly concerned about, so you send the med student off to help with a dislocated shoulder before heading back into the fray. 

By the hub, you catch Dr. Abbot. "Hey, can I present to you?" You ask, leaning against the counter and tapping your fingers against it.

He looks up from his tablet, and hums in an almost indifferent response. 

"Mr. Klesiak, forty-five-year-old man, came in complaining of consistent chest pain over the past two weeks. EKG and labs came back positive for a mild heart attack, but his husband died four months ago in a car accident. He burst into tears just talking about it. It's been really difficult for him to adjust to his new normal, without his person," you frown, then add, "I think it lines up with takotsubo cardiomyopathy." 

Abbot looks up from his tablet, doubt scribbled all over his face. "Broken heart syndrome?" he asks, a brow arched derisively. He looks like he might actually laugh.

You've noticed Dr. Abbot's dubiousness towards you the past few weeks and taken it mostly in stride. He doesn't do much to try and hide it, though you're pretty sure you could read his emotions like a magazine. 

Everyone seems to think Dr. Jack Abbot is some self-actualized, adrenaline junkie, mystery man, but you don't see him that way. Between his tenure as a night shift attending and his side hustle playing medic for the SWAT team, his picture is crystal clear to you. 

He needs to be needed. He doesn't like being perceived any other way than the image he's carefully crafted: the zen, rule-breaking, untouchable attending of the night. He doles out the pieces of himself he's comfortable sharing, and packs up the rest. 

It's not a weakness, not when you do the same thing. Your bright disposition towards your patients comes naturally, but you've got your own demons. They taught you to notice these kinds of things, to be hyper-empathetic. It makes you a good doctor. 

It means you're a unique kind of perceptive. And you're pretty sure Abbot hates that about you. 

"Yeah," you respond, firm in your diagnosis. "What, you think that's wrong?" 

Abbot pulls the patient's chart up on his tablet, avoiding your eyes. "It's possible, I guess," he shrugs, a casual dismissal. "I just think it's a little outlandish. I mean, did you call for a cardiology consult?" 

"I wanted to see what you thought first."

This stumps Jack for some reason. As your attending, it's right that you check with him on critical patients, but Mr. Klesiak seems as typical of a heart attack patient as they come. The waning part of his patience wins out. 

"Just call cardiology," he looks up at you like it's stupidly simple. Like you're stupid for not treating it simply. 

As he starts to move past, you sidestep him, sharply studying his eyes.

"Did I do something wrong, Dr. Abbot?" you ask. The honorific rolls roughly off your tongue, the sound shooting straight to Abbot's cock. 

"We've barely crossed paths this whole shift," Abbot states plainly, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. 

"That's not what I asked," your voice jabs at him, teetering on the edge of snapping. "You switch from ignoring me for most of the shift to going behind me and double-checking my work."

"I'm supposed to double-check your work. I'm your attending."

"Yeah, and I'm an R3," you bite back, frustratedly shoving a strand of hair out of your face. "I can diagnose noncritical injuries and illnesses without approval. So, did I do something wrong?" 

Abbot blinks. He's only heard you speak this way during a trauma. Your feathers never get ruffled. The corner of his mouth quirks up, intrigued at this side of you he's slowly peeling back. "No, sunshine, you didn't do anything wrong," he grinds out, his voice a crackling fireplace, one errant piece of ash away from catching. 

He says your nickname like it's derogatory. Like it disgusts him to even form the word.

You square your shoulders, hurt flickering in your eyes involuntarily. Jack clocks it, realizing then that he might see you just as much as you see him. 

And god, isn't that just as unnerving? 

"Well, I'll just try to stay out of your way, then, Dr. Abbot," you huff dryly, shaking your head before turning on your heel to call cardiology. 

Over the next couple of hours, the Pitt has a short lull, and then a sudden influx of patients. A string of accidents involving a drunk driver on the freeway attributes to several ambulance dropoffs, even a trauma brought down from the helipad. 

It's awful, all the destruction one person's poor decision to drive drunk has caused. There's several broken ribs, a woman who will likely be a paraplegic for the rest of her life, then the worst of it all. 

A boy, seventeen years old, who just got his driver's license. He took his eight-year-old sister to a twenty-four hour drugstore to get ice cream, and on their way back home, the drunk driver veered into the opposite lane of traffic and collided with them head-on. 

The little girl died on impact. 

The boy, Mason, sobbed the entire time you performed his physical. Besides a few cuts and scrapes, and a possible concussion, he was physically unharmed. Your heightened empathy crushed against your chest like a hydraulic press, pushing, pushing, pushing, but you managed to maintain composure so you could help Mason through the shock. 

He just kept whipsering his little sister's name, over and over, even as you went with him to CT. You stayed out in the hall, then escorted him back down to the Pitt to discharge and hand him off to his parents. 

As you watch them leave out through the waiting room, your chin shakes in an uncontrollable quiver. A sob threatens to burst out of you, so you make a beeline for Central, where your bottle of water sits by your workstation. 

"Why'd you go with Mason Bellings to CT?" Abbot materializes before you can get to your water. 

You jump, whipping around to find Abbot craning his neck down at you. The ER's calmed down in the two hours since the traumas started rolling in, the beeping more steady than erratic. 

You swallow the sob. "He just lost his little sister," you force the words past the massive, obstructive stone in your throat. No wrapping anything with a nice little bow like you sometimes do. "And his parents were still at the crash site. He needed somebody." 

"You need to let Kiara handle situations like that," Abbot's jaw flexes. "Or a nurse. You have four other patients on your caseload right now." 

"They're all stable," you protest, frowning at him. "I was gone for fifteen minutes. I asked Lena to keep an eye out."

His eyes bore into yours. Normally hazel, but chilled into an almost rock hard slate in this light. You don't usually challenge an authority figure, not unless it's something critical, but you're not backing down from this one. 

"Lena's a charge nurse, not your patients' babysitter," Abbot's gravelly voice tumbles out with the jagged edges of a shattered mirror. The slight, almost impercetible twitch in his jaw contradicts his words. "You do not leave this emergency department unless it's for a critical patient." 

"What is your problem with me?" You throw up your hands, suddenly raising your voice at your attending before you can think better of it. 

"I never said I had a problem with you," he says coldly, the lack of surprise at your outburst only serving to irritate you further. 

"You don't fucking have to!" You shout. Eyes all over the Pitt soon turn to you. "You leapfrog between singling me out or pretending I don't exist for a twelve-hour shift. And you've been doing it for three weeks! Do you know how fucking demoralizing that is?" 

Abbot leans forward, transitioning to a hushed hiss through his teeth. "Ambulance bay," he demands, nodding to the double doors behind you. The authority on his voice chills your blood. "Now." 

You lead the way, not bothering to glance behind you. The familiar drop of his footsteps is enough to know. 

The night air is brisk, even for four in the morning, making the empty ambulance bay even more of a ghost town. 

You march all the way to the wall where Dana takes her smoke breaks, crossing your arms over your chest. 

God, the way your hip juts out is enough to send Jack into cardiac arrest. 

Robby's play at Dr. Phil earlier sent him into a slow spiral, a swirl of mixed emotions coursing through his body this whole shift. He had to shove down thoughts of you when resuscitating a patient earlier, and you slid by him to bag. He had to feign doubt instead of interest with your cardiac patient. And now, this. 

He isn't just picking on you, not this time. You really can't leave the ER during a barrage of traumas. 

He gives you the chance to say something, because it looks like you might, but you just glare at him, stewing as the rage inside you reaches a peak. He's never seen you like this. Maybe you are built for the night shift. 

"You cannot speak to me like that," Abbot's calm slams against his vocal chords like a wild animal in a cage, testing his limits. "If we have an issue, we can talk it out, but you do not lash out at anyone like that, let alone your attending. Do you understand?" 

You're testing his limits, you think. 

You wad all your anger up into a tightly compressed, crinkled ball, then shove into the pit of your stomach. "Fine. Are we done here?" 

"As a matter of fact, we're not. We're gonna stand out here until you can get your shit together." 

"You don't treat Ellis like this," A sardonic laugh rattles out. "O-or Shen, or anybody else."

A challenge, Jack thinks, as he clocks the gold flecks in your eyes, giving new meaning to the nickname sunshine. He swallows the truth. 

"Everyone has an adjustment period when they switch to nights. Don't take it personally." 

"Oh, cut the bullshit," you step up to him, and against every warning bell screaming in your head not to, jab your index finger his chest. "You have some kind of a personal problem with me, Dr, Abbot." Jab. "So I do take it personally." Jab. "And if it's something that will make me a better doctor, you're obligated to tell me." Another jab. 

Jack takes each of your sharp pokes, into the space between his shoulder and his collar bone, right above his heart. He closes his eyes, forcing a breath, forcing himself to stay calm, before speaking.

"Your focus drifts," his voice is a low rumble. A lie. Under duress. To end this conversation as quickly as possible. To keep from shoving you against the concrete wall. To keep from grabbing you by the wrists and pinning them above your head. "You're overconfident." Lie. "You're not adjusting well. I don't think you're cut out for nights." Lie. Lie. All of it, a lie. 

His controlled energy, the steady tone in which he delivers all these untrue facts, boil your blood. All of it, the whole shift, has finally hit its apex. 

"Bullshit," you hiss through your teeth, squaring up with him. You don't even realize your finger is still pressed into his chest. It quakes where it rests, immune to the warm, thumping heart beneath it. "This is about me and some sort of issue you have with me being on your service. You don't take me seriously, you don't trust me, you treat me like I'm incompetent—"

"You're very competent." 

"Then why don't you treat me like it?" Your voice raises higher, and you turn pink at the embarrassment, the anger of it all. 

With the blue-black of the Pittsburgh night behind you, your eyes glint with the silver of threatening tears. Jack hates this. He hates that his calm demeanor turns into something ugly and unfeeling around you. Collected becomes stoic. Control turns into apathy. 

This isn't him. This isn't the man he's spent fifteen years in therapy to become. 

It's a balancing act, because he can't be the same man with you that he is with everyone else. You're too fluent in his language. 

He didn't think anybody else spoke it. 

He hates that he's done this to you. Turned into this person, this special wildcard that only gets dealt to you.

"Look," he releases a pressure-cooker sigh, desperately trying to ignore the pressure of your finger over his heart. "It's been a rough shift. Why don't you go—"

"Don't tell me to go home," you jeer. 

"Jesus Christ. I don't know what to do with you," his resolve falters, a piece of him jutting out. 

This crack in the facade, this jagged piece of him finally breaking through, throws you off guard. The hammering in your angry, wrecked heart comes to a screeching halt. You realize then how close you are to him, to your attending, your boss. And that your finger still presses into his chest. 

You take a wary step back, then start to retract your hand. 

Abbot's hand catches you before you can. Around your wrist with a gentleness that freezes your feet in place. 

Jack presses his index and middle finger into your radial pulse. It's thrumming. Those delicate, elegantly long fingers are shaking. Some god who makes a game out of torturing him made your fingers perfect. Fuck. 

"You don't have to do anything with me," your breath shudders through you as Dr. Abbot cradles your hand over the exact spot you were jabbing him. 

A baby bird, he thinks, as he guides your knuckles open, flattening over his heart. "I'm sorry I've been so hard on you," his voice creaks and cracks. His Adam's apple bobs. "I didn't mean all that stuff I said. You're an excellent doctor. But you really can't leave the ER during a crisis. And you really can't speak to me like that." 

The words hit you like a flash thunderstorm. You nod. It's a hasty movement, followed by a sniff and a rogue tear. "I won't do it again," you whisper, so you won't cry. "Mason… he just needed somebody. He didn't have anybody." 

"Yeah, we know what that's like, don't we, sunshine?" Abbot's lips murmur, soft as a prayer. His fingers curl over yours. 

His heartbeat is steady, calming. His words rip blankets off the parts of you that are painted the same color as his. 

This close, you notice so many things about Abbot you never had before. The moonlight turns the grey and brown hairs along his jaw into silver and bronze. His tongue pushes against his upper lip before he speaks. There's a softness in him you hadn't recognized; or, maybe you had, but you couldn't admit it to yourself. 

"I don't need to go home," you reiterate with a wobbly chin. 

"I won't make you," he exhales, then moves his hand to your shoulder to tug you to him. 

He feels like he's hiking up a treacherous hill. One wrong step and he'll plummet to disaster. But, god help him, when you give in to his silent offer and press your face into his cotton t-shirt, he thinks this is a pretty damn good hill to die on. 

Abbot holds you to him with one hand on your shoulder, the other rubbing careful, attentive circles between your shoulder blades. The sharpness stabbing at your sinuses finally gives way to tears, relief mixing with the exhaustion.

You don't know what this means besides the unspoken treatise between the two of you. A mutual acknowledgement, you think, that you understand each other on a level deeper than you thought possible. 

"It's been a rough shift," Abbot's voice rumbles low. It vibrates where your ear meets his chest. The soft, worn cotton of his t-shirt warms your cheek. He smells like hand sanitizer and laundry detergent and cedar. "And I think we understand each other a little too well." 

"Yeah," you agree, meek and weary, but accepting the comfort he provides. 

"We'll get through it together, though, yeah?" He continues to slide his palm along your back. You know you need to check on your patients, you know there are much more pressing, life-or-death matters happening inside. But you can't quite peel away from him just yet. 

This is the most assured comfort you think you've ever received in your life. 

"Okay," you agree quietly. 

You pull back from Jack's chest, and he immediately misses the weight of you. "Feel better?" He asks, arching a brow with clinical interest. 

"Yeah," you sniff, then wipe at your nose with the end of your sleeve. "Does this mean you're gonna be nice to me now?" 

"Define nice," Abbot's lip quirks up in that sideways half-smirk you've seen, but never been on the receiving end of. 

"Not a dick," is your blatant reply. 

A sharp laugh from Abbot, then a nod. "Yeah, sunshine, I won't be a dick anymore." He says, then brushes the cap of your shoulder with his hand. 

It's a new, unnerving space you've entered together. Compatriots instead of adversaries. An attending who hugs you in the ambulance bay instead of questioning your decision-making. 

"And you want me here? On nights, with you?" You can't hold yourself back from asking, from needing the clarity, from pushing a little further than you probably should. 

Jack says your first name, then reaches out to touch you. He hesitates, hovering between his body and yours, unsure if it's allowed. If the hug was just a one-off. Your eyes flick to his hand, then up at him. Then, the smallest dip of your chin. Permission. 

With a focused, intentional, physician's precision, he tucks a fallen piece of hair behind your ear. Slides his knuckle across the back of your earlobe as his hand recedes. 

You blink at him slowly, warming at the idea of his touching you other places, too. 

"And I want you here," Jack confirms as you revert to your own personal space, and you become a mentor and student once again. Strangely enough, it's the steadiest he's ever sounded. 

Even though he doesn't know what any of this really means. Even though he's crossed a line that can't be uncrossed. "On nights. With me." 

[hearts4hughes]

this is incredible🥹 i’ve reread it twice already. 10/10!!

[hearts4hughes]

idk if i need pope cody or jack abbot right now

[hearts4hughes]

wait how do you know abbots coming back?? i cant find info anywhere

well the night shift clocks in at 7pm and the next episode is 7pm-8pm!

[hearts4hughes]

— casual !!

jack abbot x fem!resident!reader word count: 9k warnings: medical inaccuracies, age gap, slight power imbalance (technically he’s her boss), miscommunication, angst w happy ending, past spouse death mentioned, emotion vulnerability, sexual innuendos, oral (fem receiving), MDNI note: this may be the longest fic i’ve ever written. just two idiots in love with major miscommunication (just talk it out already omfg) also, episode 13 abbot return soon!!!!😝😝

the room smells like sweat and your laundry detergent. your chest is still rising a little too fast, the sheets twisted around your legs, your hair sticking to the side of your face. the ceiling fan hums above you, slow and uneven, pushing warm air around instead of cooling anything down. jack’s hand is still on you. his muscular body is splayed beside you. he’s breathing heavier than he’ll admit to later, breath hot on your skin. his chest lifts once, twice, before he drags in a quieter breath and finally comes back down to earth.

you turn your head toward him, watching him instead of the ceiling. his jaw is tight—it always is after you’re done. “you okay?” he asks, voice rough, like it had to fight its way out of his throat. his speckled gray and white curls are sweaty, clinging to his forehead. you fight the urge to run your fingers through them.

you let out a soft laugh, still a little breathless. “i think so.” his thumb moves against your skin in soft circles and it’s enough to make you ready for round two.

for a second, neither of you says anything. it’s not awkward—it never is—but it’s not easy either. it’s that weird space in between you’ve both been pretending doesn’t exist for months now. you shift slightly, turning more onto your side so you can see him better. his hazel eyes are already boring into yours when you turn. your breath hitches, but he doesn’t look away. these are your favorite moments. the haze of post-sex and soft gazes.

jack exhales through his nose and sits up. there it is. just like clockwork the mattress dips, the air shifts, and suddenly you’re alone even though he’s still right there. he runs a hand through his hair, pushing it back, before reaching down to grab his boxers off the floor.

you watch him. you don’t even try not to. “where are you going?” you murmur just loud enough for him to hear. you don’t even need to ask anymore, yet, you still do.

“we’ve got a shift in a few hours,” he replies, already reaching for his pants. “probably should get a decent nap in.” he keeps his eyes on his clothes, focusing on getting dressed rather than facing you.

you push yourself up onto your elbows, sheet slipping down your naked torso without you noticing. “you could always nap here.” it comes out light, like you don’t care either way (you do).

he pauses, and you wonder if for the first time in forever, he’ll take you up on the offer. his hand stills where it’s halfway to his shirt. his shoulders tense just slightly before he keeps going, pulling it over his head. “i sleep better at my place.”

your stomach sinks. stupid, stupid girl. it’s such a normal answer. practical, logical, and very him. you nod anyway, even though he’s not really looking at you. “right. yeah. makes sense.”

he glances over then, like he’s checking your reaction without wanting it to look like that. you’re already reaching for the edge of the sheet, fixing it around yourself, pretending you didn’t just offer him something that felt a little too close to asking him to stay.

“i’ll see you tonight,” he adds, like it’s enough to lift your spirits.

you hum, nodding once. “yeah. see you.”

he grabs his watch off your nightstand, fastening it around his wrist. your eyes track the movement automatically. you notice stupid things about him. the way he’s always precise and controlled, especially now.

he steps closer to the bed again and your heart does something annoying in your chest. the feeling is something hopeful and something you immediately hate. he presses a kiss to your lips. it’s soft enough to distract you for the meantime. after a beat too long, he pulls away. “get some sleep,” he murmurs, ruffling your hair with his hand.

you nod again because what else are you supposed to do? he turns, grabs his keys, and heads for the door. there’s no hesitation. no looking back. he used to look upset he had to leave. that affection faded sometime between the last few months.

the door shuts with a quiet click, and just like that it’s over. you sit there staring at the spot where he was standing like he might walk back in and say just kidding, i’ll stay. but of course he doesn’t. you let out a slow breath and fall back against the mattress with a thud, staring up at the ceiling again. the fan is still spinning in its useless way.

your skin still feels warm where he touched you. your apartment still smells like him. which doesn’t soften the blow. you drag a hand down your face, exhaling sharply. “so stupid,” you mutter to yourself, voice muffled against your palm. this was your idea—you have to remind yourself that daily. well, you didn’t propose the idea officially, but you let it happen. days like this, no questions asked, no expectations, and absolutely no labels.

casual was the way he preferred to describe it. he said it to robby once after he asked what was going on between you two. you were standing right beside him, looking at him with both hope and curiosity. then he used that six letter word, and you deflated like a balloon. but you didn’t argue against it. so, you don’t have the right to feel like…this.

you turn onto your side, facing the empty space beside you. your fingers brush against the sheets, still faintly warm. you press your lips together, eyes stinging. “it’s casual,” you whisper, reminding yourself of the rules. you close your eyes, pulling the blanket tighter around yourself. the worst part isn’t that he left. it’s that you already know he’s going to walk into the hospital tonight, look at you like nothing happened, joke with you like nothing happened, and you’re going to let him.

“fuck,” you curse, keeping your eyes up to stop the tears from falling. your fingers scrunch the sheets, gripping them hard enough to hurt. get it together. “you agreed to it,” you mutter, reminding yourself one more time before attempting to get some sleep.

~

stepping through the ambulance bay doors of the PTMC always feels like a fever dream. like stepping out of the hospital at the end of every shift leads you right back through those automatic doors. a coffee is tucked into your hand, hair pulled back, and a neutral smile gracing your lips. it’s become easy to pretend like you didn’t spend half your afternoon staring at your ceiling, trying to convince yourself you’re fine. you tuck your bag under the desk and log in, fingers moving automatically across the keyboard.

“you’re early,” dana notes from beside you, not even glancing up from her screen.

you shrug, scanning the board. your leg bounces rapidly under the table. “couldn’t sleep.” it’s not a lie…just not the full truth.

“join the club,” she mutters.

you hum in response, already pulling up your first chart. “what’s the damage?”

“room four’s been waiting too long and is about to bite someone’s head off, six is chest pain, eight’s a disaster-”

“when is eight not a disaster?” you mumble, grabbing a pen and mentally preparing yourself.

dana snorts. “fair.”

you’re halfway through reading when the doors swing open. you don’t even have to look. your body reacts before your brain does. your shoulders tightening just slightly, grip on your pen shifting, something low in your stomach pulling tight.

jack abbot walks in like he always does. his strut is steady and grounded. the emergency department chaos bends around him instead of the other way around. he’s clad in a black scrub top, sleeves pushed up, stethoscope hanging loose around his neck. his hair is still a little damp. you hate that you notice that. his eyes sweep the department once, before landing on you. his face stays blank, but his eyes are intense as ever. he looks away before you can react.

“abbot,” dana calls, lifting her chin. she looks him up and down, not impressed (she never is).

“dana,” hearing his voice is like tasting water in a desert. he sounds normal. like maybe he spent his time outside of work alone, or doing something productive. like he didn’t leave your apartment a few hours ago with your taste still on his mouth.

you swallow, forcing your eyes back to the screen. don’t make it weird. he steps up to the station a second later, fingers drumming against the counter. “what’ve we got?”

you glance at his fingers, then at him. he’s already looking at you. he’s good at this. no tension. no hesitation. just that same slightly amused look he gives you every shift. you clear your throat. “room six. chest pain, fifty-eight year old male. ekg’s…not great.” you keep your eyes on the screen, a subtle way to evade eye contact. he leans in slightly to look at the computer, shoulder brushing yours for half a second.

“not great how?” he asks. you can smell his shampoo and conditioner, the same ones you use when you’re over his place.

you click through the results, pointing with your pen. “st elevation in the inferior leads. troponin’s pending but i’m not waiting on it.”

he nods once, focused now. “good.” your chest warms at that.

“cath lab?” you ask.

“yup. page cardiology,” he says, already straightening. “let’s not waste time.”

“on it.” you pick up the phone, dialing quickly, slipping into that rhythm you know too well. you don’t think about him. when you’re working, you have no time to think. that’s one perk of being apart of the medical field.

by the time you hang up, he’s already halfway down the hall, calling out orders, pulling a team together and teaching med students. you watch him go for a second longer than necessary.

“eyes forward, doctor,” dana murmurs under her breath. her eyes are narrow, looking you up and down like she did to abbot before.

you blink, snapping back to your screen. “i was looking at the board.”

“mmhmm.” she hums. you can’t get anything past dana. she’s seen it all, and knows it all too well. “well, i’m out of here. gotta go before i’m pulled back in.”

“sleep well,” you blow her a kiss as she shuffles out the doors. when the doors close, you watch her grab a cigarette. you chuckle, shaking your head.

the next hour moves fast. patients come in, patients go out. you send out orders, labs, reassessments. you’re moving constantly, barely sitting, barely breathing, exactly the way you like it. it drowns everything else out.

“hey.” you turn at the sound of his voice. jack’s standing a little too close again, tablet in hand, looking at you like he’s been talking for longer than you realized. “you with me?” he asks, brow lifting slightly.

you run a hand over your face. “yeah. sorry. what?”

his mouth twitches. “i asked your plan for room four.” he crosses his arms over his broad chest. the same broad chest that you littered with hickies just hours befor—

right.

focus.

“uh, probably gallbladder,” you say, pulling the chart up on the computer. “pain after eating, radiating to the back, she’s nauseous-” you list the symptoms on your fingers. he watches you as you talk. “i was thinking ultrasound to start,” you finish.

there’s a beat before he nods. “good call.” you exhale softly, tension easing just a little. “you look tired,” he adds, shifting seamlessly between work and personal. it catches you off guard.

you shrug, keeping your tone light. “couldn’t sleep.”

his gaze lingers on you. “join the club,” he mutters instead, echoing dana from earlier.

you huff out a small laugh. “original.”

“i try.” he smiles sweetly. his dimples poke out from his cheeks. ugh you love those dimples.

for a moment, you just stand there, staring at each other. then, someone calls his name from down the hall and the bubble bursts. “abbot!”

he glances over his shoulder, then back at you. “don’t let four crash on you,” he says, already stepping away.

you roll your eyes. “no promises.”

“that’s reassuring.” and he’s moving on to the next thing.

you stand there, staring at the chart in your hands. your chest feels…tight. not in a bad way either. you always react like this to him. this is what he does. he’s kind and attentive. he listens to you, trusts your judgment, jokes with you like you’re the easiest part of his day. and none of it is supposed to mean anything more than that. it’s starting to hurt.

“you good?” lena asks, glancing over her thin glasses. she tucks her red bangs behind her ear while the rest of her hair stays pulled back into a ponytail.

you nod quickly, already busying yourself with the nearest object. “yeah. just tired.” your hands land on a pen. you click it repeatedly.

she nods and hums, not convinced. you know she means well, but you can’t look at her. if she’s looking at you with that knowing look, you might just break down, and that’s the last thing you need. so, you don’t look at her. you don’t look down the hall where he disappeared. you just keep working.

~

central seven smells like antiseptic and something faintly metallic. burns always do that. you’re standing at the bedside, gloves snapped on, eyes scanning the injury while the patient talks a mile a minute. adrenaline will do that to you. she’s in her late thirties, maybe early forties. pretty in a put together way, even with her hair slightly frazzled and her voice pitched a little too high.

“it was the pan,” she’s saying, wincing as you gently adjust her arm. “i didn’t even realize how hot it was until—god, it hurts.”

“i know,” you murmur, voice steady. “you’re doing great. just keep your arm still for me, okay?”

she nods quickly, eyes flicking between you and him. jack stands on the other side of the bed, gloved hands resting lightly against the rail, watching you work. he’s quiet, letting you lead, only stepping in when needed. it’s natural when you work together.

“second-degree,” you say, glancing up at him briefly. “no blistering yet, but it’s heading there.”

he nods once. “agreed.”

your shoulder brushes his when you shift closer to the patient. you pretend it doesn’t register. the patient, unfortunately, does not. “are you two always this in sync?” she asks, a breathy little laugh slipping out despite the pain.

you offer a polite smile, already reaching for more gauze. “we try.”

jack huffs quietly, something amused in it. “she’s the one doing the work.” he praises and your warmth blooms in your chest.

“team effort,” you correct, not looking at him.

“sure,” he agrees, but there’s that low, teasing tone. the same one he uses in more private situations.

you clear your throat slightly. “i’m gonna grab the silvadene,” you say, stepping back. “be right back.”

he gives you a thumbs up. “i’ve got her.”

you slip out into the hallway, the noise of the department swallowing you up again. it takes maybe two minutes max to grab what you need, maybe a little longer because you stop to answer a quick question from a nurse, scribble an order, check a lab.

when you push the door back open with your hip, you pause. the patient is smiling. not the tight, pained smile from before. she has that admiration in her eyes. the same type you have when you look at him. jack’s standing a little closer than he was when you left. not inappropriate—never that—but closer. one hand braced near her arm, the other adjusting something on the tray.

“guess i’ll have a pretty good scar to show off, huh?” she’s saying, voice lilting.

jack glances up briefly, a small, smile tugging at his mouth. “we’ll try to keep it minimal.”

“mm,” she hums, eyes lingering on him a second too long. “well…if i need a follow-up, i wouldn’t mind seeing you again.”

your stomach drops. he doesn’t react the way you do. of course he doesn’t. he just chuckles. “always happy to treat a patient again.”

you step further into the room, setting the supplies down a little harder than necessary. “okay,” you say, voice back to clinical and controlled. “let’s get this dressed.”

jack shifts back immediately, giving you space without question. you focus on the burn and the steps. on anything but the way the patient keeps glancing between you and him.

you finish quicker than usual. “i’m going to have someone else take over from here,” you say suddenly, pulling off your gloves and tossing them in the bin.

jack raises a brow. “you don’t have to-” he starts.

“dr. ellis is better with burn care,” you cut in smoothly, already stepping toward the door. “i’ve got a few things i need to catch up on anyway.”

jack isn’t the only one with oddly reasonable excuses. he studies you for a second longer, forehead creased from confusion. “ok.” he’s reluctant to say.

you ignore the weird twist in your chest at that and step out into the hallway, already scanning for parker. “ellis,” you call, waving her over. “can you take over nine? second-degree burn, i’ve started dressing it but-”

“yeah, of course,” she says easily, already snapping on gloves and heading in.

“thanks.” you don’t look back. you don’t look at jack. you just keep moving.

~

the rest of the shift blends together. you throw yourself into it harder than usual. you pick up more patients, more notes, more anything to keep your brain too busy to circle back to that room. to the way he didn’t-

you stop that thought before it finishes.

by the time things finally start to slow, the clock creeping toward the end of your shift, your shoulders ache and your eyes burn from staring at screens too long. you’re hunched over the computer, typing out your last note, when a familiar presence settles beside you.

“you’ve been avoiding me.”

your fingers still for half a second. then keep typing. “have not,” you murmur, voice absent of its usual warmth.

jack leans his hip against the counter, arms crossing over his chest. “mm,” he taps his fingers next to your keyboard.

you finish the sentence you’re on before finally glancing up at him. “i’ve been busy.”

“you reassigned my patient.” there it is.

you shrug, turning back to the screen. “parker is better with that stuff.”

“since when?” he huffs a laugh, shaking his head.

“since always,” you say a little harsher than you intend. you take a deep breath before continuing. “and i had to catch up on charting,” you add, clicking through another tab.

you can feel him looking at you. “everything alright?” he asks, leaning close enough that you can feel heat radiating him. that almost gets you.

you force a small smile, glancing up at him again. “yeah. why wouldn’t it be?”

his gaze lingers. searching for something. “just asking,” he says finally.

you nod once. “well, i’m good.”

no one talks for a moment. he shifts slightly, looming over you while you try to work. you swallow, skin burning from his gaze.

“you wanna come over tonight?” he pauses, scratching the back of his neck. “or…we could go out or something.”

your heart stutters. of course that’s what he follows it up with. he says it like it’s nothing. you should say no. you should say you’re tired. you should say you have plans. you should say literally anything that puts space between you and this thing that keeps pulling you back in.

instead, without thinking, you say, “uh, sure.” and the cycle continues.

his mouth twitches slightly, something satisfied flickering there before he looks away. “i’ll text you when i get home,” he smiles.

you nod, turning back to your computer before he can read anything on your face. “okay.”

he lingers. then pushes off the counter and walks away. after he’s out of sight, you sit there, staring at the screen without really seeing it. once again, you bring it onto yourself.

~

his couch dips under your weight. the leather is worn in just enough to feel lived in but still structured. everything in his place feels like that. modern decorations, muted colors, nothing unnecessary. you’re sprawled across it, back pressed into the armrest, one leg hooked loosely over his shoulder.

he’s between your legs, hands holding your thighs to keep you open. your fingers are tangled in his curls before you realize you’ve reached for him. “jack-” it slips out, breath catching halfway through his name.

he hums against your skin, low and satisfied, like he knows exactly what he’s doing. he’s taking his time on purpose. he always does this. his thumb drags slow, absent circles against your skin, and it’s enough to make something uncomfortable settle in your ribs.

you let your head fall back against the couch, eyes squeezing shut, chest rising too fast. “you’re-” you cut yourself off with a shaky breath, grip tightening in his hair.

he moans in response, not letting up. just keeps going until your voice breaks and your body follows, tension snapping all at once. your climax hits hard. you arch as a breathless sound falls from your lips. he stays between your legs, licking you entirely clean before coming up for air.

you’re still catching your breath when he shifts up beside you, one arm sliding around your waist, tugging you into him like it’s second nature. he wipes your slick off his mouth and chin with his arm, licking his lips clean. your cheek presses against his shoulder, his skin warm, steady.

his hand comes up to your arm, fingers brushing lightly over your skin, slow and absent. “have fun?” he murmurs, voice rough, softer than it is anywhere else.

you huff a quiet laugh, still a little dazed. “yeah.”

he hums, like he expected that answer. his thumb keeps moving against your arm. up, down. up, down. it’s stupid how that alone makes you feel woozy. “you want something to eat?” he asks, turning his head slightly toward you. “i’ve got-” he pauses, scratching his chin. “i don’t know. something. probably.”

you smile. “yeah, i-” your phone buzzes against the cushion beside you. you glance over without thinking, reaching for it. a name you haven’t seen in a while lights up the screen. your face softens instantly.

no way you’re still alive. drinks?

you let out a small laugh, the sound light and surprised. “oh my god.” you type back quickly, thumbs moving without much thought.

next to you, jack stills. every muscle in his body tenses. his throat bobs as he swallows. he tries not to care, but that sound—that giggle—is reserved for him. his hand slows against your arm before stopping completely. “what?” he asks, attempting to sound nonchalant:

you shake your head, still smiling at your phone. “nothing.” you don’t mean it like that. you really don’t.

his jaw tightens just slightly. “doesn’t look like nothing,” he rasps, memorizing the cracks in his wooden floors.

you shrug, setting your phone face down on the cushion. “just a friend i haven’t talked to in a while.”

“mm.” he doesn’t ask who, and it eats him alive. something green and fiery pits in his stomach.

you sit up slightly, pulling away just enough to reach for your jeans draped over the arm of the couch. “actually,” you clear your throat, trying to stay normal, “i might meet them out tonight.”

the words ring in his ears. his hand drops from your arm. “tonight?” he repeats.

you nod, sliding your phone into your pocket. “yeah. i haven’t seen them in forever.”

he watches you now. “thought you were staying,” his tone is flat. his mind is anything but. the mere thought of you meeting another person—possibly a man—for a drink has him seeing red.

you pull your shirt back on, smoothing it down like it gives you something to do. “i was, i just—this came up.”

he leans back slightly against the couch, arms resting along the back, posture more stiff than it was a second ago. “right.”

“it’s not a big thing,” you add quickly. “just drinks.”

“with…?” he trails off, like he doesn’t want to sound like he’s asking. his fingers drum against the leather of the couch. he wanted this.

you hesitate for half a second too long. “just friends,” you say again, not feeling like explaining.

he nods curtly. “got it.”

silence settles around you. you grab your bag, slinging it over your shoulder, suddenly very aware of the space between you now. how fast it showed up. he watches you pack up your things with no argument. his eyes follow your every movement like glue.

part of you wants him to fight. to tell you to stay. to tell you he needs you. when those phrases don’t come, you sigh. “i’ll see you tomorrow?” you offer, hovering near the edge of the couch.

“yeah,” he mutters, coughing lightly. “see you.” it’s the same tone he used this morning. like letting you go doesn’t cost him anything.

you linger anyway. just for a second. long enough that it almost means something. if he wanted to, he’d fill the space. maybe say your name, tell you to stay, give you anything to hold onto. but he doesn’t. you swallow, forcing a small smile as you turn toward the door.

you don’t look back this time. you know better now. for what feels like the first time, the crack in the canvas isn’t just something you imagine, it’s something he’s choosing not to fix.

~

the next time you step into the pitt, something is different. you’re smiling, and it’s not forced or fake. it’s real. you’re talking to princess, laughing at something stupid she says, coffee in hand, shoulders not as tight as they usually are at the start of a shift. you feel good. which is rare enough that you don’t question it too hard.

“you’re in a suspiciously good mood,” princess raises a brow, eyeing you with a grin.

you shrug, taking a sip of your coffee. “saw some old friends last night. i had fun.”

she snorts. “no way. taking time away from that casual relationship?” she lingers on the word casual, rolling her eyes.

“believe it.” you don’t elaborate. you don’t mention the drinks, the loud music, the way it felt to be something other than a resident for a few hours. to laugh with friends without checking the time. to not worry about him.

three feet away, jack notices everything. he got to work early just to see you walk in. his heart stutters as he watches you talk animatedly. you’re smiling—genuinely smiling. the sight sends goosebumps down his spine. you used to smile like that when you first started seeing him. how, he’s used to something more closed off.

he watches you longer than necessary before forcing himself to look at the labs on the screen. he lasts about ten seconds before looking at you again. you’re talking, explaining something to a med student, gesturing with your pen, that same easy smile still sitting on your mouth like it belongs there. it shouldn’t bother him, but it does.

the last twenty-four hours have felt…off. your texts came slower and often with shorter messages. he sent one this morning, sweet and teasing. he asked about your night (even if it made him clench his teeth at the thought). it took you three hours to respond, and all you sent back was good. no follow up. no teasing. no nothing.

he was the one to call it casual first. he meant it when he drew that line. so why does it feel like you’re the one pulling away now?

“abbott.” he looks up, blinking once.

robby’s watching him, eyebrow raised. “you good, man?”

“yeah,” jack says automatically.

robby glances past him, toward you, and then back again, something knowing flickering in his expression before he drops it. “right,” he sighs, slapping a comforting hand on his shoulder. “well i’ll see you in about twelve hours.” he salutes before walking off.

jack exhales through his nose, humming and sending him a wave goodbye. he drags a hand down the back of his neck before pushing off the counter. he steps into a case, then another, falling into work the way he always does. it should be enough to keep his head clear. it was working for most of the shift. that was until he heard your laugh.

it cuts across the department, soft and sweet. he looks up before he can stop himself. nick barker, head of radiology, stands too close in proximity to you. he’s leaning against the counter like he’s got nowhere else to be, one arm braced beside you, posture relaxed in. he’s practically melting into you.

“i’m just saying,” nick’s grinning, tone light, “if you’re gonna question my read, at least buy me dinner first. make it worth my time.”

you huff a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “your reads are questionable on a good day, barker. i’m not rewarding that.”

“harsh,” he says, but he’s smiling wider now. “i like it.” his eyes drag slowly up and down your figure. jack’s molars grind.

you roll your eyes, clicking through the scan on your screen. “i’m sure you do.”

he leans in slightly, looking at the monitor, but it’s not the screen he’s focused on. it’s you. “so what’s the verdict, doc?” he asks, attempting a seductive tone. jack wants to see if he keeps that tone while he smashes his fist into-

breathe.

you tilt your head, studying the image. “small bleed. nothing crazy, but it’s there.”

“mm,” nick hums, still close. “good catch.” you glance up at him, and there’s that smile again.

jack feels something shift. his breathing labors. he looks away because he doesn’t like what that does to him. he doesn’t like that it bothers him at all. he agreed to this. no expectations. no exclusivity.

you laugh again, quieter this time, at something nick says under his breath. that gets him. he grips the closest counter to him, knuckles going white. it’s nothing. you’re just talking and being polite as usual. but when you barely looked at him all night. when your texts have gone quiet. when someone else is grabbing your attention—that’s when it feels like something else.

across the room, shen follows his line of sight and snorts under his breath. “yikes,” he mutters.

jack doesn’t respond. he just exhales slowly, forcing his attention back to work even though he imagines the sound of barker’s nose cracking under impact from his fist. he grips the counter harder to keep him from doing something beyond stupid.

he doesn’t get to feel this way—he reminds himself for the tenth time—not when he’s the one who made sure it stayed casual. yet, his eyes flick back to you. as much as he tries to keep it simple, nothing is ever simple when it comes to you.

~

the shift drags after that. the cases aren’t necessarily harder and the workload isn’t overwhelming. it’s the usual mix—some chest pain, a drunk guy with a busted eyebrow, a kid with a fever that has two terrified parents hovering like satellites. you mind your business, keep to yourself and try your best to get through the shift.

on the other hand, jack’s senses are heightened tenfold. he notices that you don’t linger near him at the desk anymore. that when you pass each other in the hallway, your shoulder doesn’t brush his the way it usually does. that you talk to everyone the same way you always have, but when it comes to him, you keep it strictly clinical.

“cbc and cultures,” you say at one point, handing him a chart without looking up.

he takes it. “already ordered.”

“good.” you murmur and that’s it. just work.

the distance sits in his chest like something heavy. when he thinks about it for too long, his eyes sting and his throat hurts from breathing harshly. and just to add onto it, nick barker keeps wandering back over. it’s not constantly. not enough that anyone could call it obvious. but it’s enough to have jack spiraling.

you still don’t flirt back, but you laugh and answer him a little too comfortably for jack’s liking. by the time the shift finally starts to wind down, the exhaustion has settled into his bones. twelve hours of adrenaline wearing off leaves him irritated.

the locker room is quiet when he walks in. most of the nightshift has clocked out already, leaving few lockers full. you’re already in there when he walks in. your back is to him, tugging your hoodie over your scrubs, hair falling out of your clip as you pull your bag from the bench. he just watches you. he does that a lot. it’s hard not to.

he exhales through his nose and drops his own bag onto the bench with more force than necessary. you glance over your shoulder. “long shift,” you say lightly, tone neutral.

“yeah,” he mutters. he starts shoving things into his bag, movements harsher than usual. the silence stretches for a moment. you zip yours closed, and that’s when he says it. “so what—was he the ‘friend’ you met out with last night?”

you freeze for half a second. you think you imagined the sudden outburst. slowly, you turn toward him. “…what?”

jack doesn’t look at you right away. he’s still digging through his locker. “barker,” he says flatly. “that who you were out with?”

your eyebrows pull together. “are you serious right now?” you scoff, crossing your arms.

he finally looks at you then. “just asking.”

you let out a small, incredulous laugh. this is classic coming from him. “you’re not asking. you’re accusing.”

“am i?” he shoots back, voice deepening. you swear steam is rushing out of his ears. his hair is tousled, probably from running his hands through it. his eyes are dark, like he didn’t get a wink of sleep. you haven’t seen whatever version of jack this is.

“yeah,” you say, slinging your bag over your shoulder. “you kind of are.”

he huffs, hands clenching by his sides. how can you not see it? how do you not understand his views? the thoughts only fuel his fire. “looked pretty cozy out there tonight.”

your eyes widen slightly. “cozy?” you sputter. “jack, what are-”

“laughing at everything he says,” jack interrupts with a growl. “letting him lean all over the counter-”

“oh my god,” you cut him off, disbelief bleeding into your voice. “are you actually jealous right now?”

the word hits something. his shoulders stiffen. “i’m not jealous.” he says quickly—too quickly.

“jack-”

“i’m just saying it looked a little-”

“no,” you shake your head before he can finish. “don’t do that. don’t pretend that’s not exactly what this is.” his mouth presses into a thin line. “you flirt with people all the time,” you continue, voice rising slightly. “patients, nurses, literally anyone who walks through the door.”

“that’s not-”

“it is,” you snap. “i’ve seen it.”

“i’m just being polite.” he mutters each word.

“and i’m not?” you raise a brow. “no one can be polite except for you?” you stifle a laugh. ridiculous.

“i’m not the one who went out with someone else last night.” he blinks rapidly, like he’s fighting emotion. his throat bobs after he says it.

silence fills the room. the overhead lights flicker under the tension. your eyes widen slightly, mouth falling slightly agape. “i was with my friends!” you’re quieter now. you don’t need volume to show how mad you are.

he doesn’t stop, just rolls his eyes. “doesn’t matter. you couldn’t even text me back, but you had time to go out drinking?”

“you don’t get to say that,” you fire back.

“why not?”

“because you’re the one who wanted this to be casual,” you say, the word coming out harsher than you mean it to. “remember?”

his chest rises slowly. “i never said you could-”

“no,” your voice cracks as you shake your head. “you just made it very clear there were no expectations.” the room feels smaller now. “so what,” you continue, voice quieter but cutting deeper, “now suddenly you care who i talk to?”

jack runs a frustrated hand through his hair, tugging at the curls. “that’s not what i said.” his teeth sink into his bottom lip.

“it’s what you meant.”

“you’re twisting this.” he holds a hand over his mouth before dragging it down. his stubble scratches his hand.

“oh, am i?” you shoot back incredulously.

footsteps near the entrance of the room grow closer before you can finish. robby steps inside, mid sip from a coffee. he immediately stops when he sees…whatever this is. his eyes flick between the two of you. jack standing rigid near the lockers. you looking like you’re two seconds from throwing your bag at him. “…wow,” robby mutters, closing his eyes.

neither of you notice. or maybe you do, but you’re too upset to care. “you don’t get to be mad at me for moving on with my life,” you mutter.

“moving on?” jack repeats, huffing a chuckle.

“yes.”

“from what?”

you blink at him. “exactly,” you say quietly.

jack opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. his chest heaves with every breath he takes. “how dare-”

robby exhales loudly. “okay,” he sighs, stepping between you. “both of you get some air.” he claps his hands together like a mother separating two children. neither of you move. “seriously,” robby adds, voice firmer now. “this is a hospital, not couples therapy.”

jack scoffs while you shake your head. you sling your back over your other arm harshly. “forget it.” you mutter, pushing past them toward the door.

“hey-” jack starts, reaching for your wrist. his hand falls short of your arm and you don’t stop. your heavy footsteps echo through hospital as you leave.

that leaves just jack and robby in the room. robby slowly looks at jack. “…casual, huh?”

jack stares at the closed door with his jaw tight. “yeah,” he mutters through clenched teeth. the word sounds a lot less convincing now.

~

three days pass in stubborn silence. friday night ends with raised voices and slammed lockers. no one apologizes. no one reaches out. saturday passes. then sunday. both of you check your phones more than you’ll admit to. both of you type messages that never get sent. stubbornness wins every time.

monday night comes slower than it should. the pitt is alive when jack walks in, the department humming under the harsh fluorescent lights. patients complaining, nurses exchanging updates, the board already full curtesy of the day shift.

though, he notices it the second he steps through the doors. you’re not there. you’re almost always one of the first residents on shift. clad in your colorful undershirt, coffee in hand, already scanning the board. jack usually comes in a few minutes after with his bag slung over one shoulder, a smug smirk tugging at his lips. he likes the routine of walking in and spotting you.

now, as his eyes flick instinctively to the usual spots—the workstation, the trauma bay, and the corner where you tend to hover when reading a case over. nothing. his jaw tightens. it’s dumb, the way disappointment creeps in so fast. it shouldn’t matter whether you’re there yet or not. people run late. people get pulled into things. he tells himself that as he drops his bag into the locker and heads out toward the floor. still, he keeps looking.

ten minutes pass. then twenty. you still haven’t walked through the doors. he checks his watch too often, paces back and fourth between stable patients, and pinches the bridge of his nose enough times to bruise. he’s leaning over the counter, staring at the doors as if you’ll magically appear when lena cuts in.

“you’re early.” she hums, smacking gum in her mouth. he glances over his shoulder. lena’s setting her bag down at the desk, tying her hair back into a loose knot as she looks at him.

“could say the same to you,” he mutters.

she shrugs, pushing her bangs back. “early bird gets the worm.” the contents in her bag clack as she reaches for something. jack makes an absentminded noise of agreement, eyes drifting back toward the entrance again. her mouth twitches slightly as she follows his line of sight. “she’s not here, you know?”

his shoulders stiffen just enough to give him away. “who?” he feigns innocence.

lena gives him a look that says don’t be stupid. “your resident.” she narrows her eyes, tilting her head.

he exhales through his nose, turning back to the screen. he clicks into the login, flashing his badge like muscle memory. “i have multiple residents.”

“yeah,” she says dryly, “but you only stare at the door for one of them.” she huffs a laugh. jack doesn’t respond. lena scans the board, tapping a pen against the desk. “she took a couple days.”

that gets his attention. he turns fully now. “what?”

“oh, now you know who i’m talking about,” she tsks with smug grin. he scoffs in response. “called out,” lena continues. “sunday morning, actually. said she needed a few days. scheduled off tomorrow too.”

jack blinks once, trying to shuffle the words together to make sense. “she sick?” he asks.

lena shrugs. “didn’t sound like it.”

his stomach sinks. the events of friday night flood his mind. the way you stormed out before anyone could stop you. how tired and angry you sounded. the slight crack in your voice at the end of the argument. he drags a hand down the back of his neck, feeling a dull weight settle in his chest. he hears his own words again—jealous, and so, so stupid.

was he the friend you met out with?

the look of hurt that flashed across your face, and how that hurt turned into anger quickly.

lena’s watching him now, quiet for once. “you two okay?” she asks.

jack looks away immediately. “fine.”

she doesn’t believe that for a second. she nods slowly, “right,” she raises her brows.

he nods once, already turning back toward the computer like the conversation’s over, but the screen blurs in front of him. two days. you took two days.

way to screw that up.

~

across the city, monday night looks very different. your apartment is quiet. the curtains are half drawn, thin streaks of the sun set slipping through the gaps and stretching across the floor. you haven’t moved much since yesterday…or the day before that.

your phone sits face down on the nightstand. you told yourself you wouldn’t check it again. you checked anyway. the outcome was the same as before—nada. no messages. no calls. no apologies. you would rather him reach out to argue more than to just ghost you.

you stare at the ceiling, blanket pulled up to your chin, eyes swollen and raw from crying so much your body eventually just ran out of tears. you feel ridiculous. you’re a doctor. a grown woman. someone who handles trauma cases and dying patients without falling apart. yet, somehow this relationship (if you can even call it that) wrecked you.

your throat tightens again. “god,” you whisper hoarsely, dragging your hands down your face. the argument replays in your head whether you want it to or not. the jealousy. the accusations. you swallow hard, staring at the wall. “you knew what this was,” you mutter to yourself, but the words don’t help.

you didn’t mean to fall for him. you didn’t mean to care this much. now you feel stupid for every second you let yourself believe he might care the same way. you turn onto your side, curling tighter into the blankets.

outside, the city keeps moving, while you stay stuck. what’s worse is that jack has no idea you’re lying there, crying into your pillow, wondering if you just ruined the best thing you’ve ever had.

~

the next morning, your body wakes up before your brain does and for a few blissful seconds you forget everything. that’s until the ache in your chest reminds you. you groan softly, shifting under the blanket. the couch cushion beneath you dips awkwardly, and it takes a second for your brain to remember why you’re here instead of your bed.

last night you finally got up after spending most of the day rotting in your room. you brushed your hair, washed your face, and tried to feel like a functioning adult again. it lasted maybe twenty minutes before the tears came back. so you grabbed a pint of ice cream, curled up on the couch, and put on the stupidest, sappiest rom coms you could find. you cried through three of them before exhaustion eventually dragged you under.

now the tv is still on, volume low, playing the end credits of something you don’t remember finishing. an empty ice cream container sits crooked on the coffee table beside a crumpled napkin. your face feels puffy. your throat still burns faintly from crying. you stare at the ceiling, letting the quiet settle over you. you would’ve stayed there forever had you not heard the knocks.

knock knock.

your brain doesn’t fully register it at first. maybe it’s a neighbor. maybe you imagined it. you sit up slowly, blanket sliding down your lap.

knock knock.

this time it’s louder. yup, definitely real. you frown, glancing toward the door. nobody ever comes here unannounced. something deep in your body clenches. you push yourself up off the couch, wincing as your stiff neck protests. your bare feet pad quietly across the floor.

knock.

“geez, learn some fuckin’ patience,” you groan under your breath, reaching for the door, and peaking in the peephole, heart dropping straight into your stomach.

jack stands in the hallway still in his scrubs. his hair is more disheveled than usual, curls flattened slightly on one side. faint shadows sit under his eyes, the kind that only show up after a long shift. in one hand he’s holding a coffee carrier. in the other, he’s holding flowers with a small box of chocolates tucked awkwardly under his arm.

you stare at the door like it might bite you. your pulse starts racing.

“i know you’re home,” his voice calls through the door, tired but unmistakably his. “your car’s outside.”

you close your eyes for half a second. your hand hovers over the lock. part of you wants to pretend you’re not here. the other, bigger part is already turning the handle. the door creaks open slowly.

jack looks up immediately, his shoulders dropping slightly. “hey,” he says softly. you don’t respond, just blink. you probably look like a disaster with tangled hair, swollen eyes, and an oversized sweatshirt hanging off one shoulder. jack takes you in quietly. “so,” he says, gesturing vaguely between the flowers, the coffee, and the chocolate box. “i brought options.” his mouth pulls into a small, sheepish smile. “figured i’d give you a variety of things to throw at me.”

for a second, you just stare at him. jack abbot—veteran, doctor, and professional pain in your ass—standing in your hallway holding flowers like a nervous teenager. you lean your shoulder against the doorframe, arms folding loosely over your chest. your voice comes out rough from sleep and crying. “you’re persistent.”

he lets out a quiet breath through his nose, like that’s the closest thing to a victory he’s getting right now. “occupational hazard.”

the hallway light flickers softly overhead. neither of you moves. up close, he looks worse than you expected. the dark circles under his eyes are deeper than they should be. there’s stubble along his jaw he probably didn’t bother shaving after his shift. his shoulders sag slightly under the weight of the shift.

“you just get off work?” you ask.

“yeah.” he nods, rocking back and fourth.

“and instead of going home…you came here…?”

“yeah.” he nods once again.

you tilt your head slightly, unimpressed. “bold strategy.”

“desperation, actually,” a chuckle slips out before he can stop it. the smell of coffee drifts up from the carrier in his hand and your stomach twists. you didn’t eat anything besides ice cream yesterday. jack notices your eyes flicker to it. “one’s black,” he says gently. “one’s that…caramel thing you get. i don’t know the exact name because the menu looks like it was written by a wizard.” your mouth twitches despite yourself. he holds the flowers up a little awkwardly. “and these were the least offensive ones they had at the hospital gift shop.”

“high praise.”

“it was between these or balloons that say get well soon.”

you sigh, rubbing your forehead. that familiar ache presses behind your ribs. “jack…”

his expression shifts immediately. the joking drains out of him like someone pulled a plug. “yeah?” he braces for impact.

you step aside. “come in.”

he hesitates for half a second—he’s surprised you didn’t slam the door in his face—before stepping into the apartment. the door shuts behind him with a soft click. the place looks exactly how it felt last night. blankets on the couch. empty ice cream container. credits still rolling silently on the tv.

jack takes it in without comment. he sets the coffee and chocolates on the table, then places the flowers down carefully beside them. you hover near the couch, arms folded again. neither of you speaks.

finally, jack exhales slowly and rubs the back of his neck. “so,” he mutters. “this is the part where i try not to screw this up worse.”

you lean against the arm of the couch. “good luck with that.”

he huffs quietly. “yeah, fair.” he inhales deeply, looking up at the ceiling, before exhaling and looking at you properly. “you look like hell,” he states bluntly.

you glare. “thank you.”

“meant it affectionately.”

“i’m touched.” sarcasm drips from tone.

a ghost of a smile crosses his mouth, but it fades quickly. “look,” he says, “i’m just gonna say it straight because historically when i try to be subtle everything explodes.” he taps his fingers against his wrinkled scrubs. “the thing i said to robby,” you swallow immediately. “the casual thing,” he squeezes his eyes shut. “was a reflex.” your gaze sharpens. jack’s gaze drops to the floor before coming back to you. “he caught me off guard,” he sighs, “came outta nowhere. started asking what we were.”

“and your instinct was to say casual?” you retort. the word tastes bitter in your mouth.

“yeah,” he admits even though he’s shaking his head.

“why?” you ask.

jack opens his mouth…then closes it again. a muscle in his jaw twitches. you wait. “because i panicked.”

your forehead creases. “jack-”

“i didn’t know what the hell to say,” he says, throwing his hands up. “and before i could think, the word just came out.” you stare at him. “and when you went along with it…” his mouth tightens. “i figured that was what you wanted.”

your brows knit together. “you thought i wanted it to be casual?”

“well you didn’t exactly argue.”

“i was standing in front of my two bosses.”

“yeah,” he mutters. “realized that about ten minutes later.”

you drag a hand down your face. “i thought you meant it.”

he laughs softly, but there’s no humor in it. “trust me, baby, if i meant it i wouldn’t be standing in your apartment right now holding flowers like an idiot.”

your heart gives an annoying little flip. you try to ignore it. “then why didn’t you say anything after?” your voice is sheepish.

he goes quiet again. his gaze drifts toward the window, like he’s watching something only he can see. when he finally speaks, his voice is lower. “because opening your mouth about stuff that matters,” he licks his lips. “is how you lose it.” jack rubs a hand across his jaw. “i’ve done this before,” he admits. “the whole loving someone thing.” he doesn’t look at you as he continues. “had a wife,” he lingers on the word. “she was…everything.”

you knew that vaguely. pieces of the story everyone in the hospital knows but never says out loud. hearing him say it like this feels raw.

“and then one day she wasn’t there anymore.” his throat works once. “you learn real quick after that,” he stutters, “that the universe has a pretty sick sense of humor.” he finally looks at you again. “so yeah,” he concedes. “i keep things,” he squints, racking his brain for the right word, “light.”

the room is quiet now. you’re processing and…well, processing some more. the early morning sun shines harshly through your windows. gour faucet drips repeatedly. “jack…” you murmur.

he stop you before you can continue. he has to say it now or he won’t ever. “because if you don’t say the important parts out loud,” he finishes, “then when it all disappears you can pretend it didn’t mean as much.”

your heart twists painfully. you step a little closer without realizing it. “that’s what you thought this was?”

“no,” he says immediately. he shakes his head. “that’s the problem.” his gaze flickers over your face. he memorizes your eyes, your mouth, the messy hair falling over your shoulder. “this stopped being casual for me a long time ago,” he admits quietly.

your breath catches. you take a step back. “then why-”

“because you’re younger than me.” your eyes widen. you rest a hand on your coffee table to stable yourself. he huffs out a small breath. “by a lot.” he looks to the side. “and i kept thinking,” his voice is tight, “one day you’re gonna walk into some bar and meet some guy your age who doesn’t have an endless supply of baggage.” you stare at him. “and he’s gonna look at you the way guys your age look at women like you.” the veins in his arms tighten at the thought. “and you’re gonna realize dating the grumpy middle-aged doctor was just a phase.”

you can barely breathe now. the room goes completely still. you stare at him. the tired lines in his face. the guarded way he’s standing like he’s bracing for something he fears. “jack,” your voice is like candy. he lifts his eyes. “i thought you didn’t want more.”

he frowns slightly. “why would you think that?”

you let out a small, incredulous laugh. “because you were the one leaving first,” you shrug. “drawing boundaries.”

“well-”

“and,” you continue, “we never talked about what we are.” he goes still. “and i thought that meant we were nothing.”

his expression shifts immediately. “hey,” he coos.

you shrug helplessly. “so i went along with it,” you admit. “because i figured if that’s all you wanted, i wasn’t gonna beg you to care.”

“god,” he mutters. it feels like a spear is lodged in his chest.

your arms drop to your sides. “i liked what we had,” you murmur. “but it never felt casual to me.” you blink back tears. “not once.”

jack steps forward instinctively. “so let me get this straight,” he recounts. “you thought i didn’t want more?” you nod once. “and i thought you didn’t want more?” you nod again. he exhales. “that might be the dumbest standoff in human history.”

a reluctant laugh slips out of you. he smiles faintly. the tension in the room loosens just a little. jack stops a step away from you now. “for the record,” he whispers, “i’m pretty sure i’m in way too deep for casual.”

warmth crawls up your neck and plants itself on your cheeks. “yeah?”

“yeah.”

you tilt your head slightly. “took you long enough to say it.”

his mouth quirks. “cut me some slack. emotional honesty isn’t exactly my strongest skill.”

you study him for a moment. “are you still scared i’m gonna run off with some guy my age?”

jack doesn’t flinch. “probably.”

you roll your eyes gently. “jack.” you’re not joking now.

he shrugs. “i’m working on it.”

you shake your head, a small smile tugging at your mouth now. “you’re unbelievable.”

“i’ve been told.”

the weight that sat between you yesterday feels lighter now. it’s not gone—that will take some time—but the cracked pieces are starting to fuse back together.

jack glances toward the flowers on the table. “so,” he says. “are you gonna forgive me or do i need to start groveling more dramatically.”

you consider it. “the flowers help.”

“damn right they do.”

“the coffee helps more.”

“excellent choice on my part.”

you step closer, your shoulders brushing together. jack’s voice drops a little. “we okay?”

you look at him through your lashes. “yeah,” you say quietly.