I Had A Marvelous Time Ruining Everything @lifeofanogirl - Tumblr Blog

𝐃𝐢𝐚𝐠𝐧𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐬: 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐝? 𝐗𝐕𝐈𝐈𝐈 ⚕ 𝐉.𝐀.

summary: One glitchy tablet, one HR email, and suddenly you’re married to your attending, Jack Abbot. HR thinks it was intentional and has already started merging your records. Claim it was a mistake, and your residency could be delayed. With only three months left until you're an attending, Jack agrees to play along. Pretending to be married might save your career—but can your heart survive the side effects?

tags: accidental marriage, slow burn romance, HR involvement, nosy coworkers, reader is a PGY-4 resident, jack is not a widow in this fic, possible medical/legal inaccuracies, mutual pining, angst, exam, drinking, two people being dumbasses once again

word count: 6.7k

a/n: ahh here we are again :DD i hope you enjoy! and as always, since this is an ongoing process, your ideas and thoughts for future scenes are more than welcome! big kisses to everyone who has sent in ideas already<33

i'm not keeping a tag list for this series!

Diagnosis: Married | Masterlist The Pitt | Masterlist Main | Masterlist

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Your alarm goes off a little after the first rays of the sun streak through your curtains. You've already been awake for half an hour, staring at the ceiling as you flip through differential diagnoses that you probably won't see on the exam.

It still twists your stomach to think that after this, only the oral boards stand between you and becoming a board-certified physician. It's even hard to wrap your head around the fact that your residency is over, and in just a few days, you'll officially step into your role as an attending physician. The longest and most challenging years of your life are behind you, just like that.

Maybe you should have decided to do a fellowship instead of taking the offer PTMC gave you—are you even ready to have others depend on you to have the answers?

You have to be.

But first, you need to pass this exam—a condition made by the PTMC when they offered you the position, which only makes this day even more nerve-wracking.

You roll out of bed with a sigh, get dressed and then head to the kitchen. You sit at the island, staring blankly at the piece of toast on your plate. Your mouth feels dry.

"You really should eat something." Jack’s voice filters in from behind you, sounding a bit rougher than usual, probably strained from talking all night. He had convinced Robby to come in early so he could be there to drive you. You didn't even have to ask; he simply made the call, leaving no room for discussion. At this moment, with your hands trembling from nerves, you’re grateful you don’t have to deal with public transport.

You steal a glance at him as he leans against the counter, looking more careful than ever. It’s as if he’s making an effort to ease things between you, despite the unresolved tension that lingers. Ever since that conversation, everything has felt off—hesitant. But this morning, it’s like none of that matters. Or perhaps he’s just getting better at masking it.

He takes a few steps forward and nudges your plate closer. "Toast. Half a banana. Something."

You shake your head, eyeing it distrustfully. "I'm gonna throw up."

"You're not," he says.

"I might."

"Then you'll throw up with food in your system."

Despite your nerves, a weak laugh slips out of you. Jack's mouth twitches like he's relieved to hear it.

He turns to the fridge and places a few things inside a paper bag and then pushes it towards you.

"What's this?"

"Emergency provisions," he says. "A sandwich. Pretzels. Protein bar. Water bottle. Some candy."

Despite everything, despite how far away he feels now, he still does this for you. "Jack—"

"Go finish getting ready. I'll make you a smoothie for the car," he says, tilting his head toward your room.

You slide off the chair, murmuring, "Thanks."

He doesn't answer, just turns and grabs the ingredients. You can hear the blender as you throw the last things in your bag. Then you both head to the car.

The drive is quiet, with only the gentle hum of the radio and the rhythmic tapping of Jack's fingers on the steering wheel breaking the silence in the car. You take occasional sips of your smoothie, the liquid gliding down easier than a piece of toast would have. You sit curled in the passenger seat, rereading the testing confirmation email for the hundredth time, even though you already know every detail.

By the time Jack pulls into the testing centre parking lot, your pulse feels like it's vibrating under your skin. You feel nauseous and dizzy at the same time as you step out of the car. Too much hinges on today going well—what if you fuck it up?

"Hey," Jack says, catching your wrist gently.

You look at him, and for a moment, neither of you speaks. He stands closer than he has in days, near enough for you to notice the faint crease between his brows, a mark that's been appearing more often lately. You can’t help but wonder if your own brow mirrors his. Without even realising it, you find yourself following his slow, steady breaths.

Someone passes nearby, and your attention snaps back to the building. Your nerves start churning again.

"You've got this," Jack says.

"Mm," you respond absentmindedly, still not looking at him.

He drops your wrist and cradles your cheeks with both hands, bringing your attention back to him.

"You've got this," he repeats, head tilting to look you deeply in the eye. The way he's looking at you, the softness in his voice, settles painfully behind your ribs. But this is just Jack. He takes care of people. Caring isn't the same as loving.

You nod weakly. His thumbs brush your cheeks lightly, making sure he keeps your attention before it can wander again. He breathes slowly, and you follow his lead.

"Repeat it," he says.

You breathe out. "You've got it," you echo, smirking a little.

"Ha," he huffs, rolling his eyes fondly. His hands leave your cheeks but don't go far, landing on your shoulders instead. "Don’t overthink it. You know what you’re doing."

You don't answer right away, but nod after a moment.

Jack grins and squeezes your shoulders before letting his hands fall down. "Go get them, tiger. I'll see you after."

You hesitate for a second, but then you lean in for a hug. His arms wrap around you immediately, palms rubbing your back gently. You breathe in deeply, letting his scent wash over you, and then you step back.

When you look behind you just before the doors, Jack sends you a thumbs up and mouths another 'you've got this'. You give him a shaky smile, and then you head inside.

After signing in, locking away your phone, and being led to a grey cubicle, the day flattens into hours of clicking through cases—trauma, chest pain, aches—questions that seem straightforward until they aren't.

During breaks, you mechanically chew bites of the sandwich Jack made you.

By the time it’s over, your eyes are stinging, and your brain feels completely drained, running on nothing but adrenaline and sheer determination. Finally, you see it: Exam Complete. It’s a bit underwhelming, really, with no score to indicate how well you did—just an empty screen staring back at you.

As doubts begin to creep in, you step out into the afternoon light, squinting against the brightness.

"Hey, I could use an attending over here," a familiar voice calls. Jack leans against the wall, holding an absurdly large bouquet of flowers, grinning from ear to ear.

You shake your head at him, yet a smile spreads across your face. You're too worn out to put on a facade, and his smile is too contagious. As soon as you reach him, he pulls you into a warm embrace. "Congratulations, sweetheart!"

You pull back enough to look at him. "You don't know if I passed."

He gives you a pointed. "I know. I saw how hard you studied for this." His expression softens as he hands you the flowers. "There's no way you didn't pass."

He gently places a hand on your back, guiding you toward the car. "Now, let's celebrate. You want something to eat?"

"Yes, please!" As the adrenaline begins to fade, your hunger sets in. "Can we get fries?"

Jack chuckles warmly as he opens the passenger door for you. "Of course! We can get whatever you want, honey. It’s your special day."

Jack pulls into a nearby diner, which you pointed out had a sign proclaiming to have 'America's best fries'. The place looks frozen in time—shiny red booths, black-and-white tiled floors, chrome-edged tables, and neon signs glowing softly in the windows despite it still being bright outside. It's perfect.

A sweet older waitress named Ethel seats you in the corner booth and takes your orders. She eyes the presents that Jack has placed on the table with a curious smile—you'd been just as curious when he grabbed them from the back.

"Is it your birthday, sweetie?" she asks.

"Oh no," you shake your head.

"She's just finished her residency," Jack supplies with a proud smile.

"Oh wow," Ethel grins. "Congratulations!"

"Thank you," you say shyly.

Her eyes twinkle mischievously. "I'll be right back," Ethel says, spinning around to give your order to the kitchen.

Jack looks at you. "You wanna open your presents first or talk about the questions?"

Your eyes snap to his, unaware that he'd noticed how your mind was already spiralling.

"Go over them with me," he says. "I'm sure you did great."

He really is. And when he chooses the same answers as you did for all of the questions you remember, he knows you did great. With each confirmation, your shoulders go down minutely, until you're fully relaxed as the food arrives.

As you tear into your fries, Jack watches you across the table. Even tired and still slightly frazzled, you look gorgeous. He knows things have been weird, his fault really, but he hadn't expected you to bring up getting a divorce already. He thought he had more time. He clears his throat before the feeling can sit too long.

"Sorry to cut in," Ethel says as she walks by. In her hands, she holds a massive milkshake, whipped cream balancing precariously. "On the house. Congrats, sweetie."

"Oh wow," you exclaim. "Thank you so much." Your fingers curl around the glass, and you take a big sip.

"This is delicious," you say, lips still wrapped partly around the straw, words coming out jumbled. You push the glass toward him. "Wanna try?"

"Sure." He takes a sip and gives you an approving hum. He's not the biggest fan of milkshake, but when you offer it, it's his favourite drink in the world. "Now, I think it's time to open your presents."

You eye the boxes warily. "Does it matter which one I open first?"

He shakes his head and laughs when you go for the big one first. Exactly what he knew you would do.

You eagerly peel back the wrapping paper, and he can't help but grin when your eyes widen in disbelief. "No way." You rip off the rest of the paper, holding the box with your mouth slightly agape. "Jack—"

You turn it over, still in shock. It’s a Littmann stethoscope. Glancing back at him, you say, "This is way too much."

He shrugs, a smile spreading on his face. "You deserve the best," he replies, not at all concerned about the price when it comes to you.

"I can’t take this," you protest, still staring at the box.

"It would be rude not to," he teases gently. "It’s yours, honey. I doubt anyone else would want it with your initials on it."

"What?" You gulp, brows knitted as his words sink in. Your eyes begin to glisten. "Thank you."

He brushes it off, looking pleased. "Now, open the other one."

You carefully peel back the wrapping paper this time, revealing a velvet box tucked inside.

Jack suddenly regrets everything. Maybe it’s too much. Maybe Parker was wrong. Maybe getting something sentimental after weeks of distance was stupid.

As you gently open the box, the moon pendant on the necklace glimmers in the light of the diner.

"It’s the phase the moon was in when you switched to nights," Jack remarks, attempting to sound nonchalant despite the anxiety bubbling beneath the surface. "I thought it was... kind of fitting, you know? With you being an attending on the night shift now."

For a moment, you’re silent, simply gazing at the pendant and then back at him. Your expression softens—vulnerable enough to tighten something in his chest painfully. "Jack…" you murmur softly.

Your fingers linger over the engraving of your nickname on the back as if you can’t help but keep touching it. Your mouth presses into something smaller, tighter. "You really didn’t have to do all this," you murmur, voice wavering around the edges.

He clears his throat. "I wanted to."

You nod a bit too quickly. "It’s really sweet," you say, already reaching for a smile that feels slightly too rehearsed. You look back down at the necklace again, thumb dragging over the pendant.

"I love it," you add quietly, almost to yourself. "Help me put it on?"

Jack swallows hard and nods.

You don’t mean to, but you nod off during the drive home, lulled into sleep by Jack’s soft humming. The adrenaline from earlier fizzled out during dinner, and now that you have food in your stomach, it’s harder to stay awake.

You stir awake as he pulls into the driveway, and with your eyes still half-closed, you stumble toward the front door. Jack unlocks it and motions for you to go in first. The house is dark and silent, the only noise coming from you as you hang up your jacket. Jack trails closely behind as you make your way to the living room. You don’t notice the tension radiating from him or how he’s practically holding his breath.

Just as you’re about to cross the threshold, the lights come on, and a loud chorus of voices erupts—

"SURPRISE!"

You yelp, stumbling backwards into Jack's chest. He catches you immediately, steadying you.

"Fuck," you gasp, one hand flying to your heart while laughter erupts around the room. Your eyes widen as you take in the scene: people crammed onto the couch, filling the kitchen and dining area—residents, nurses, and attendings, all grinning from ear to ear. Several phones point your way, capturing your shocked reaction.

Streamers hang askew from the ceiling, and a banner taped to the wall behind the couch reads, ‘CONGRATS!’

Parker cackles loudly at your face. "Told you she'd scream."

"You assholes," you breathe out. You turn to Jack with wide eyes. "Did you plan this?"

Suddenly, everything falls into place. The way he kept glancing at his watch and checking his phone before you left the diner.

He nods sheepishly. "Maybe."

Something warm spreads through you. He texted everyone, ensured your favourite people came, decorated, and made sure there’d be food and drinks so you wouldn’t spiral into anxiety alone. Your lip quivers slightly.

"Hey," Jack says softly. "Don't cry, sweetheart. You'll make everyone else cry, and then Shen'll start. Trust me, he’s an ugly crier."

"Hey!" Shen protests as people laugh.

You let out a laugh, blending the emotion bubbling inside you into something manageable. You grab Jack in a tight hug.

His arms wrap around you automatically.

"Thank you," you whisper into his shoulder.

His hand presses gently between your shoulder blades. "You deserve it," he murmurs into your hair.

You pull back to look at him, and you swear you see his eyes flicker down to your lips. The space between you feels charged, almost unbearable, but you turn away before you can dwell on it too long. You leap into the crowd, hugging and laughing your way through the congratulations.

Through it all, every conversation, every hug, every congratulation, you keep finding Jack.

He's mostly hanging back near the kitchen island, letting people have their moment with you. Directing gifts and cards to the foldable table he put up in the dining room. Occasionally, someone claps him on the shoulder, offering their congratulations.

After you've greeted everyone, it's been half an hour. Parker supplied you with a drink somewhere in the middle, and a light buzz has started to spread through you. You find your way back to Jack, bumping your shoulder against his.

"Tired?" he asks.

"A little."

"But happy?" he watches your face carefully, like he's ready to throw everyone out if you ask.

You glance around the room, taking in the lively residents engaged in playful banter, one nurse wrestling with Parker to keep her from popping open champagne indoors, and the precariously hanging banner. You turn to Jack, feeling the warmth radiating off him, and step a little closer.

"Yeah," you smile softly. "Really happy."

Jack beams in return, visibly relieved. "Good."

"Did I miss Robby, somehow?" you ask, taking a sip as you scan the room.

"He's not here yet," Jack replies, something almost boyishly excited in his tone.

Your eyebrows furrow, but before you can question him further, you’re swept into another wave of congratulations as more day shift staff arrive.

The front door opens after a little while. The sound barely carries over the music and chatter, but you’ve been wondering what Jack and Robby are up to since your conversation with Jack. Without hesitation, you step out into the hallway.

Robby steps in first, his tall frame ducking slightly as he walks through the doorway, even though it’s more than high enough for him. The moment he spots you, a grin spreads across his face.

"Robby!" you grin, swaying slightly as you step forward. "You made it!"

"Of course, I did," he replies, opening his arms just in time for you to collide into him. "My best resident's an attending now. And soon enough, board-certified, too. Wouldn't miss it for the world!"

"Best resident?" Trinity says as she passes by, squeezing your shoulder. "Rude."

"Talk to me when you stop falling asleep while charting," he shoots back.

"Make it more exciting then," she replies, leaving before he can answer.

There's a light tap on your shoulder. "Do I get a hug too, or are you too good for us ordinary folks now?"

Your body stills as you recognise the familiar cadence. "No way," you breathe, turning to face her.

Olivia grins at you when you nearly smack into her.

"Liv!" you squeal, wrapping your arms around her tightly. The two of you bounce in place, laughing together as Robby squeezes past with an amused chuckle.

"Oh my god," you gasp. "Oh my god, you're here!"

"I am," she laughs.

"How? What? When?" you pull back, but grab her hands immediately.

She laughs. "Jack called me. Paid for my ticket, too."

Your head snaps to the living room, where Jack stands with a beer bottle, watching the entire scene unfold with quiet amusement. "He did?" you ask, still looking at him.

Jack shrugs one shoulder, like flying your best friend into town isn't a big deal.

Olivia squeezes your hands. Because she knows better than you what's going through your head. You have nowhere to put the feeling, so you squeeze back hard.

"Oh no," she says playfully. "You’re not going to start crying, are you? Because then I’ll cry too."

"I'm not," you reassure her, sniffling a little.

"Mm," she huffs, smiling at you.

You laugh shakily and pull her into another hug. "I'm just so happy you're here."

"I’m really proud of you," she whispers in your ear. "Now, enough of the mushy stuff," she says, pulling back and quickly wiping her eyes. "Let’s get wasted!"

After introductions have been made and you've thanked Jack once again, Olivia pulls you out on the terrace. It's a little quieter outside, music humming faintly through the half-open door and laughter drifting out every few minutes.

Someone—likely Jack—has strung warm lights along the fence, casting a gentle glow around the edges of the yard. A few people linger in the far corner, drinks in hand, deeply engaged in conversation. They smile at you but don’t pay much attention otherwise.

As you sink into the lounger, it creaks softly beneath you, and a wave of exhaustion washes over you now that no one is tugging at your attention. The weight of the last few weeks—filled with the adrenaline and stress of the exam, along with all the emotions you’ve been avoiding—settles heavily in your bones.

Olivia sits down beside you, curling one leg beneath her. For a while, you both sit in silence, taking in the pink and gold sky above. You hadn't realised how badly you needed her here until she was.

She nudges your knee with hers. "You good?"

The automatic answer almost comes out. Yeah. Fine. Tired. But since it’s Liv asking, you look down at your drink instead and reply, "…Maybe."

Inside, silhouettes move through the house, and you catch a glimpse of Shen animatedly telling a story, Parker wearing a disbelieving frown nearby. And then there’s Jack—he’s half-listening to someone while refilling bowls and checking if the fridge is stocked. He laughs, his gaze drifting until he finally spots you outside. Something in his shoulders eases when he does.

As his gaze shifts back to whoever he’s talking to, Olivia watches you quietly. "Can I ask you something?"

You turn to her again. "That depends."

A tiny smile flickers across her face. "Are you actually sure," she asks carefully, "that the two of you are having the same conversation?"

You frown at her.

She shrugs. "I know what you said, but from where I'm standing…" Her eyes flick briefly to the window again. "…he doesn't exactly look emotionally detached."

You sigh, fingers tightening around your cup. "That's just Jack."

"He flew me across the country." She bumps her shoulder into yours as she leans back. "He called me, like… three? Maybe four weeks ago?"

"Really?"

"Mm," she hums. "Told me he was planning a surprise and that he wanted me there. He thought it wouldn’t feel right if I wasn’t."

Something warm and painful settles low in your chest.

"And," she adds, "he made Robby pick me up because he said if he left to get me, there was too high a chance that you'd notice something weird."

You blink.

"I'm just saying," she says, "that's a lot of effort."

"He likes taking care of people," you reply with a forced shrug.

"Sure. But this?" She gestures vaguely toward the house. "This feels a little above average."

You fall silent.

"You didn't hear the conversation," you say quietly instead. Heat creeps into your face. You hate it when she says things like that. Because you can't help but wonder if she's on to something.

Olivia’s expression softens. "Okay. But from where I’m sitting?" Her gaze drifts back to Jack, who’s already checking the window again. "That man doesn’t look like someone trying to leave."

Your chest tightens, and your head spins, caught at a crossroads. You want to believe her so badly. You really do. But hope is what led you here in the first place.

"Just..." she nudges your knee again. "Don't make permanent decisions based on assumptions."

The party grows louder as the night settles in. Music drifts through the house beneath the constant hum of overlapping conversations. Empty bottles and half-finished drinks crowd the coffee table and kitchen counters.

You’re standing near the kitchen island with Olivia, laughing at something Robby has just said, when the sharp clink of glass cuts through the chatter. Conversations begin to fade one by one.

Jack stands by the dining table, a beer bottle in one hand and a spoon in the other, looking somewhat embarrassed by the sudden focus on him.

"Oh no," you murmur immediately.

"Speech! Speech! Speech!" the crowd chants in unison.

"Don’t encourage him," you warn, shooting them all a firm look.

Jack rolls his eyes, but you can see the slight tension in his shoulders as he glances around the room. Public speaking has never bothered him—he can run the Pitt without blinking—but this is different. This is personal.

His gaze finds yours and softens. The room quiets completely.

Jack clears his throat, "Okay. I wanna say a few words about my incredible wife."

Your breath catches a little at how easily he says those words.

The room collectively lets out an exaggerated chorus of 'awws'.

"Shut up, "Jack retorts flatly, though a smile breaks through. "She took her written boards today—which, for the record, I know she passed." He blinks at you, ignoring your head shake, and speaks directly to you. "You’re the hardest-working person I’ve ever met," he says quietly, "—and the most stubborn."

"You can't say that in a toast," you protest, laughing.

"I absolutely can," he replies confidently. "I’ve watched you spend years becoming the doctor people trust on their worst days." His mouth curves slightly. "I've also seen you survive residency fuelled by caffeine, spite and terrifying levels of determination."

Laughter erupts around the room.

"You care more than anyone I know,” Jack continues once it settles down. "About your patients. About your coworkers. About doing things right. The Pitt is better with you in it." He pauses, looking around the room. People eagerly lift their glasses, cheering their approval.

Jack shifts his weight, turning back to you. "And now it looks like I have to work with you as an attending."

"Don't say it like it's a burden," you call out.

"It is," he says dryly. "Because you're gonna show us all up."

"Damn right she is," Parker shouts, and the room cheers, prompting a soft laugh from Jack.

"I can’t wait for you to join nights again," he says, directing a pointed look at Robby, "—where you belong—"

You laugh at the grimace on Robby's face.

Jack continues, "—even if you're gonna steal all my favourite nurses."

"They already like me better," you say automatically, letting the alcohol drown any thoughts of Lily.

"See?" he tells the room, "Nightmare coworker."

Laughter fills the space again, but his eyes remain locked on yours. Then, speaking more softly, he says, "I’m really proud of you." He exhales quietly. "I know today was tough. I’m aware of the pressure you put on yourself. But I need you to understand," —his voice drops lower— "you earned this. You’re an amazing doctor."

The tears you had managed to hold back threaten to spill over. Liv subtly hands you a napkin. Your fingers find the moon pendant at your throat without thinking.

Jack's expression softens when he sees your face. And then he says the words he won't ever say in private. "I love you." His eyes don't leave yours. Something in his expression shifts—softer, almost wary.

The room melts around you. You wish, just for a second, that you could believe him. Maybe you would have—if this had been private. If he hadn’t said it with people watching. If it hadn’t come wrapped inside a toast and soft laughter, and the role you've trapped him inside.

He's your husband. Of course, he says I love you. What else is he supposed to say?

Jack looks at you for a second longer before clearing his throat roughly and turning back to everyone else. He lifts his bottle into the air. "To Trouble!"

The room echoes his sentiment. You manage a shaky smile through teary eyes, feeling Liv squeeze your hand.

"Okay, enough of the sappy stuff," he announces. "There’s cake in the kitchen and more drinks in the fridge. Have fun!"

He stops to add, "Oh—and if anybody starts discussing actual medicine tonight, I'm kicking you out!"

The room instantly bursts into noise and movement. You catch Jack’s arm as he walks past you.

"Thank you," you murmur, then step back, reaching for another drink. Jack catches your hand, like he wants to stop you from walking away.

Then he drops your hand again.

A little while later, you've been sent to the kitchen for more drinks by Parker and Trinity. Mel asked you more nicely.

Jack is already there, half inside the fridge, shifting bottles around. "What do you need?" he asks, without turning around.

"Two seltzers and two beers."

"All out of seltzers," he says without looking at you. "I'll go get some more." He shuts the fridge with his shoulder.

You don’t move right away. Neither does he. It stretches for a second too long before he nods toward the door. "You coming?"

You pretend to think about it, grinning slightly. "Do I have to?"

"No," he says, shrugging like it doesn't mean anything to him.

You follow him out anyway and pretend not to notice the smile on his face when you do.

Jack flips the garage light on and steps inside first. There are cases stacked against the wall, a half-open box of cups, and some random folding chairs shoved into the corner. It's cluttered in a lived-in way.

You reach for a case at the same time he does, your fingers brushing against each other.

"I’ve got it," he says, pulling away slowly. He adjusts his grip on the case, then shifts slightly so you can reach the cups.

"Thanks." You grab a sleeve, and when you straighten up, he’s already holding the door open for you. You pass him, close enough that your shoulder almost catches his chest.

Later in the evening, you find yourself sitting sideways on the couch, your head resting against the cushion as you half-listen to the radiologist whom Lily has been seeing. He'd brought a sweet card from her, giving you her apologies for having to work. Parker's vetted him earlier, and after about five minutes of questioning, you also deem him acceptable. He’s nice, sporting a bright smile that rivals Lily's in its brilliance, and he’s funny too—though maybe that’s just the alcohol coursing through your veins. As he recounts a story about misreading a scan, you chuckle into your cup.

"Hey, can I steal you for a second?" Jack’s voice cuts through your laughter, low and tense. His hand lands on your shoulder and slides down to grasp your hand, and before you can respond, he pulls you up and away. Your drink sloshes against your palm.

You glance back at the radiologist, whose name escapes you, offering an apologetic smile, but he waves you off with a smile.

As Jack pulls you through people toward his room, you twist your arm. "What's going on?"

He doesn't answer. He pushes the door open and pulls you inside, shutting it with more force than necessary. For a heartbeat, he stands there with his back to you, breathing heavily.

You wipe your hand on your pants and set the drink down on the dresser. "Jack?"

He turns around, his attempt at restraint already unravelling. His eyes are stormy, darker than usual. "You having fun?"

"Yeah?"

"It looked that way."

You frown at him.

"I know you've already decided how this ends—" he says, voice low and tense, "But don't do that in front of me."

Your brows shoot up. "Do what?"

"Least of all in my house," he continues, taking a step forward.

"What are you talking about?"

He exhales sharply, clearly struggling to rein in his emotions. "You know."

Irritation flares in your chest. "No? Because from where I was standing, I was having a normal conversation until you dragged me in here like I did something wrong."

His voice rises, filled with frustration. "You were all over him."

You step forward defiantly. "I was talking to him."

"You were laughing with him," Jack says, stepping closer. "For forty-five minutes."

"That's how conversations work, Jack. And it wasn’t even that long."

He scoffs, crossing his arms. "You could at least show some decency."

Your brows furrow, incredulous. You let out a short, disbelieving laugh, "Decency? You're lecturing me about decency? That's rich."

His expression hardens. He’s close enough now that you can smell the beer and cake on his breath. "I don't understand what your problem is. You know what you're doing."

"My problem?" You take another step forward, refusing to back down. "My problem is you pulling me in here like I did something wrong while you’ve been flirting in front of me for weeks."

He blinks, his brows furrowing. "What? I haven't flirted with anyone."

You stare at him, crossing your arms. "Right. So, I've just been imagining things?"

He stares back at you, searching your face, then his nostrils flare. "Are you just trying to change the subject?"

"Are you?" you retort. You have to tilt your head back to meet his gaze, mere inches apart now.

His breath hitches, and his eyes flicker down for a moment. "Jesus, what don't you get? You know I lo—"

Then the doorknob rattles

Your eyes widen as panic rushes across both your faces—the thought of someone walking in would be disastrous. Questions, rumours, explanations that neither of you can manage right now.

But beneath that panic lies something else: the way he stands too close, the jealousy lacing his voice, the realisation that for one fleeting moment, he sounded like he cared. Like he was hurt.

Without thinking, you react.

It's not gentle. Nothing about it is careful. It's frustration, anger, and heat colliding in a motion too fast to stop.

Jack freezes for half a heartbeat, maybe less, as if he can’t believe this is happening. Then something in him gives way. His hand wraps around your waist firmly, pulling you closer, while the other winds into your hair, tilting your head back as he kisses you deeply.

He turns you without breaking the kiss, and you feel your back hit the dresser. Woods digs into your hips, but you don't care. You try to swallow a moan as he licks into your mouth, but it still comes out broken.

Jack groans at the sound.

The door opens behind you—

"Oh shit—sorry!" a voice giggles, and then the door shuts again.

You move to pull back, but Jack simply follows. He crowds you closer, one hand gliding down your thigh and lifting you in one smooth move onto the edge of the dresser. You don't even register it properly—just the shift, the heat, the closeness of him. Your legs part to make room for him.

The kiss is still intense, angry, loaded with everything neither of you has said aloud for weeks. The anger burns hot at first. Weeks of hurt. Silences. Jealousy. Frustration.

It tastes sharp.

But somewhere between one breath and the next, it changes. Not softer. Like neither of you wants to stop long enough to remember why you should.

You let it go on longer than you should have, fingers gliding through the hair at the nape of his neck, brushing against the slight stubble on his cheeks, and then trailing down to his chest again. You soak in the sounds he makes, the softness of his lips, and the faint taste of beer lingering on him.

He mutters against your lips, "Please don’t make this harder—" but the rest fades away as reality crashes back in. You break the kiss, barely pulling away, your breath uneven, your foreheads nearly touching.

"Jack…" you murmur. "We…We shouldn't." You force yourself to resist the urge to lean in again, reminding yourself he’s drunk, and this isn’t what he truly wants.

Jack stills immediately. The air between you, once heated, cools instantly. He pulls back, looking at you with blown pupils, and whatever he sees there makes him falter.

He nods and retreats quickly, like he’s been burned. The sudden gap between you feels worse than if he had stayed angry. "No, you’re right."

"I—" you say as you watch the gap between you grow back again, heart pounding painfully behind your ribs. "Jack—"

"Hey, can I come in?" Olivia's voice floats through the door, slightly muffled and slurred. "I've got beer all over me—I need a shower before I start fermenting."

Jack watches you silently, like he's begging you not to answer.

You wet your lips, forcing your voice to work. "…Yeah."

The door swings open, and she halts mid-step, taking in the scene before her. Her eyes dart from you to Jack. "Should I—" she begins, stepping back.

"I'll go," Jack interrupts and brushes past her.

She stares down the hallway for a moment before closing the door behind her and locking it. "What was that about?"

You gaze at the floor, shrugging awkwardly. "…We kissed."

Her expression shifts immediately. "What?" she asks sharply.

Your stomach twists. "It—" you swallow, trying to push the ache down. "I don't know—" Your voice cracks at the end despite your best effort to remain steady.

"Oh, honey," she says, crossing the room to sit beside you on the dresser without hesitation, pulling you into her non-beer-soaked side. "Hey, hey—look at me."

At first, you can’t. She nudges you gently, then pinches your side until you meet her gaze.

"Everything's fucked," you tell her with a wet laugh.

She doesn’t respond, nor does she try to convince you otherwise. Instead, she pulls you closer, letting you cry it out.

Once your breathing slows, she leans her head against yours. "Did he kiss you back?"

You laugh wetly. "That’s not exactly the problem."

Olivia studies you. “Okay. We’re unpacking this tomorrow when you're not drunk."

For a while, neither of you says anything. Then Olivia heads into the bathroom. The shower runs softly while you shift to sit on the edge of the bed. Laughter and music drift faintly through the door.

Your chest aches in that dull, exhausted way heartbreak settles after it's done tearing through you. You don’t know what tonight meant, what the kiss signified, or what he meant by, “please don’t make it harder…”

You wipe at your face roughly, feeling humiliated.

Olivia peeks out from behind the shower curtain, her face partially visible through the cracked door.

"...Okay," she says cautiously. "I have gossip."

You blink. "What?"

Her mouth twitches. "Important gossip."

Despite yourself, a tired laugh escapes. "Liv, what did you do?"

"I didn't do anything," she says quickly. "Someone else did something."

"…Who?"

She's silent.

"No way."

She tries very hard to maintain her composure and fails immediately, breaking into a grin. "He spilt his beer on me and then—"

"You kissed Robby?" you gasp in disbelief.

Her grin only widens. "Don’t be mad."

You blink at her in disbelief, once, twice. "Oh my god," you laugh. "I can’t believe you."

"Are you mad?" she asks, biting her lip nervously.

"No!" you immediately reassure her. You're really not. "I just...didn't realise that was a thing."

"Well, to be fair," she laughs, stepping back under the water. "Neither did I until about half an hour ago."

The party thins out a little after midnight. Jack and you cross paths a few times, but he doesn't really look at you, no matter how hard you're trying to catch his eye. You didn't realise how much you'd depended on it before.

For the last few hours, you’ve been drifting through the evening, going through the motions without really being present. You smile through well-wishes, laugh at the appropriate moments without any real feeling, and hum along to the music without actually listening. Even through the blur of everything with Jack, you catch the few lingering looks from Robby in Olivia’s direction, like something has shifted slightly.

It's the only good thing you have to hold on to right now,

You guide a very drunk Olivia into your bed while Jack and Robby are busy clearing bottles off the terrace after saying goodbye to the last few guests. As you head to the kitchen for a glass of water, your steps slow when you hear their voices coming from the hallway. You find yourself pausing near the counter, unable to help it.

"You good?" Robby asks.

There’s a pause—a long one for such a simple question.

"Yeah," Jack finally answers. "I'm fine."

"That's not what it looks like," Robby says.

You hear Jack exhale. "It’s nothing," he says. "I just… I should’ve handled things differently."

You hear the jingle of keys. Robby doesn't respond right away, letting the silence prompt Jack to continue.

"I thought I had more control over it. That I could keep it contained."

"But you can’t," Robby states, not posing it as a question.

Jack emits a broken laugh. "No. I should’ve never agreed to this."

You bite your lip harshly.

"Brother," Robby says, shifting slightly, "That's not true—"

"It's gone too far now and I—"

You hold your breath. A chill spreads through your chest at his words. Gone too far. Deep down, you knew he regretted this. Now, you have it in plain words.

You don’t wait for him to finish. You step back before your body even catches up with the words, pulse roaring in your ears. Your bedroom door clicks shut behind you, and for a moment, it feels like everything is about to break open.

But it doesn’t.

Whatever was building just… stalls out. You blink once, then again, waiting for the tears to catch up. They don’t. There's just a dull pressure behind your eyes that never quite turns into anything.

a/n: don't hate me too much! i know you're all gonna scream at me for this ending but the angst is almost over!! promise <333 and thank you everyone who sent in ideas for jack's gift to trouble! i already had the stethoscope idea planned and i'm very happy so many of you agreed!!

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