River @riverrivrio - Tumblr Blog

Mar 29

— 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.

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